There are more to doors than meet the eye. It’s a silly thing to say the least, but every now and then there comes an experience that forces you to think more deeply about something as simple as a door. What’s more is the inherent value in finding greater meaning in the mundane and dismissible phenomenon of our everyday lives. The action and desire to do so can lend itself to a greater appreciation for the things we do not yet know and those we seek to know better. Though we can always search for such experiences, and in seeking, find that which we desire to understand most, it has been my understanding that the greatest of experiences cannot be planned or explicitly sought out. Strangely, planning to achieve such experiences narrows the focus, perception, and acceptance of what’s possible. Only by being truly open can we invite all experiences that are possible—including the very greatest of them.
Recently, I went to an Italian cafe in the middle of town and had a revelation. Entering the cafe required that I PUSH the door inward, not PULL out toward the street. This, in contrast to many shops where entering requires patrons to PULL the door, was one of those redeeming moments of humanity that had not only restored my faith in great tasting coffee, but also in coffee’s generally extraordinary promise to one day—possibly—save the world.
As far as subtext goes, there’s a great deal of it to be gleaned from the direction that a door swings. In the case of doors that must be pushed to enter, there is a message of sincere welcome in the lack of effort required for leaning into the foyer of a shop. On the other side of such a door, pulling to exit imposes a unique burden of effort, and therefore, makes the action of leaving distinctly more difficult. It’s almost as if those you’d come to visit never really wanted you to go, and their eager hearts could not help but lie in wait for the one time you’d turn around and decide to stay.