First thing’s first, Merriam-Webster has this to say about doors:
1. A usually swinging or sliding barrier by which an entry is closed and opened
2. A means of access or participation
The first known use of the word door is from the 12th century.
Door in Finnish: ovi
In French: la porte
In German: tur
In Hungarian: ajtó
In Icelandic: dyrnar
In Japanese: doa
In Mongolian: khaalaga
In Russian: dver
In Thai: pratu
In Turkish: kapi
I have this thing with doors. I can’t exactly tell you what it is about doors that has me captivated. I could say something about doors being a metaphor for looking into the soul. “Doorway to the soul,” isn’t that the saying? That’s crap (mostly). Sometimes I do wonder what it’s like to live behind an elaborate door. What kinds of people live behind those doors? Do people choose their homes in part based on the door? Are you more interesting for living behind an epic door?
Mostly though, it’s just the doors themselves that draw me in. Walking down the street you might see a dozen ordinary doors, but then one stops you in your tracks (or maybe it’s just me who randomly stops to look at doors). That one quirky, old, vibrant, intricate door that stands out among the regular, ordinary, and mundane. And it’s not just the old doors that are exciting and eye-catching. It’s the brightly painted ones, the ones with fun graffiti, the ones with unique door knobs or wreaths. And sometimes it’s not the door at all. Sometimes, the doorway makes up for an otherwise ordinary door.
Walking with me often requires stopping every block or so, or turning around to find I stopped a while back to take a picture and need to catch up. Sorry, not sorry. I have this thing with doors.