There’s something about standing in a doorway that makes you pause. Maybe it’s the weight of the door handle in your hand, or the way light spills differently on either side. Whatever it is, doorways have always been more than just architectural necessities—they’re thresholds where one world ends and another begins.

The Space Between
Every culture seems to understand this intuitively. The Japanese perform a ritual removal of shoes at the genkan, the entrance area of a home. It’s not just about cleanliness—it’s about acknowledging the transition from the chaos of the outside world to the sacred space of home. You’re literally stepping out of one version of yourself and into another.

In Jewish tradition, the mezuzah marks the doorframe as a reminder of faith and protection every time you pass through. Touch it, kiss your fingers, and you’ve acknowledged the threshold. You’ve made the crossing intentional rather than mindless.

The Romans had Janus, a god with two faces—one looking forward, one looking back—who presided over doorways, gates, and transitions. They understood what we sometimes forget: you can’t step into the new without turning away from the old. Both directions matter.

Liminal Spaces
Anthropologists have a term for what doorways represent: liminal space. It comes from the Latin word for threshold, and it describes that in-between state where you’re neither here nor there. You’re in transition, suspended between what was and what will be.
This is why doorways show up so often in our pivotal moments. The bride carried across the threshold. The graduate walking through the arch. The mourners who sit shiva, sometimes covering mirrors and opening doors to welcome visitors into a space transformed by grief. These aren’t just traditions—they’re acknowledgments that crossing a threshold changes us.

The Spiritual Doorway
Many spiritual traditions see doorways as places where the veil between worlds grows thin. In Celtic folklore, doorways at twilight were considered particularly powerful—neither fully day nor night, neither inside nor outside. Shamanic practices across cultures speak of journeying through doorways to access other realms of consciousness.
Even in our secular moments, we feel this. Think about the last time you stood in a doorway during a significant moment in your life. Maybe you were leaving home for college, or entering a hospital room, or stepping into a new job. That pause before crossing—that’s ancient wisdom living in your body. Your soul knows that thresholds matter.

Everyday Thresholds
But here’s what I find most beautiful: you don’t need a life-changing event to experience the power of doorways. Every single day, you cross dozens of thresholds. The bedroom to the bathroom. The car to the office. Home to the world and back again.

What if we treated them with a fraction of the reverence our ancestors did? What if, instead of rushing through on autopilot, we paused for just a breath? Acknowledged what we’re leaving behind and what we’re stepping toward?
The doorway to your home after a hard day of work is an opportunity to release what no longer serves you. The threshold of your morning routine is a chance to set an intention for the day ahead. These small crossings, done consciously, become ceremonies. They become choices.
Standing in the Doorway
Sometimes the most powerful place to be is right there in the threshold—not rushing to get through, but standing in the doorway itself. This is where transformation happens. In the not-yet, in the no-longer, in the space between.

When you’re ending something—a relationship, a job, a chapter of life—you stand in that doorway. When you’re beginning something new—a creative project, a healing journey, a bold change—you stand in that doorway. And it can feel uncomfortable because doorways aren’t meant for dwelling. They’re meant for crossing. But maybe that discomfort is the point. Maybe that’s where growth lives.

An Invitation
So I invite you to notice the doorways in your life. The literal ones, yes—but also the metaphorical thresholds you cross each day. The moment between sleeping and waking. The breath before you speak. The decision to let go or hold on.
Each one is an ending and a beginning, braided together in a single step.
Each one is an opportunity to cross over consciously, to honor what was and welcome what will be.
Because ultimately, life isn’t lived in rooms—it’s lived in the crossing. In the doorways. In the sacred, liminal space where everything changes and nothing stays the same.

The door is open. Will you step through?

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