Doors are symbolic of many thing.
They are the entry to the unknown. They are the closure on the past.
For the walking a door means a transition from one space to the next.
For me, in a wheelchair, a door is a barrier between me and every destination.
For me, with one hand, a door becomes another giant hurdle to overcome.
Something that feels simple to you and is dealt with thoughtlessly is like an unlocked prison to me.
When doors are held and I say “thank you”, I’m not being polite. I’m actually saying “thank you for allowing me to have the freedom to go” but that seems too long.
When someone steps in front of me. They cut me off. They take advantage of my slowness. I just wait.
I’m not sure I paid attention to whose face the door may have closed on years ago.