Without question, there’s one experience every person on Earth has from birth to death. That’s unless they are completely motionless. I should clarify. I’m not talking about basic body functions. Eating, drinking, sleeping, and breathing. Let’s say, there’s one experience every person on Earth has in a built environment. Even of the most rudimentary kind.
The impressive ones are huge. Ages ago the common ones were typically smaller. Their use is instinctive. The experience of their use can range from impenetrable to completely transparent.
[Today’s most written about movie has a wide selection of them on show. One of them pivotal in the crux of the story being told. It was penetrated and the course of a war changed.]
Minutes ago, I got up from my chair and walked into another room. I went there with the distinct intention of doing something. By the time I got to the other room, I’d completely forgotten the reason I went there in the first place. It’s took a moment’s double-take to realise my original intent. Then normality was restored. I assure you, this is not an eccentric quirk of mine alone.
Doors do that to people. For a start they are unavoidable. Every construction we’ve ever built must have a means to get from one place to another. A basic part of our human needs is shelter.
In my 1950s house, and that of most other people, they are standardised products of an industrial society. Each with a style and colour that suites its location. Each with a consistent mean of operation. Components manufactured from across the globe. A technical discussion could get incredibly wide ranging, as to the variety of ancient and modern doors. Hinged, sliding, barn, pivot/revolving, swinging/saloon, roller, flush, up-and-over, louvered, or trap doors to name a few. I’ll steer clear of this minefield.
What’s intriguing is the impact doors have on us. Transitioning from one place to another is way beyond a simple physical process. The mind is engaged in movement. Not only the shape and form of the environment but how it changes. A whole plethora of mental processes click into action as we go from A to B.
Starting at the primitive. A calculation we make concerns safety. Is there a threat either here or there? Most of the time this consideration is subconscious. In extreme cases it’s the one overriding consideration. A good reason to read the safety card when sitting on an aircraft.
What struck me this morning is the annoying reality of forgetfulness. It’s a part of life. Yes, there’s the factor of age. This is not the sole factor by a long way. My focus here is on the short-term impact and not a severe one at that. The simple fact of passing through a portal increases the likelihood of a momentary loss of some part of short-term memory. I wonder why?
Here’s an off-the-chuff theory. It’s to do with safety. In going from one environment to another the mind is preparing for whatever might be encountered. Doors by the nature obscure what’s on the other side. Fine, that’s not always true. An open gate, a kind of door, may not hide the path ahead. Whatever, there’s a transition in prospect. A need to process new information on the “other side.” In anticipation of having to process that new information the mind rationalises what it knows. Is my mind saying, now I’ve gone from A to B, I don’t have to bother so much about some of the stuff I’ve left behind.
Well, look at that. The “doorway effect[1]” is in the scientific literature. Me being me. I wonder if there any implications for aviation safety. It could be said that some people, often alcohol induced, leave their common sense behind has they enter an aircraft door. More seriously, evacuating during an incident, does it matter that short-term memory might be impaired?
[1] https://www.sciencefocus.com/science/psychology-doorway-effect-memory
John Vincent 