(Connor O'Brien / Heights Editor)
Ruby red accent, ornately carved cedar panel, or a decorative Tudor with a Christmas wreath—front doors are one of my favorite things about a home.
Growing up, I was fascinated by the style of front doors my friends had. Whether it was a deep gray door with a modern wide frame or a decorative mahogany with an accent window, I developed associations between my friends and their entryways. As I entered their homes for the first time, I loved inspecting family photos, interior design quirks, exciting wallpaper—anything that reflected a family’s uniqueness.
Although I love the physical appeal of a well-curated doorway, it’s more than just a piece of wood and a frame. Doorways are full of encouragement and invitation. My mind jumps to novelty dog shoe mats, pink birthday garlands, “welcome home” banners after a semester away, or gifts and flowers left at the doorsteps. Embracing newness and expanding one’s perspective begins and ends with doorways.
Whenever I enter a new threshold, I channel the guidance of my loved ones. I fondly remember my grandpa reminding me to confidently throw my shoulders back and quickly disarm people with an immediate introduction. My closest friends push me to fill new doorways and spaces with laughter and light so that connections can unfold. My mom and sister’s advice empowers me to enter new spaces with an inclusive attitude and unwavering self-confidence. Learning to channel their lesson— entering new spaces with curiosity, humility, and laughter—is a skill I’m working to cultivate in my senior year.
I think back to July 2022, when I sat pensively in Robsham Theater for freshman orientation. The director of the Office of First Year Experience shared a story from his time at BC about the impact standing in new doorways had on his college experience.
He recalled the waves of curiosity and bravery his first year at BC required, and how he frequently attended faculty office hours to discuss topics that interested him. To the audience of 300 half-interested freshmen, he introduced the image of “waddling” into new doorways.
Looking back on my three years at BC, I’ve learned to embrace uncomfortable moments—standing awkwardly in doorways of club meetings, office hours, speaker events, and friends’ dorms. These moments of curiosity and subtle courage have defined my BC experience, as I continue chasing the adventure of finding new spaces and faces on campus.
As I discern my path through senior year, I hope to continue lingering in doorways—not only for where they might lead me, but for what they continue to teach me about who I am.
That freshman-year lecture about waddling, awkwardly yet bravely, into new rooms resonates with me now more than ever. He wasn’t just talking about literal doors. He was talking about moving through uncertainty with curiosity, humility, and just enough courage to step in. At the time, I admired the image of waddling—not walking confidently, not striding in perfectly prepared—but entering slowly and committing to seeing the other side.
As a senior, I reflect on these moments of waddling. But I also notice those around me doing the same—friends nervously raising their hands in a seminar, sticking around after class to ask questions, or introducing themselves to someone new and saying “yes” without knowing what will come next. These are all ways of crossing thresholds. These small acts say something about our character, just as the decorative frames and colors of our physical doors do.
But it’s not just the design of the doorway—it’s how we move through it that matters. Doorways reveal our behavior, our readiness to invite or to be invited, to be seen or to remain unseen. From the doors of Stuart Dining Hall to those of Fulton Hall, I’ve learned to enter spaces with intention, to pause with presence, and to recognize the quiet power of lingering just long enough to be changed.
Now, as I step into my final seasons at BC and prepare for whatever doorways await beyond, I carry with me the magic I’ve found in the in-between—the lingering, the laughing, the wobbling, the wondering. I’m learning to love the entrance just as much as what lies inside.