I have an embarrassing confession to make: when my sister + I were kids, small enough to ride in the backseat but big enough to risk leaning over the center console, distracting my mother, we made fun of my neighbors’ front door for months.
They’d painted it turquoise, the rest of the house a stark white stucco, set back from the road and sheltered by perfectly manicured shrubs and flowers.
Every time we drove past, one of us would lean forward and gawk, open-mouthed, at the obnoxious color choice. Who did they think they were, splashing the very entrance to their world with something so bold?
Now, a decade or so later, I have fallen hard for front doors. The charm of a southern porch screen door, thwacking against the wood frame. The bravery of a golden entryway tucked in the back alley of a city. The fierceness of an auburn storm door blockading an old farmhouse from winter blizzards.
Doors are, after all, the entrances to our true lives. Step inside someone’s house at a moment’s notice and watch as she either scrambles to stack Good Housekeeping back issues on a coffee table and kick matchbox cards under sofa skirts. Or as he leaps over half-finished art projects and dinosaur invasion stagings.
Notice the way it looks to be lived in, unabashedly tainted with the presence of someone else’s whole heart + soul.
That’s what hides behind those brightly colored doors: it’s freedom, it’s honesty, it’s optimism.
When every other house on the street boasts burnt browns and faded taupes, I want to relish in rich mahogany and creamy corals and buzzing kelly greens. I want people to know that the other side of that door holds a mess of happiness + chaos, comfort + warmth.
So today, I’ve rounded up my favorite doors, the ones I’d stop to knock on if ever my kids sell sugar cookie dough + pizza kits for club soccer + art camp.