Sometimes, in life, there are places we need to go which feel wrong. No matter how we rationalise or are persuaded, there remains a frisson of fear, a dose of doubt, or a ration of reluctance.
There can be a very real, physical reaction to this, especially when we are faced with a door between our destination and the place we feel safer, more in control. For the purpose of these words, what lies beyond does not really matter—I am more interested in that act of turning a handle, of pushing or pulling, of stepping through.