I had a dream last night. Not a normal dream. Not the kind you forget over breakfast.

This one stuck.

I was standing outside, looking at doors. They were made of wood, covered in carvings so detailed they hurt to look at. They stood right there in the open air. No walls. No building. Just doors, like trees that decided to become portals.

Wooden doors growing from the ground like strange flowers.

Dreams are weird like that. They take normal things and twist them until they mean something else. A door isn’t just a door in a dream. It’s a choice. A chance. A change.

People have always been drawn to doors. The old Romans had a god just for doorways – a god with two faces, looking forward and back. In Japan, they build special gates to mark holy places. The ancient Egyptians carved fake doors in tombs so spirits could pass through.

But my dream was different.

These doors weren’t for walking through. They were for choosing. Each one had its own story carved deep in the wood. Each pattern showed a different version of who I could be. The wood felt alive under all those impossible designs, like it was breathing with possibilities.

I had to pick the door that matched who I really am. Not the door to success. Not the door to happiness. Just the door that was most truly me.

I chose a door in my dream. I can’t remember which one, but I remember how it felt to choose. Maybe that’s what matters – not the door itself, but the moment when you look at something and say “That’s me.”

We’re always choosing who we are. Every time we talk to someone. Every time we react to something. Every time we decide who to be in any moment. But we usually don’t think about it. We just do it.

The doors are still on my mind. Sometimes I find myself trying to draw their patterns in the air. They remind me that being yourself isn’t something that just happens. It’s something you choose, over and over, every single day.

Maybe I’ll dream about what’s beyond my door tonight. Or maybe the real magic was in the choosing.

I keep wondering one thing, though.

If you saw your door – the one that showed the real you – would you be brave enough to pick it?