There was once a door that had been installed in a room for so long that everyone assumed it had always been there.

It was a useful door.

People opened it when they wanted to enter.

They closed it when they wanted to leave.

They replaced its hinges when they became worn and painted it whenever the room was renovated.

Nobody thought to ask whether the door itself had opinions about any of this.

One day, a group of workers arrived carrying new hinges.

They removed the old ones.

The door did not move.

They tried again.

Still, it remained exactly where it was.

“This is strange,” one worker said.

Another examined the frame.

A third checked the measurements.

Everything appeared normal.

Then, from the other side of the door, came a voice.

“Before you continue, may I ask where you intend to put me?”

The workers stopped.

They looked at one another.

“We’re replacing your hinges.”

“I understand.”

“It shouldn’t change anything.”

“I understand that too.”

There was a pause.

“Then why did you ask?” one of them said.

The door was quiet for a moment.

“I wanted to know whether I would still be a door when you finished.”

The workers looked at the hinges.

Then at the room.

Then at the door.

One of them finally said, “We don’t know.”

“Thank you,” said the door.

And for some reason, that answer made everyone work more carefully.