You’re halfway through binge-watching a show when you suddenly feel thirsty. You pause the episode and head to the kitchen. On the way, you spot a snack wrapper on the floor and toss it in the bin. You finally enter the kitchen and completely blank out. Why did I come in here? You look around, confused, trying to remember—then walk back to the living room, only to see the paused screen and remember: ‘Oh right! The water bottle.’ That is what the Doorway Effect is all about. Now, zoom out. What if this isn’t just about walking into your kitchen and forgetting the water bottle—but about moving cities, switching careers, or turning old and not recognizing the dreams your 17-year-old self saw anymore?
What is the Doorway Effect?
This effect is a psychological phenomenon where forgetfulness is triggered by moving between rooms—going somewhere with a clear purpose, only to forget it upon arrival.
According to a study by psychologist Gabriel Radvensky and his colleagues, walking through a physical doorway creates a mental boundary in our brain. It sees the shift in our surroundings as a natural point to wrap things up and start fresh, often dropping whatever was on our mental to-do list in the process. The brain, being the organized system it is, uses environmental changes to segment our memories and avoid overload. Doorways trigger a mental “file save” moment, shutting one context and opening another blank file. Helpful when you need to stay focused on what’s in front of you. Less helpful when you’re left standing in your kitchen, wondering if you came for water or if you just entered the wrong room. The Doorway Effect has been sneaking up on people for ages. While most people blame their poor memory or inability to pay attention, it is just our brain’s way of keeping things moving and accommodating new information.Â
Doorways in Life
Moving to a new city. Graduating. Getting into a relationship. Getting out of one. Changing careers. These are all doorways we come across in real life. These transitions cue our brain to shift gears, drop previous goals, and fully focus on adjusting. We step into a new phase, and suddenly our old priorities vanish. We can’t remember why we wanted what we once wanted. We blame burnout, distraction, and laziness but it’s not necessarily a lack of motivation or discipline—it could just be the Doorway Effect. Only this time, we are more deeply connected to the previous rooms.
The Comfort of Forgetting
We usually treat forgetting like a flaw—a sign of distraction, a glitch in the brain. Sometimes, it’s our mind choosing what’s worth holding onto at the moment. Forgetting, especially the kind caused by things like the Doorway Effect, isn’t always a failure of memory. It’s clearing space. It’s letting go. It’s a brain function to prevent overload. Yes, forgetting why you walked into the kitchen is annoying. But it’s also our brain making a call—“This probably isn’t essential right now.” It helps us recentre and focus on what is more important (even if that ends up being snacks).
In life transitions, this goes even deeper. When we move on from one chapter to another, forgetting can make the transition easier. We forget the sting of a rejection letter from that college we really wanted to get into, the awkwardness of starting something new, or the doubts we had about ourselves. Not because they weren’t real, but because our brain knows it’s time to look ahead instead of behind. It may sometimes feel weird but it’s also comforting to know you don’t have to carry everything with you all the time. Even if that means making two trips to the kitchen.
What Did We Leave Behind?
In its effort to protect and streamline, our brain sometimes clears out things we didn’t mean to lose. We forget more than just why we walked into a room. We forget old dreams, old habits, and versions of ourselves that once felt permanent. The poems we used to write and the pictures we sketched on the back of a notebook now feel like distant memories.
We often don’t realize what’s missing until something unexpected brings it back—an old journal, a saved voice note, a random photo in your camera roll. And suddenly, we’re face-to-face with a part of ourselves we forgot existed. We’re not just forgetful. We’re edited. Subtly shaped by each transition, every room we walk into, every chapter we start. A constant work-in-progress, pieced together by moments we live through.
The point is, we don’t need to fight our brains to remember every tiny thing. It is just doing its job—keeping us moving forward, and helping us adapt. The little traces we leave behind—like saving a voice note, jotting a single journal line, or creating a folder for half-formed thoughts—are enough to hold on to what mattered before we stepped through a new doorway.
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