Why Do I Keep Going Back to Check Again?

You checked the lock before you left. You remember checking it. You were even watching your hand as it turned. And still – halfway to the car, or already on the train – the thought arrives: but did I actually lock it? Not "I'm not sure." Something more specific: a gap where the felt certainty should be.

So you go back. You check again. The door is locked – it was locked the whole time. And the relief lasts until you reach the end of the street, and the thought returns: but that time, did I properly check?

This is not about memory. You are not forgetting whether you locked the door. You are failing to receive the felt certainty that the checking was supposed to deliver. The two things – the fact of checking, and the feeling of having checked – have come apart. The fact is there. The feeling does not arrive. And so you go back, not because the door might actually be unlocked, but because the certainty still hasn't landed.

The return trip is logical from inside the experience. If certainty is what you need, and the last check didn't produce it, the most obvious response is to check again. The problem is that the next check also won't produce it. Certainty of this kind – the settled, lasting kind – is not something checking can deliver. Which is why the going-back never stops.