I can manifest parking spots.

Costco. Target. Ikea in Chicago. It doesn’t matter.

I pull into the parking lot and, somehow, the first spot opens.

Not always, of course. I am not God with a Jeep Cherokee. But often enough that it has become a thing. A family bit. One of those tiny pieces of lore your people start repeating about you. One of the things I snap a pic and text to the non-believers in my family.

“Mom will get a good spot.”

And the ridiculous thing is, 9 times out of 10 I do.

What Manifesting Parking Spots Taught Me About Faith

It started years ago after I watched The Secret, which is both wildly cheesy and also one of those things I apparently absorbed directly into my bloodstream. There was a part about starting small. About practicing belief on something that didn’t carry a ton of emotional weight.

A parking spot.

So I tried it.

I would pull into a busy lot and instead of immediately bracing myself for irritation, I’d decide there was a spot waiting for me. I’d picture it. I’d thank the universe for it before I even saw it. I’d drive toward the front like a woman with absolutely no business being that confident about grocery store logistics.

And then, almost annoyingly, someone would back out.

There it was.

The first spot.

At first, I laughed. Then I started paying attention.

Because one parking spot is nothing. It’s coincidence. It’s timing. It’s a car leaving at the exact right second.

But when it happens over and over again, you start to wonder if maybe the point was never the parking spot.

Maybe the point was the practice.

Maybe the universe, the law of attraction, or God, or source, or whatever word feels least loaded in your own body, was giving me a tiny, low-stakes way to build faith.

The Difference Between Manifestation and Control

Not faith like certainty.

Faith like openness.

Faith like, “What if this works out?”
Faith like, “What if I don’t have to assume disappointment first?”
Faith like, “What if I could be grateful before the evidence arrives?”

That’s what parking spots became for me.

Proof.

Not proof that the universe is a valet service.

I don’t think manifestation means I get to snap my fingers and make the world rearrange itself around my errands.

I think parking spots became tiny experiments in faith.

They taught me what it felt like to want something without gripping it to death.

They taught me the difference between expectation and entitlement.

They taught me that I could ask for something, believe it was possible, take the next inspired action, and let the rest unfold without spiraling into control.

Which, honestly, is harder than it sounds.

Because most of us are not very good at wanting.

We’re good at worrying.
We’re good at preparing for disappointment.
We’re good at making backup plans for our backup plans.
We’re good at pretending we don’t care because wanting something too much feels embarrassing and shameful.

But manifestation asks something different of us.

We don’t manifest because we’re certain. We manifest because we’re willing to be surprised.

Think about it.

Every parking spot is a tiny act of optimism.

You pull into Costco and, for a moment, you decide:

“Maybe something good is about to happen.”

And then you collect evidence.

Then you do it again.

And again.

Eventually, you’re not just manifesting parking spots anymore. You’re becoming a person who instinctively believes:

“Things work out for me.”

That’s huge.

Because women in midlife often do the opposite. We’ve collected decades of evidence for why things won’t work.

The marriage won’t get better.
The weight won’t come off.
The dream is too late.
The business won’t work.
The house is out of reach.
The debt will always be there.

We’re professional disappointment forecasters.

But manifestation asks us to admit what we want.

It asks us to believe we might actually be allowed to have it.

It asks us to move toward it.

And then it asks us to loosen our grip.

Tiny Experiments in Faith and Possibility

The parking spot was never about the parking spot.

It was about learning how to be in relationship with desire.

Small desire first.

The front spot at Target.
The unexpected $20.
The table that opens at the crowded restaurant.
The email that shows up right when you need it.
The idea that lands in your lap on an ordinary Tuesday morning.

Tiny little breadcrumbs that remind you, “Hey. You are not alone out here. Keep going.”

And once you start practicing with the small things, it becomes easier to practice with the bigger things.

The house.
The business.
The debt.
The healing.
The version of your life you’re almost afraid to name out loud.

Not because the big things are easier.

Because you have built a relationship with trust.

You have practiced enough to know that not everything has to be forced. Not everything has to be wrestled into existence. Not everything has to arrive through panic, overthinking, and white-knuckling your way through every possible outcome.

Not everything has to be hard.

Sometimes you ask.
Sometimes you believe.
Sometimes you take the next step.
Sometimes you say thank you before you have any proof at all.

And sometimes, just as you pull in and the first spot opens.

Not because the universe is rewarding you with better parking.

But because somewhere along the way, you became the kind of person who leaves room for good things to happen.