A few years ago, I moved to a new city with no job lined up and barely any savings. I was crashing on a friend’s couch and spending my days walking around the neighborhood, trying to get a sense of the place. Every morning I passed this beautiful old apartment building—the top-floor corner unit had huge windows that let the sunlight pour in. I used to slow down as I passed it, half-joking to myself, “That one’s mine.”
It was way out of my price range. I knew that. Still, I couldn’t stop picturing myself living there. At night, I’d lie on the couch and imagine opening the door, hearing it creak, walking into the kitchen to make tea, watching the light hit the hardwood floor. I didn’t really believe in manifestation back then—I just did it because it made me feel better. But over time, the visualization turned into a quiet ritual.
Then something weird happened. The listing for that exact unit popped up online—and the rent had dropped. By a lot. It was still a stretch, but just barely within reach. That same week, I got an unexpected freelance gig. The client paid me up front for three months, which was enough to cover first month’s rent and the deposit almost to the dollar.
I signed the lease a few days later. When I moved in, I remember standing in the middle of the empty apartment and watching the light fill the same corner I had pictured so many times. It was exactly how I had imagined it.
I stayed in that place for almost two years. It became my home in every sense. Looking back, I still don’t totally understand how it worked—but I’m glad I kept dreaming anyway.