The decision you make before you park

The readiness move

Everyone thinks about the walk back to the car. Almost nobody thinks about the ten seconds that determined what that walk would be like.

You pull in. There's a space near the door and a space under a light, and the one near the door is closer, and you take it. That decision took no time at all and you will live inside it for however long you're gone.

Because parking isn't about where you are now. It's about where you'll be when you come back — possibly in the dark, possibly with your hands full, possibly when the lot is a great deal emptier than it is right now.

Here's the move. Before you pull in, ask one question: what will this look like in three hours?

That's it. One question, and it reorders everything.

Under a light. Near a building entrance or a camera. Nose out if you can, so leaving is one motion instead of three. And not boxed in by something tall on the side you'll approach from.

None of that takes longer than parking badly. It just takes deciding thirty seconds earlier than you're used to.

One more, and it's the one people skip. Have the keys out before you leave the building. Not in the bag, not "I'll find them on the way." In your hand.

Fumbling at the door is the single most exposed moment of the whole trip: you're stationary, facing away, both hands occupied, at exactly the point where you can't leave.

Keys out turns that from thirty seconds into two.

Park for the return, not the arrival.

Everything above happens before you get out of the car. What you do in the first four seconds inside is a separate habit.

The anxiety tax

The cost you're already paying — and can't see on any ledger.

Ask people what they do about car parks and you'll hear a lot of vigilance and very little planning. Scanning. Keys between the fingers. Phone to the ear. Walking fast.

All of that is work done during the exposed moment, which is the most expensive time to do anything.

And it costs more than the moment. It's the errand you moved to daylight. The class you left early. The evening thing you didn't book because of what came after it. Each decision small, none of them worth mentioning, all of them adding up to a life that's slightly smaller than it was.

Thirty seconds of thought at the start of the trip does more than thirty minutes of vigilance at the end of it — and it costs you nothing you were using.

From the field

A note from Carmen —

I've had this conversation in a lot of rooms, and there's always a moment where someone says — a little defensively — that they shouldn't have to think about this.

They're right. They shouldn't.

And I'm not going to pretend that changes anything about tonight. What I can tell you is that the thinking gets cheaper the earlier you do it, and there is an enormous difference between deciding something in advance and deciding it while your heart rate is climbing.

This one is about as cheap as it gets. You are already parking. You are already choosing a space. All I'm asking is that you choose it for the version of you who comes back.

— Carmen “The Momba”

Field note

The Three-Hour Question

Next time you park, ask: what will this look like in three hours? Then check four things — it takes seconds.

• Light. Will there be any, when I come back?
• Sightlines. Can I see around what's next to me — and can anyone see me?
• The approach. How far do I walk, and past what?
• The exit. Can I leave in one motion?

And keys in your hand before you leave the building. Every time, not just the times that feel like they warrant it — a habit you only use when you're nervous isn't a habit.