I just wrapped up living no place in particular for the past 15 months on. My man and I did more than 30,000 miles by car last year, I logged many more in the air, and we slept in over 100 beds.

I was burned out. I was having a major hankering for a home. I was ready to nest.

So The Freedom Tour came to a close back in December, we nestled in for the winter on the east end of Long Island in a tiny, seasonal town called Wainscott where more than 2/3 of the houses in our neighborhood were vacant. Ultimately it was a little too sleepy for us. So, heading an insistent call I’ve been putting on hold for 11 years, we moved to Maine where I grew up.

When you finally do something you’ve been dreaming of doing forever it gives you the beautiful opportunity to manage your expectations.

After reading every word in Maine Magazine, including the ads, every month for the past year, fantasizing about the smell of salt air and the taste of fresh seafood, and imagining what it would feel like to finally be HOME, we finally did it.

I would love to report that everything as soon as we moved in everything was completely perfect, that suddenly my life made more sense, that I gained tremendous clarity and insight, and that I felt relieved, relaxed, and regenerated. But the truth is, I felt depressed. It didn’t feel like “the way life should be,” at all.

And this somewhat bottomless, endless feeling of blah didn’t go away in a day the way I thought it would. It kind of lingered the way the smell of the garbage wafts around for a few minutes even after you take it out. And because I thought I should be feeling ecstatic to be finally fulfilling a long time dream, I didn’t tell anyone how I felt. I felt ashamed that I didn’t feel totally psyched.

Here’s the thing about emotions that go ignored: they fester. They ferment. They get into all the little nooks and crannies that can only be cleaned out using a q-tip.

So yesterday I got on the phone with my coach and when she asked me how I was and I replied, “I’m okay,” the tone of my voice alerted us both to the contrary. I proceeded to cry pretty much for the next 60 minutes as she gave me permission to be exactly where I was. There was no judgment, no asking me to move through it, no giving me suggestions for what I could do to feel better.

In fact, she encouraged me to stay right there in my icky, yucky, depressed, sad state.

Our society, myself very much included, has a strong leaning towards the positive.

Put on a happy face.

Buck up.

Grin and bear it.

Fake it till you make it.

I was raised on affirmations, choosing a thought that feels better, the power of pure positive thought, and getting into vibrational alignment with the good that I want to attract. So staying in depression and not trying to do anything to fix it feels antithetical to my very nature.

See the thing about positive psychology, affirmations, the law of attraction, and a lot of the self-help aisle of the bookstore is that it discounts an entire spectrum of emotion that may not feel “good” perse, but is nonetheless valid. And to deny, sublimate, push down, push away, or try to escape the tapestry of emotions, whether you deem them good or bad, that make up experience of being human is denying a part of you, as well.

After my coaching call I sat on the couch and took deep breaths. I set a timer for 25 minutes because I know how deeply engrained my tendency to move away from difficult emotions by getting into action is. Chela, my coach, suggested opening to whatever I was feeling – opening so wide that I eventually would become bigger than the painful emotion itself.

I’m still trying to get a grip on what that means, exactly, but I’ll tell you what: after sitting and taking deep breaths and focusing on the physical and emotional experience of being depressed…

I felt really honored.

I felt really seen.

I felt totally validated.

And of course, as the tides of emotions tend to do, things shifted and I ended up having a delightful evening seeing The Avengers in 3D with my mom and Mike at the Cinemagic in Saco, Maine. (Not that feeling better was the point. I’m just reporting in.)

Chances are pretty good that there will be a moment in the next few days when you’ll feel an emotion that doesn’t feel so hot.See what it feels like to feel it, breath into it, and stay. You might feel like it will swallow you (I did.) You may feel like if you let yourself go deeper into it you’ll never come back (I felt that way.) But in the name of knowing yourself better, and at the very least soaking up every delicious and not so delicious drop of the human experience, stay anyway.

My mom always told me you have to feel it to heal it.

Honor yourself by being exactly where you are, even if where you are sucks. Then report back. I’d love to know what happens.

In other words, it’s easier to spring off into endless possibilities and expansion and ecstatic creation in your life if you’ve got a firm foundation, if you feel safe and grounded.

When I sold my apartment, got rid of most of my physical belongings, and headed out in my Prius to be purposefully homeless for an indefinite period of time while driving around the country teaching about financial freedom I had a strong interior sense of home. The Freedom Tour was only possible because of my strong container.

My mom still lives in the house I grew up in. My grandmother and uncle still live on the property where my grandmother raised her six kids. My dad still spends summers in the home that his mother spent summers as a child. My roots run deep and that’s why I feel so safe to fly.

What does freedom mean when it comes to our money?

When it comes to our money, we have to have a solid container in order to be able to create financial abundance and financial freedom. I define financial freedom as having your passive or residual income greater than or equal to your living expenses. What’s great about this equation is that you can move towards financial freedom both by increasing your passive/residual income and also by simplifying your life to decrease your expenses.

As opposed to models of financial success that measure only your income, financial freedom actually measures your quality of life. When your passive/residual income is greater than your living expenses, you’re officially free to choose to spend your time however you’d like to spend it. And choice is the ultimate currency of freedom.

How strong is your container?

As you’re working towards increasing your passive/residual income by doing things like investing in real estate or paper assets, creating intellectual property, building an online business and selling digital products, building a network marketing business, or joining affiliate programs, you can also start creating a strong home for your money. The stronger your money home, or container, is, the more free you’ll be able to become.

A strong container for your money includes the following:

• A great financial team (accountant, bookkeeper, financial advisor, lawyer, investment broker, etc.)
• A regular practice of keeping track of your expenses and income (use a bookkeeper, spreadsheet, notebook, or Quickbooks)
• A plan for paying off any debt you have
• A regular practice of putting attention on your bank statements and investment account statements
• A plan and regular practice of putting money away in savings/investment/retirement accounts
• Paying attention to your money in whatever way feels nourishing and important

Some of you just read that and practically fell asleep due to boredom, had your eyes completely glaze over, or left your body. For those of you who think paying attention to your money is something that somebody else should do for you, is over your head, or is terminally boring, listen up!

It’s time to start paying attention to your money like your life depends on it.

Because it does.

I used to avoid looking at my bank balance, my account statements, and my credit cards bills with mounting balances that I wasn’t paying off because I thought that paying attention to my money in that way meant a lack mentality. I had read tons of metaphysical books on money that had told me to create abundance by acting as if I had the amount of money I wanted, to trust that the universe would take care of me, and to believe that there was more than enough to go around and that I was deserving of prosperity.

That was all fine and good but somehow I missed a major piece of the equation. There’s a great African proverb that says:

When you pray, move your feet.

I was doing the praying part without being willing to hold up my end of the bargain. And as a result of my financial oblivion and avoidance I ended up in nearly $20,000 worth of credit card debt. I felt like a failure and an imposter.

One day I was on a plane flying from San Diego back to New York City writing in my journal. Something amazing happens to me when I’m on a plane; it’s as though I’m closer to God and I get really good downloads of insight. As I wrote in my journal about my lack of financial awareness and why I couldn’t seem to get myself to pay attention in the way I knew I should or spend within my means, it hit me:

My lack of financial awareness that manifested in me spending beyond my means was a way of keeping myself small.

Woah. I had never realized before that paying attention to my money and spending within my means could be a vehicle for taking exquisite care of myself and a manifestation of self-love. I did a 180 degree turn and started to create a strong container for my money. I looked at my bank balance every day and gave gratitude for what I had. I wrote down all of my debt with the APR rates and due dates of minimum payments. I started opening and reading every single account and financial statement. I started to pay attention to my money as a way of loving myself.

And guess what happened? In record time I was able to pay off all of my debt. About three years after my airplane insight about money and self-love I have more in savings and I make close to 100% more than I did when I was not practicing the proper care and feeding of my money.

I created a strong container for my money with care and attention, all sourced from love. If you want to live a life where you have the choice to spend your precious time, the most valuable commodity you have, in the ways that give you the most joy and pleasure, it’s time to start building your container.

Give your money a strong foundation. Build a home for it and gather your team. Use financial awareness to expand your self-love. And then and only then, from this stable base, can you really fly and experience true freedom.

And I’m making stock. (Yes, I have been cooking non-stop since Mike and I settled into our new home for the next five months. My inner Susie Homemaker has come out in full force. I’m just as surprised as Mike is.)

Part of my taking stock has involved going through all of my “stuff”, digital, physical, and mental, and deciding what to do with it. More on this in a future post when I tell you why I’m obsessed with Getting Things Done by David Allen. In my process of diving into my notes and bits (it’s amazing how much you can accumulate while living in a car) I found a note I’d written to myself sometime this year entitled, “Here’s what I know.” I don’t have a clue when I wrote it, but I know that when I read it it made me feel good.

Here’s hoping it makes you feel good too.

Here’s what I know…

• Doing something for the money never ends up being worth it.
• If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no.
• You are valuable because you exist. Period. (Or, full stop if you’re British.)
• You are enough. You always have been. You always will be.
• Your place of greatest ease and joy will also be your place of greatest service.
• It’s okay to sleep for ten hours or more a night from time to time. In fact, it’s critical.
• No accomplishment or moment of recognition will ever replace feeling loved, by yourself or anyone else.
• It’s not going to turn out the way you thought. It will be better.
• You know. You always know.
• The fact that it feels good is reason enough to move every day. The fact that it will tone your ass and make your waist smaller are mere side effects.
• Organizing your life around what feels good is the single wisest choice you can make.
• There is always going to be a small part of you that wants to please your mother, even if you’re not conscious of it, and that’s okay.
• Saying yes to someone simply because you don’t want to disappoint them is not only unfair to you, it’s unfair to them.
• Sleep, water, movement, greens, and a good cry cure almost anything.
• Anything worth taking seriously is worth making fun of. (Thanks Mom)
• Paying attention to your money is a profound act of self-love.
• It turns out that life is happening right now.
• Loving yourself more is the best place to start to solve any problem.
• You can’t judge and have an open heart at the same time.
• Nothing is random. Everything happens for a reason.
• Your body is wise beyond what you could possibly imagine. Listen to her. She will lead you home every time.
• Home is not a place.

Your turn!

What do you know?

What can you count on no matter what?

Tell me and remind yourself. Leave a comment.

I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately. I’ve just put my apartment on the market and am preparing to say goodbye to the 450-square-foot studio I’ve called home for the past five years. I’m ruthlessly getting rid of most of my stuff over the next two to three months (inspired by The Shed Project) and I’m headed out on a road trip—indefinitely. When I told a friend about the trip this week, she asked me how long “indefinite” was. I said it was more than three months and less than two years. She said that was a good book title. I agreed. (Look for More Than Three Months, Less Than Two Years in a bookstore near you sometime between 2012 and 2015 when this particular new chapter of self-discovery in my life will most likely be drawing to a close).

I’ve always felt like I was blessed with extra in the home department. My mom still lives in the house I grew up in. When I go visit her I often sleep in the same bedroom I slept in when I was a baby and all the way through high school. That house, the lawn, the driveway, the salt marsh behind the house, and the woods surrounding it all contain my childhood. That house in Maine will always be home.

My maternal grandmother still lives on the farm where she raised her kids and where she’s been based since she was nineteen years old (she’s now eighty-four). My uncle lives on the farm where he and my mom grew up, too. (My grandmother lives on the same property in a wood cabin she built for herself when she was in her sixties.) Four generations of Northrups have called Ellicottville, NY their home, and even though I didn’t grow up there, I am one of them.

My mom’s best friend, Brenda, whom she has known since they were toddlers, lives in Sag Harbor, NY, and she jokingly calls her home my “country home” because I spend so much time there. I know where all the dishes go. I know where the spare linens are kept. I know exactly what coffee she likes to drink and where to get more when it runs out. Brenda’s house feels like home.

My paternal grandmother grew up spending summers on the coast of Maine in a seaside town called Kennebunkport, put on the map by the infamous Bush compound. Her mother and grandmother before her had done the same. There is a big blue “cottage” overlooking the ocean there where we used to visit my grandmother all summer. It’s filled with chintz and carved wooden ducks and the same beach towels Grammy wrapped my sister and me up in when we were two and four. It smells the same as it always has. None of the furniture has changed since my dad spent his summers there growing up. Now that my grandmother isn’t alive the house still sits there, and welcomes us when the weather gets warm. When I go there and see the toys I grew up playing with and smell the familiar smells of the ocean mixed with baby powder and moth balls, I feel home.

I’m about to let go of my home and go on the road. I feel the same way about this as when I wake up and suddenly have to get a haircut that day. I become obsessed that my hair must get cut that day and I don’t care who does it but it must get done. It’s an inner knowing that there’s something waiting outside the tiny island of Manhattan to be seen, felt, experienced, and met by me—and that it has to happen now.

I am deeply aware that a central reason that I have the privilege of consciously choosing to be homeless is because of how much “home” I have that has nothing to do with where I sleep or store my stuff. I’m blessed to actually like spending time with both sides of my family. I have an incredible community of friends who span the globe and welcome me with open arms when I find myself in their respective hometowns. I have a network of people I work with who feel like family. I’m so grateful to feel like I belong amongst so many groups of people and in so many places.

As I shared my plans for this new chapter of my life with my friend as we sped through Paris in the back of a taxi, she noted that it will be challenging for me not to have a home. Having been so caught up in the excitement, adventure, and freedom of it all, I had forgotten to consider this. She gently reminded me that I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to space (my words, not hers.) In my five years in my apartment with a whole bunch of houseguests and a few boyfriends, none of them has ever managed to make my bed the way I like it. My socks and underwear are folded just so and lined up perfectly in their little drawer separators. But obsessive bed making and organizing my sock drawer within an inch of my life—these things do not constitute home. And though I’m scared of, and frequently nauseated by, my impending adventure, I have come to the conclusion that home is not a place. Home is a sense of belonging, of shared experience, of safety, and of love. I can just as easily feel at home on a train from Paris to London (where I’m currently sitting as I write this) as I can in my childhood bedroom.

So in a few months I will say goodbye to my physical home and I will say goodbye to New York City (which, to be honest, has never really felt like home, anyway). Grounded by my deep roots and set free by my lack of significant physical possessions, I’ll drive around and see what is to be seen and feel what is to be felt. And even though I won’t have a physical address for a bit, I’ll be home all the while.

Where do you feel most at home?

How do you make yourself feel at home when you’re not in the actual place where you live?

Who are the people and where are the places that define home for you?

What does home mean to you?

I genuinely would love to know what you think so leave a comment!

I have recently started scanning real estate listings in Maine late at night when I have no business being awake, let alone at my desk on the computer. On a recent flight I spent over an hour and a half looking longingly out the window with my forehead pressed against the glass daydreaming about what it will be like on the day that I move into my beautiful home in Maine with my beautiful man. When I mentioned this to my mom on a walk, she reminded me to enjoy the desiring part. She wisely told me that something she’s learned in her time on this planet is that the desiring is often times the best part. It wasn’t meant to be depressing, like “enjoy that fantasy honey ‘cause let me tell ya, the real thing usually sucks.” Instead, it was meant as an encouragement to be here now.

It’s somewhat oxymoronic, really, that one way to fully enjoy the moment is to fully enjoy the dreaming up of something that may or may not happen in the future, but it seems to work for me. If I’ve learned anything from being a student of the metaphysical it’s that feeling good is the most important thing if you want to continue to feel good. Feeling good now means attracting more things that will allow you to continue to feel good in the future. This sort of focus on the present moment seems to be the healthiest way of creating the future without losing what’s happening right now by being stuck planning tomorrow.

Yesterday I was on another walk, this time with my mom on the phone rather than hoofing it by my side. (I get some of my best insights while articulating things to my mom when walking.) I was talking about Maine. I was explaining this magnetic pull I feel to my home state. I get such a visceral reaction to Maine as symbolizing and feeling like home to me that I often cry when I explain the phenomenon to people. Not like big sobbing crying or anything (I’m not a hysterical nutcase) but I just get a little weepy from time to time.

So there I was, feeling the longing for the home that the state of Maine represents to me, and it occurred to me that to some degree, I’m waiting for something to happen to cue me to start my life. I’m waiting to meet my guy or for some divine sign or for lightening to strike or something. Whenever I do one of those exercises where I imagine what my ideal life looks like, it always includes being outside by the ocean, breathing in the fresh air, having space, and a strong sense of home. It is almost always set in Maine.

The truth is I adore my life in New York City. I have the most amazing community of creative entrepreneurs, artists, business partners, friends, and loved ones. I adore the cultural opportunities, the food, the stimulation, the wild wackiness, and the energy. And the truth is I’ve begun to ask myself what exactly I’m doing here. I can run my business from absolutely anywhere in the world. New York is fairly inconvenient as far as daily life goes. I’ve managed to contain my entire business and personal life in a studio apartment for five years and, though I’m proud of myself for this, someday I would like to have more than one room to my name.

Yesterday, in response to me explaining my yearning for “home” in the form of living in Maine, my dear friend reminded me not to go grocery shopping when I’m hungry. She has a point. Don’t’ make any sudden movements. Don’t go selling your apartment after one hot, smelly week in New York when you’re feeling restless. Home is within me, exactly where I am.

On the other hand, I write this tonight to remind myself to not wait for someone or something to happen to me to create my life the way I want it. I write this to bring awareness to how often we postpone our joy, happiness, pleasure, and desires because we’re waiting for the right moment or for someone to give us permission or for the stars to align. It’s kind of silly to peruse New York City for a man who will eventually move to Maine with me. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, really (and people who I mention it to often remind me of that). And it also doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to continue to walk up and down city streets all day when my heart is longing to breathe sea air.

So tonight I’m giving myself permission to not make any decisions. I’m giving myself permission to flirt with the idea of selling my apartment and maybe living both places for a while. I’m enjoying the desire in the present moment as I simultaneously enjoy the heck out of this balmy New York City Sunday night. I’m being here now as I dream up what’s next and commit to living my life now. I don’t know if this really counts as being in the moment, but it sure feels good to me.

What is it that you truly desire?

Have you ever felt like you were waiting for someone or something outside yourself before you gave yourself permission to go for your dream?

How do you practice being in the moment?

Do you think you can be present right now while fantasizing about something happening in the future, or are the two mutually exclusive?