to stay at that job that sucks our soul

to stay with that person who doesn’t bring out our best

to stay on the couch instead of taking a walk

to stay exactly where we are.

Part of my creation of and embarkation upon The Freedom Tour was a conscious move toward simplicity. I sold an apartment, got rid of two-thirds of my belongings, and decided to be homeless indefinitely. I bought a Prius, filled it with the stuff I thought I would really need, and then threw in a few extra pairs of shoes, a sunny outlook, and an open heart. Then I said goodbye to life as I knew it.

There’s a feeling of fullness that comes from letting go that can’t be replicated in any other way. (Click to Tweet)

What I got from cultivating simplicity via releasing what no longer served me (books, clothing, a home, a city, business agreements, and some psychic contracts) was a lot of space for what did serve me.

I’ve heard it told that nature abhors a vacuum. First you must be willing to let go of what’s no longer working in your life (physical, spiritual, emotional, whatever, what have you.) Then most of the time you’ve actually got to let go of it. (And no, breaking up with your dead-beat boyfriend and then texting him for late night sleepovers does not count as letting go.)

And then this beautiful thing happens. You sit with the discomfort of the empty space (be it a cupboard, a slot in your schedule, or a place in your heart.) You get your chakras all spinning in the right direction. You get your vibration running on high.

Then the universe, God, Goddess, the Divine, all that there is, the great beyondananda, or whatever you want to call it brings you something better. Often way better than anything you could have imagined in your wildest dreams.

When I did all of my letting go in early 2011, I sat in my empty apartment and sobbed the night I left New York. The vacuum felt pretty painful at first. As each person left my apartment, holding something of mine that I’d let go of, I felt a bit panicked. What if I end up needing that thing that I’ve just given away?

I of course followed my fear of needing that thing that was walking out the door all the way to its inevitable end-point:

What if I’m making a huge mistake and my life is over? What have I done?

And thinking that thought felt extremely painful. So I reminded myself that not only was my stuff in very good friends with all of my loved ones, but I could come back to New York City any time and pick up right where I left off.

Surrendering to the great unknown of emptiness freaked me out. And it made me feel free. And in that freedom and open space I manifested great love with a man I adore, a much deeper connection to my worth, a trust in my voice I’d never found before, more money, a book deal, and a life I’m in love with.

Remember, nature abhors a vacuum. The emptiness will be filled with great if you’re willing to give up crappy, ho-hum, or even good. The sheer act of releasing something that no longer serves you is a giant message that you know you’re worth more. It’s like a smoke signal of your divine value.

A year and a half after starting The Freedom Tour on February 2, 2011 I’m probably due for a new vacuum. I’ll begin with my t-shirt drawer and shoes and see where it goes from there. The great thing about letting go is that you can start anywhere.

Vacuums are transferable. If you want to attract more clients, try cleaning out your sock drawer. If you’re looking to increase your income, see if you can create some extra space in your garage.

Let something go. Even if it’s little. Create a vacuum. Send that smoke signal declaring your divine worth out to the ether. Sit with the emptiness and feel what that feels like. And then relish the beauty that manifests as nature fills that vacuum with goodies.

And please report back.

What was the point in grinning and bearing it through hours of practicing something you had no intention of doing past graduation? What was the point of wasting hours of our precious childhood just so as not to be seen as a “quitter.” I just didn’t get it. It turns out, this same philosophy applies to my adult life (and perhaps to yours.)

I’m a quitter and proud of it. It means I’m in hot pursuit of my passion and purpose. It means I know what feels good and what doesn’t. It meant I value my time, my energy, and myself.

When I left on The Freedom Tour and told people I was going on an “indefinite road trip around North America” the most common question I got was, “For how long?” to which I would reply, “Until I’m done.”

In early September my man Mike and I decided not to go to Asia in Spring 2012 because it just didn’t feel right to either of us. So we decided to stay put somewhere for six months or so. We were already in Scottsdale, AZ and since I have family there and the weather is awesome in the winter, we decided that was our spot. We found a gorgeous apartment. We scouted yoga classes and rock gyms and juice bars.

Two weeks ago I was in NYC for Marie Forleo‘s spectacular event Rich, Happy, and Hot Live. I told my friends who I ran into on Friday night that I was moving to Scottsdale, AZ. Every time I said it, the response was, “Why?” And inside me every time I said I was moving there, I asked myself, “Why?”

Do you ever make a plan just so you can have something to tell people?

I called Mike that night and he told me my aunt and uncle were leaving Scottsdale and given that they were basically my only community there, it suddenly dawned on me that there was no good reason to move there. Moreover, it didn’t feel good, and quite frankly that’s all that matters.

Based pretty much all on instinct and what feels good, Mike and I have decided to move to Sag Harbor, NY. We’re actually going to sign a lease and stay put. I’m going to teach yoga. We’re going to eat vegetables, build solid businesses, and work out with consistency. (All of these things, and more, have been challenging on the road.) I’m going to write a book and hibernate.

Yes, it appears that that moment of “Until I’m done” has arrived. The Freedom Tour is winding down in absolute perfect timing.

Have I done everything I planned on The Freedom Tour? No. Absolutely not. In fact, the last nine months turned out nothing like I had imagined. They were better.

Those parents of my childhood friends might look at me and call me a quitter. This year I ended a business partnership that I’d invested three and a half years in. I ended another business partnership that I’d invested several thousand miles, several thousand brain cells, and several months in. I bowed out on an investment where I had a large chunk of change coming my way. I said no to a sponsorship deal with several zeros even though the paperwork had already been signed.  None of these things felt right anymore so I quit.

Call me a quitter. I welcome it.

Just like it makes no sense to spend an entire winter of beautiful afternoon hours in a stinky gym if you don’t even like basketball just so you won’t be a quitter, it makes no sense to keep doing anything that no longer feels right or feels good. Even if you’ve invested thousands of hours or thousands of dollars. Even if it will disappoint someone. Even if it used to feel like a good idea and suddenly it doesn’t anymore.

It doesn’t matter. I give you permission to quit. If you feel done, you’re done. That’s the only information you need. Let it go. Expand your expense allowance for “projects that I decided not to pursue further because they didn’t feel good” and simply write it off at the end of the year. Let it go. Move on. Quit.

There will never be a payoff after spending time, resources, and precious energy doing something that no longer feels good that will make it worth it. I promise. It just won’t happen.

So, I’m quitting The Freedom Tour as it currently exists. I don’t quite know what it will morph into, but I’m certainly not quitting on freedom.

Next up: an exploration of freedom within the structure of living in one place and having regular routines. Stay tuned.

What are you doing that doesn’t feel good anymore?

What are you doing that doesn’t feel right anymore?

What do you continue to do just so you won’t be a quitter?

Have you ever been called a quitter? Why?

What are you ready to quit?

What are you ready to let go of? Leave a declaration here!

Leave a comment. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say on this!

My first boyfriend wrote me a poem for my sixteenth birthday that, paraphrased, went something like:

Child of Atlas, release the world from your shoulders. It will remain in place, remain in its eternal spin, without you holding it up.

My tendency to feel responsible for every being on the planet was so apparent early on that it inspired poetry in a teenage boy. At the time my parents were going through a divorce and somewhere along the line I got the message that the most important thing was to “keep it together.” So I made looking like I had it together a career. And I rocked it.

Cozy in the driver’s seat.

I’m the youngest member of my immediate family and yet I’m always the driver. I love to drive any chance I get. Being in the driver’s seat, literally and metaphorically, is where I’m cozily tucked into my comfort zone. I’m in control. I’m making it happen. The world is my oyster. It’s up to me. I’m in charge. The wild blue yonder sprawls out in front of me. I feel powerful. I feel like I have it together.

I left NYC on January 25th, said goodbye to most of what I own and to life as I have known it, and hit the road on The Freedom Tour on February 2nd. My vision was that I would drive myself around North America indefinitely in my little white Prius named Zoe.*

I had images of my hair blowing in the wind, my aviators shielding my eyes from the gorgeous desert sun, and a scarf billowing luxuriously from my neck. I thought I would be driving around having profound thoughts on life and freedom. I had this whole romantic notion of just how it would look with me at the helm, fabulously occupying the driver’s seat. And looking very much together as I drove.

The life we’ve planned.

There’s a Joseph Campbell quote that’s been echoing in my head of late:

We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

I have indeed passed through seventeen states and put 4900 miles on my car in the past four weeks. But it hasn’t looked at all as I had planned. In fact, of those 4900 miles I’ve probably only personally driven 500 maximum. I have, in fact, spent the vast majority of The Freedom Tour in the passenger’s seat.

When I realized that I was going to need to get my car from Buffalo to Boulder by way of San Diego, I put out a somewhat random (yet divinely guided) text to someone I barely knew to see if he wanted to drive with me. Key word: with. He accepted the spontaneous invite with only two weeks notice before the departure date. We met up in Buffalo and instead of driving with me across the country, he drove me across the country. Yep, basically 4600 miles of passenger-seat-style surrender.

Handing over the keys.

In the past month every one of my control-freak, Filofax-toting, give-me-the-map-I-know-where-I’m-going buttons has been pushed. I’ve had at least a half a dozen really good freak-outs. I’ve tried desperately to hold onto the life that I had planned, this grand road trip where I would be controlling everything and having perfectly timed, well-planned and well-executed revelations on the state of my life and the state of the universe.

For weeks I have been wildly pushing up against what has actually been manifesting for me: someone who genuinely wanted to take care of me, opportunities I couldn’t have possibly foreseen, possibilities bursting forth at a mile a minute. The thing about pushing against anything is that it’s exhausting. It creates friction in the brain, the heart, and the soul.

And so I decided to surrender. I’ve let someone else drive. I’ve let go of needing to know where I’m going all the time. I’ve tripped, spilled, tumbled, and been a spaz. I’ve unraveled and gotten confused. I’ve allowed myself to be carried. I’ve allowed my baggage to be carried. I’ve let myself not have it together and, more importantly, I’ve let myself not look like I have it together either.

The now moment.

I have come to realize that I have no idea what my life is going to look like three months from now, let alone a year or five years from now. Screw the five-year plan. It turns out that my life is today and that the good stuff is happening in the now moment. I’m making a home in the unknown and letting someone else drive for a change. It’s freaking scary and it’s freaking beautiful.

My plea.

So, to all of the women (and men) out there who do too much, hold too much and take on too much, my desire is for you to hear and accept the following plea. May it come from a lover, a friend, a travel companion, God, Goddess, the universe, your guardian angel, or anyone else who can take the wheel:

Slip into the passenger’s seat baby. Your chariot awaits you. Oh no, let me get that door for you. I’ve got your bag too. The seat heater is on and I’m driving. I’ve got the directions. I know where we’re going. You can just relax and look at the scenery. I’m taking you where you need to go. It’s my pleasure. Allow me to drive.

*Her name was originally Pearl but it’s been changed to Zoe which feels more appropriate for the chariot of a girl hitting the road indefinitely.

Any other control freaks out there? What does it feel like to let someone else drive, literally and/or metaphorically? Share a story. Share a thought. I’d love to hear from you.

I spent the last four months letting go – of my apartment in Manhattan, my furniture, about two thirds of my wardrobe, all but about fifteen books, and, most significantly, my life as I know it.

I emailed my friends, posted on Facebook, Twitter, and my blog and told them to come take my stuff. As I watched my belongings walk out of my apartment in the arms of some of my favorite people I felt a combination of panic and excitement. To soften the panic I decided to make a rule that anyone who came and took my stuff had to have their picture taken with the pieces of me that were going to go live with them.

Here they are:

What remained of my belongings was packed in a Budget moving van…

…while I said goodbye to my now relatively empty apartment…

…and then drove to Maine in the snow for 9 hours with my delightful co-pilot, Danielle…

…and landed temporarily at my mom’s house in Maine.

Here’s what remained of my stuff when I got to Maine…

…and here’s what I didn’t take on the road with me and put in storage. It looks kind of lonely in there with all of that empty space.

I gotta say, it feels good to not really own anything of much significance as far as surface area and volume go.

Now instead of living in here…

…I live in here.

Join me for the first official stop on The Freedom Tour in Southern California for three events, one in San Diego, one in Orange County, and one in Los Angeles. Details are all HERE.

There’s far more to tell of my travels and musings but for now, after traversing fifteen states and more than 2600 miles, its time for this road tripper to sleep.

The journey begins…

And then sometimes believing it’s all meant to be is not so easy.

On Thursday night at 2:00AM I somehow managed to erase all of my video footage from the past year from my hard drive and external hard drive. Then I proceeded to empty the trash. A combination of being overtired, multi-tasking, and being a little bit giddy after a fun evening out led to my “accidental” erasing behavior.

Every episode of Glimpse TV that’s not yet been edited and published (of which there were at least ten), every Team Northrup success story and testimonial, and every minute of footage of every presentation and seminar I’ve given this year….gone. And entire year’s evidence of transformation and great content erased.

So what’s a girl to do when faced with sudden, abrupt, and uninvited letting go?

Being the dutiful Aries I am, I sprung into action immediately. I Googled “restore emptied trash Mac” and found a great article on Squidoo that gave me a step-by-step protocol to follow. I obediently downloaded the recovery software and paid $99 for it. I followed the steps to recover the data. It didn’t work. I took my Mac to the Genius Bar at the Apple Store. They told me they couldn’t fix it. I bought a new external drive to save the recovered files to (another $104.) I tried my scanning software again, spent 24 hours scanning my computer, and then found that none of the recovered files were useable.

Finally, this morning I hauled myself to TekServe to see if the cute computer nerds up there could fix it. After scanning and questioning and investigating, the guy told me they might be able to recover some of the data, but that it would take more than a week and it would cost me $860. So at 10:00AM I said, “F*ck it! I’m letting it go.”

The universe must be up to something that I’m not in on.

I’m about to say goodbye to life as I know it and live in the vast unknown as I embark on a road trip indefinitely in February 2011. I’m selling my apartment. I’m getting rid of most of my stuff. I’m giving my two websites a face lift. I’m restructuring my company. And I’m completely, and sometimes terrifyingly, aware that I have no freaking clue what my life is going to look like a year from now…or even two months from now. My life is under construction and there’s dust everywhere.

It’s a times like this – when we inadvertently erase our hard drive, have a laptop full of irreplaceable photos stolen, lose a box of memorabilia in a move, have our childhood drawings ruined by water damage in the basement, etc.-  that it’s good to believe in something bigger than ourselves. It’s at times like this that I wonder how people who don’t believe in some kind of God even get out of bed in the morning. It’s at times like this that I’m incredibly grateful to my mom for raising me to believe in God/Goddess/fairies/mermaids/divinity/Universal Power/talking trees/etc. It’s at times like this that I realize that the universe must be up to something that I’m not in on (at least not consciously.)

There are no accidents.

While communing over hot cups of Yerba Mate in stocking feet the morning after the “big erase”, Gabby Bernstein reminded me that “accidentally” erasing my hard drive is most likely a sign to move in a new direction with my content. Earlier in the day before I trashed all my video interviews and seminar footage I got the insight that as much as guest content is great, my readers actually want to hear from me and hear what I have to say. (Thank you Bindu Wiles for saying this in your interview with Satya.)

Is it a mistake, then, that just as I’m about to launch into the unknown on a journey about freedom that I would “accidentally” trash all my unpublished content? Nope. There are no accidents. Miss Bernstein is right: Time for a new direction. Time for more of me and less hiding. Enough with thinking that my guests have more to say than I do. Enough with thinking I’m not enough.

My apologies to all the Glimpse TV guests whose interviews I lost. I trust that when/if we meet again to re-shoot, we’ll be even more brilliant and say even more life-changing things. (Plus, with the money I saved not restoring my lost data I’ll have a higher quality camera to make you look and sound better.)

In the coming months you can look forward to more delicious, practical, and scintillating content on the art, science, and practice of loving life, it just may have a different flavor. I’m taking the “big erase” as a sign and I’m currently recalibrating. Stay tuned for what emerges from this pregnant pause.

And now I’d love to hear from you:

• Do you have any stories of loss that turned out to be a blessing?
• Is there anything in your life that you think should have turned out differently than it is? Can you think of at least one reason why it’s “perfect” that it’s happening exactly as it’s happening? (Get a free audio of my mom and I leading you through “Finding the ‘Right’ in Every Situation” by joining my list.)
• Where do you stand on the belief that everything happens for a reason?
• Anything you desire to see from Glimpse TV or any of my content now that I got the memo that it’s time to change directions?

Leave a comment. I’m seriously interested in what you have to say.