In 2010, I arrived home from a trip, walked into my dream home in Denver, Colo., and heard a clear calm, confident voice say to me: “All the rea-
sons you needed and wanted this house
are complete. GO.”
Unfortunately, the voice did not
say where to go.
I argued with it. I loved my house.
My guests called it the Sanctuary. I had
decorated it beautifully, and I had just
refinanced it. It was my Shangri-La,
and I was never leaving.
But the voice was adamant.
The house, it said, wasn’t too big or
expensive, too far or lonely. It wasn’t
too anything. It was complete. It was
simply time for me to take my next
step. Something new was on the way.
I sold my house in 60 days. Before
closing, I held a barbecue to give away
all my belongings to my family and
friends, including many fellow NSA
members. I put an envelope on nearly
everything I owned—including furniture, silverware and even the grill—and
then asked people to write their names
on little strips of paper and place them
in envelopes next to the items they
would like to buy. I asked them to
star their top three choices, vowing
to make sure everyone got at least one
thing they really wanted. Delivering
the items to them a few weeks later
was one of the most joyful and
memorable days of my life.
By Mary LoVerde, CPae
On the day of the closing, I went to
each room and relived the happy memories and thanked it for the love, security and enjoyment it had given my
family and me.
Then, I sobbed so hard I thought
I’d lose a lung. As I approached the
front door, a proverbial peace washed
over me, allowing me to walk out in
deep gratitude. My new life had begun.
living in the moment
For three years, I lived around the
world without a house or much of a
plan, joyfully being what I called “at
home wherever I am.” People always
remark about how “brave” my actions
were. But bravery had nothing to do
with it. Thriving in the tension of not
knowing is a juicy way to live.
Every day was an experiment.
As with most of life it was full of
contrasts: I went to Oktoberfest in
Munich, dressed in black leather from
head to toe on the back of a motorcycle, and I was a grape sorter at an
Oregon vineyard. I hiked through the
Kingdom of Bhutan, and I stayed in
a one-room hotel that was actually
a working crane on the Bering Sea.
I took a dance lesson with Louis Van
Amstel of Dancing with the Stars, and
I was in the delivery room to welcome
my grandson to the world. I snorkeled
off the Great Barrier Reef, read books
about quantum physics (which I did not
totally understand but loved), and took
Living without a plan can create opportunities
for adventure, connections and business