It started with a soft snowfall on a Saturday morning. I stood in the kitchen, still in my cozy wool slippers, watching my husband stack firewood outside while steam curled from my coffee mug. Our two younger kids were tugging on boots, begging to go help. And in that quiet moment, I thought: this—this might just be it. Not the end goal, not the retirement plan. But the thing we were always chasing in some abstract way.
For years, we’ve worked in the digital space. Tech, startups, digital products—we built our dream life with Wi-Fi and willpower. We’re deeply grateful for it. And yet… there’s been this quiet longing we couldn’t shake.
What if the dream you built starts to evolve?
What if you have everything you once asked for… but your heart keeps tugging you toward something different?
What if success isn’t about scaling up, but slowing down?
This post isn’t about quitting everything and moving off-grid. It’s about adding depth. Texture. Dirt-under-the-fingernails kind of fulfillment. If you’ve ever felt like your online business is thriving but your soul is asking for more, you’re not alone. And maybe—just maybe—you’re allowed to want and do both.
Where the Dream Started to Shift
We thought success looked like laptops and launches. But these days, it looks like early mornings, muddy boots, and and hatching baby chicks in our kitchen.
A few years ago, we were living in a little beach cottage. Two blocks from the ocean, sunshine nearly year-round, and all the amenities that made remote work feel like a dream. But when we saw the listing for a old red house in New England—on 45 acres, no less—something in me lit up. (We had never even been to new england).
We told ourselves it was a good investment. We said the land was just a bonus. But really? We were craving something deeper. More grounded. A place to put down roots in more ways than one.
At the time, our work lives were at full capacity—meetings, launches, emails, and endless tabs open at once. But on weekends, we’d be outside: planting apple trees, hauling rocks, fixing fences. My husband started chopping firewood to heat the house. I started dreaming about what we could grow.
We always say that if we just work hard enough, earn enough, and keep pushing, we’ll finally have the time to do what we love. More time outside. More time growing things. More time together, hands in the soil.
But what if the thing we were working toward… was already right here?
What if this was the life we were meant to build?
Not as a side project. Not as a someday dream.
But for real. For now.
So we made it official.
We started a farm.
And just like that, the shift began.
Turns Out, “Perfect” Wasn’t What We Needed After All
Joy wasn’t found in inbox zero or perfectly polished sales funnels. Joy showed up in quiet, ordinary moments:
- Mucking out the chicken coop at sunrise.
- Watching our kids collect eggs with their little yellow rain boots.
- Sharing sourdough and soup with neighbors.
- Looking up from our laptops and seeing trees, not traffic.
It hit us hard during a recent trip to Europe. In Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, we visited farms—small ones, nestled into hillsides, run by families. These farms didn’t have perfect land. Some were steep. Some were rocky. But they worked with what they had.
We realized you don’t have to have it be perfect in order to start. You don’t have to quit your one dream job to build something new. You can start with what you have. And do both for as long as you want to.
Maybe This Was the Dream All Along
We still have Zoom calls. We still build funnels and send newsletters and doe and sell digital products. But we also plant apple trees, mend fences, and teach our kids how to plant seeds.
And we’ve never felt richer in those mundane moments.
This farm isn’t a backup plan or an escape route. It’s an expansion. A slower dream, layered on top of the fast one. A place where both ambition and peace can live side by side.
We still run our digital businesses. My husband still codes. I still take client zoom calls and build things on the internet. But now, we also build things in the real world—with our hands, with our kids, with the seasons.
The farm isn’t a replacement. It’s an expansion. A widening of what success can look like.
Because the goal was never just freedom.
It was meaning.
It was connection.
It was building a life that feels rich in ways no metric can measure.
So if your heart is pulling you in a new direction—toward something slower, messier, more rooted—I hope this reminds you:
You don’t have to wait until everything’s perfectly aligned.
You don’t have to burn it all down to begin again.
You’re allowed to evolve.
You’re allowed to want both.
And sometimes, the life you’re chasing?
It’s already under your feet.
You just have to plant something and begin.
