Why Are We Selling The Farm? Since Our Announcement, We’ve Been Asked This Many Times

G'Day Folks,

Since announcing that we are selling the farm. I’ve been asked many times: Why are you selling the farm? What made you want to pack everything up and hit the road with your family?

To be honest, each time I was asked, I still didn’t fully understand why.

Six years ago, we packed our bags, left the city, left our comfort zone, and embarked on this farming journey.

Are we doing the same thing now or is it different this time?

I came to this farm chasing a dream — the romantic idea of a quiet, simple life in the countryside. I pictured a few chickens, some farm animals, kids running barefoot under a golden sunset. That warm, gentle glow of rural life — I thought that was it. I thought I had found my utopia.

The first 12 months shattered that illusion.

What I had unknowingly embarked on was a complete stripping away of the identity I had spent more than 30 years building. Each layer was more painful to peel back than the last. At times, fear would seize me, and I’d scramble to stitch together some piece of my old self — anything familiar — because the unknown felt unbearable.

And it wasn’t just my journey — it was ours. My wife, parents and sister — we were all stripped bare.

For me, I see now that even on the farm, even living closer to my values, I was still crafting an identity — a more noble one, perhaps, but still an identity, still a mask. I tried convincing myself to be grateful, to be content with the new “me.” And sometimes I was. I became comfortable being James, the organic vegetable farmer.

But something kept tugging at me.

Every time I felt like I found solid ground, the earth would shift beneath my feet. Brooding storms would arrive on the horizon and before I could do anything, they would tear apart the peace I had worked so hard to build.

There is nothing scarier than losing sight of who you are, where you belong, what you’re meant to do. The void is vast — larger than the universe itself. And yet, for reasons I still can’t explain, I could not turn away. As terrified as I was to step into that darkness — into the unknown — I knew I had to face it.
The truth is, I don’t know what’s next.

I don’t know what I’m meant to become, or even what I should aim for.

All I know is that I love my wife, my kids, my family.

I know now what lights me up — those timeless moments when I feel fully alive.

Those moments come in many forms. They are so clear to me now, and I feel they are easier to find – if I can just trust myself. When I let go of my identity – this is when those moments arrive.

I’m starting to feel where I’m meant to be — not with a logical map, not with goals written down on paper — but through something deeper, something wordless.

And I won’t lie: there are moments I lose faith in that knowing. Fear creeps in, my stomach twists, my doubts scream at me. But then, just as quickly, fear transforms into wonder — a raw curiosity, an electric excitement that makes my skin tighten and my hair stand on end.

What if we lose everything?

What if everything we’ve worked so hard for disappears?

What if we have to start over?

What if in years to come when all our material possessions are gone and my family is broke. What if at that moment I am looked upon by my society as a dismal failure, or worse – a fool who followed his folly and wandered towards an oasis in a desert.

These questions swirl through my mind daily. But I’ve made a decision: I’m done playing it safe.

I’m no longer doing this to “save the planet” or “help people” — as noble as those aims might be.

I’m doing this because I want to experience life unfiltered by achievement, attainment, accumulation or validation. I want to live a life unchained from the pursuit of legacy or security and comfort.

I will no longer live for what I hope one day will be written on my gravestone.

I want to live — fully, vulnerably — not just chasing happiness, but embracing the full spectrum: joy and sorrow, fear and triumph.
After all, a song with only one note isn’t music — it’s the contrast between light and dark that makes beauty possible.

One must know sadness to truly feel joy; feel the full thrust of fear to truly taste the sweetness of freedom.

So when people ask me why, my answer is simple: I don’t know.

And maybe I never will.

Because for me, it’s no longer about finding an answer.

Because this – this messy, uncertain, terrifyingly beautiful experience –

This is the point.

Thank YOU for joining us on this epic journey & supporting Your local farmer!