11 months ago, we moved across the country in hopes of finding a slower, more nature-based lifestyle. This site is largely about what happened next. It is about leaning into the what ifs, feeling into what it is that moves you, and finding ways to get closer to the wild that whispers when you are still. It is about ways small and large to start your own revolution. Ways to connect to the things that make you feel alive and that give your life meaning. It is about letting go of what you’ve been told are the hallmarks of a “good life” in favor of exploring the messy edges, seeking out spaces to grow, and finding ways to embrace your own wild future.
But first, how we got here…
We had lived in Manhattan for years and thrived on the non-stop pace and energy of the city until we found ourselves feeling more and more called to the farms and forests we’d visit on the days we’d book a Zipcar and cross the bridge.
When our daughter was six months old, we moved to New England. At the time, the contrast was so great that I thought of our 1800s farmhouse on a rolling acre as “the country.” It had been, once. But that parcel of real estate had been absorbed into the predictable not-city-but-also-not-country sprawl of the suburbs long before we stepped foot on it. Still, our first few years there—renovating, planting our garden, and watching our daughter grow—were serene.
As time went on, we found our “country” lifestyle getting overshadowed by traffic, commuting, and a push to keep up with the Joneses, all of which would have been fine except that it wasn’t the life we’d envisioned when we left the city. And it just wasn’t a lifestyle that fit our family. So when the known world fell away, due in part to Covid and in part to a string of family tragedies the left us unmoored, we decided it was time for a new chapter.
After the passing of my husband’s parents (who were the majority of our community in New England) we knew it was only a matter of time before we left. The house would prove something of a heartbreak to walk away from, in part because of the milestones celebrated there, and in part because my in-laws were tied to each beam of that house, my father-in-law offering an extra set of hands when my husband was building, or teaching me how to deconstruct walls when I lamented that there was nothing left to sledgehammer but I still wanted to be of help. My mother-in-law helped us with the garden and watched our daughter learn to swim in the backyard. And they were both there for Thanskgivings and Christmases and birthdays, sorrows and successes. They were woven into the DNA of the property, and that was something we couldn’t bring with us.
In the midst of what felt like a radical and maybe even reckless letting go of all we knew, we left New England on July 8, almost 7 years to the day we moved in. We had a hellish moving experience, were threatened and fleeced (if you’re considering American Van Lines, I’d suggest you go back to the drawing board) and were helped in ways I could never have imagined by lifelong friends (see above) who gave new meaning to the term “above and beyond.” Eight hours later than planned, we loaded the car with one child, one cat, one dog, a couple of suitcases and a box of valuables, and we began our journey West.
We hope you'll follow along on our journey and maybe even get some ideas for your own adventures.
Happy journeying!
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