Returning to the Rhythms of Our Grandmothers' Land

My turning point at work came about a year and a half ago, in July 2024, while I was hiking in the Tatra Mountains in Slovakia with my sister. I was working remotely at that time. On Monday morning, we sat in our small hotel room with two beds and a kitchenette. I made some herbal tea and got ready to start my day. My computer took half an hour just to load my emails. Suddenly, 400 messages popped up, along with notifications, more accounts to manage, and extra responsibilities. Tasks kept piling up, especially as coworkers left and their work ended up on my desk. There was no way to finish it all in a week, let alone a day.

As I opened each email, I felt my heart freeze. The to-do lists kept growing, and I started to feel sick, like I was having both a heart attack and an anxiety attack at the same time. My sister was on the phone, so I couldn’t talk to her. All I knew was that I had reached my limit. I couldn’t keep pushing myself like this. At that moment, I had three choices: keep going and become resentful, end up in the hospital, or quit. I chose what was best for me.

I didn’t hesitate. I wrote my two-week notice. That was it. I had no backup plan, no job lined up, just a strong need to leave that misery behind.

I didn’t know what I was moving toward. I only knew what I was leaving behind, and that was enough to make me act.

Without a job and feeling uncertain, one thought kept coming back to me. It wasn’t from my cautious mind, but from my heart: I wanted land, to work with my hands, and to create something meaningful.

As I thought about what to do next, I kept coming back to my family’s orchard. Maybe this was my chance to finally reach a dream I’d had for years. I talked to my dad, who was thinking about selling it. The fact that the property was in Slovakia and I lived in America made the decision more difficult. Still, I saw it as a way out of corporate life and a chance to keep working the land my family has cared for over 120 years.

I sat with my dad and sister under the walnut tree my grandad planted 80 years ago. I asked to buy my sister’s share. She needed the money, so we agreed. In that moment, I felt a wave of new ideas and possibilities. It felt right, as if something greater was guiding me.

With everyone in agreement, I became the proud owner of the family land. It set the stage for the next unknown chapter in my life.

After signing all the documents, I stood at the entrance to the farm and looked out over the orchard. The whole acre stretched out in front of me. It was well-kept, and the garden house on the property needed a little work, but it was ready to live in. The sheer size of the land intimidated me. What would I do with all of it? I didn’t feel insecure or anxious, just overwhelmed. Did I have the knowledge? No, just ideas and hopes. Would it work out? Would I have the strength? Was buying this land the right choice? My life felt divided. I had a house in America, my 24-year-old son was starting his life there, and now I have a new place in Europe. No job. Not much savings. How would I manage?

But at the same time, I felt a sense of awe. Why? Because I had always wanted a piece of land, not just a house or apartment. Land! And now I had it. It felt unreal.

You know the saying: "Be careful what you wish for, as you might get it."

Life often catches us off guard, and not always in the best situations. We never know when the right moment will come. Be open to what life brings. Don’t be afraid to follow your dreams. Of course, don’t be reckless. I’ve made that mistake too. As women, we need to give ourselves permission to pursue what we want and stand up for our rights. Stop feeling small. For a long time, I was stuck in a world of 'shoulds,' waiting for permission, worrying about what others thought, and feeling trapped. You know what I finally realized?

I am not stuck; I am in the transmission period.

The transmission took a long time. I could have made a pros-and-cons list when I was deciding whether to buy the land, or when I was worried about spending all the money. If I had overthought that decision, I would be back to grinding for someone else and truly stuck. I know some people don't have the means. Believe me, I am not rich. I don't have big bank accounts, and I never had a six-figure career.

I live simply now, and that’s fine. It matches where I’m headed and what I’m working toward.

Taking the first step into the unknown is hard. We’re taught to hold on to safe jobs, familiar routines, and what others expect from us.

We are stuck for years, waiting for permission. Waiting for the right moment. The right circumstances. The right amount of savings.

But that moment never really comes.

Or sometimes it shows up as 400 emails, and your heart just stops.

You know what place is full of unlived dreams?

Cemetery.

And I refuse to end up as another story of missed chances. We should all be open to opportunities in life, no matter how big or small. No regrets.

I’m choosing a different path, and honestly, I have no idea where it will take me. I’m not a guru or someone who has it all figured out. I’m just a woman in transition, sharing what’s happening. My process. My thoughts. Work with my hands.

I’m standing on the land my grandparents once worked. My grandfather planted that walnut tree 80 years ago, and now I stand beneath it.

I'm building something aligned with seasonal rhythms. Ancestral knowing. Making tea from herbs I grow. Embroidering as my grandma did. Processing wool as she did.

My mom still remembers how my grandmother dried herbs, when to harvest them, and which plants were used for what. She also remembers my grandma in the kitchen, with recipes that are slowly being forgotten. I’m asking her to teach me everything she knows before that knowledge disappears. I share what I learn and what I remember.

Taking the first steps into the unknown is always hard. It doesn’t matter if you’re 45 or 75. It doesn’t matter if you choose a corporate job or decide to start farming.

The question is always the same: Will you spend your life dreaming, or will you start doing?

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So, what are you waiting for?

I’m here because I stopped waiting. Join me.

Adri

Writing from my grandmother's land in Slovakia