The illogical choice to leave

Podcast Transcript:

Welcome to the Pattern Breaking Podcast.

Everything that I’m living now is so clearly the result of all of the weird choices, all of the improbable actions, all of the strange, twisty-turny things that I’ve done that led me to this point.

It gives me chills just thinking about it—how, in the moment, for years… all of the years leading up to this point… I held a tension inside of me that pulled me toward something that made no sense.

And yet, in this moment, I can see so clearly that it actually all made sense.

It didn’t make sense at the time.
It didn’t make sense to outsiders looking at my life and thinking:

Wait… why are you burning that down and starting over? Why are you leaving that behind?

It didn’t even make sense to me.

But looking back now, it’s like—of course.

Of course I was meant to leave my family home.
To go on a journey.
To go to school and discover that academia was not what I wanted.
To leave that trajectory behind… and start farming in the middle of nowhere.

And then to do that for eight years…
while holding, the entire time, this tension inside of me
that called me to leave that behind too
and do something completely different.

If I hadn’t done that… I wouldn’t be the person I am now.

I have a bi-continental lifestyle.
Half of my family is in Italy.
Half is in the United States.

I’ve purchased my grandparents’ home in Ohio.
I have financial freedom that allows me to live where I want, do what I want.

And I’m planting a garden for the first time in six years
on my family’s land.

And it was all so improbable.

I had to hold the tension of not having that garden—
of not being connected to that part of myself—
for all of the years that I’ve been in Italy.

But in that time…
I built a patternmaking school.
I grew myself into a completely different person.

It all…
feels like it leads to now.

And so I want to tell you about
the most poignant story—
the most poignant feeling I’ve had…

of living in a place that made my life so rich.

Of living in a place where I felt like I had everything
and nothing
at the same time.

Of living a life for years
where I felt simultaneously incredibly grateful…

and

had this internal sense
that I was meant to do something different.
That I was meant to leave.

Victoria Werner (03:23)

I was living in Western Montana,
in a place called Camas Prairie.

I was deeply connected to the natural world.
I was making my living from the land.

I was farming in this wildly beautiful, wildly improbable place.

I felt connected to the land.
I felt connected to people.

I was growing food, selling it to my community…
and my life felt so rooted in place.

And yet…

I would sit in the house,
look out the window
at this epically beautiful landscape—
watch the shadows of the clouds move across the prairie—

and feel this longing
to go…
to do…
to be somewhere else.

I have this very distinct memory
of sitting there, looking out the window,

completely overtaken by how gorgeous it was…

and at the same time
absolutely at war with myself inside.

Because I felt like I wanted to be somewhere else.
Like I was meant to do something different.

And I could not explain why.

So Camas Prairie…

this place where I lived in Western Montana…

was once underwater.

Not just like a swamp—
deep underwater.

It’s a basin of land
about the size of two Manhattan islands side by side.

It feels contained—
surrounded by low hills—
but also expansive.

Like living inside a giant bathtub
framing the sky.

And when you stand in the middle of it,
it feels like it’s all yours.

There are other people…
but they’re far away.

It’s vast.
It’s surrounding.

Let me give you a visual.

You’re standing on one end of this “bathtub,”
and in the distance, the land begins to rise.

But not in normal hills—
in ripples.

Small at first…
then bigger…
then bigger…

like a Fibonacci pattern.

Geologists looked at this and said:

That’s water.

Those are the same ripples you’d see
on the bottom of a creek bed—

but on a massive scale.

This entire basin
was once filled with water.
Hundreds of feet deep.

And on the eastern hills,
there are horizontal lines—
like rings in a bathtub.

Those are ancient shorelines.

You’re standing there,
realizing that water once towered above your head…

and shaped everything around you.

And when you feel that…

you feel so small.

Like a speck
in something vast.

Not just in space—
but in time.

This landscape was shaped
by a catastrophic flood
about 13,000 years ago.

An ice dam broke,
and a massive lake emptied all at once—
rushing across Montana, Idaho, Washington, Oregon…

carrying soil with it,
leaving this place raw and stripped.

So I’m living there…
in this improbable place
with this improbable history…

surrounded by this vastness…

with this constant awareness
that everything is fragile,
everything is temporary,
everything is… miraculous.

And when you live in a place like that,

you feel so alive.

You feel like your existence itself
is an improbable blessing.

Victoria Werner (10:47)

And yet…

I want to take you back to that moment.

Sitting in the house,
looking out the window at the prairie—

how arrestingly beautiful it was
on just an ordinary day—

and feeling this tension.

This sadness.
This longing.

Calling me to leave it behind.

And I held that for years.

That moment I’m describing—
it wasn’t the end.

It was something I carried
the entire time I lived there.

Fully loving my life.
Deeply grateful.

And still…

holding this tension
that there was something more for me
that wasn’t there.

And it felt so illogical.

Here I was—
in this wildly beautiful place—

farming in what seemed like an impossible environment.

We had an artesian hot spring—
warm water constantly flowing—

enough to irrigate crops,
to sustain a farm.

We grew vegetables, herbs,
raised sheep and chickens,
brought everything to market.

I watched families grow up.
Kids learning to love vegetables.

Real connection.
Real meaning.

And yet…

I felt constrained.

Because when you farm,
you are responsible for life—
every single day.

If you don’t show up,
there are consequences.

And I think I felt that.

Even though I felt free in the vastness…
I also felt the weight of that responsibility.

And inside me…

there was this pull
for more freedom.

And that’s what I carried.

For years.

That’s what eventually led me
to leave.

To leave the farm behind.
To go back to school.
To pursue something completely different.

Because I sensed—somehow—
that there was more freedom
on the other side.

We’ll talk about that more in future episodes.

Because leaving the farm…
and holding onto that part of myself—
my connection to the land—
while living in a city…

was incredibly hard.

I had to hold that identity
by a thread.

But even then…

I had this deep knowing
that there was a reason.

That I was being stretched.
Expanded.

That I was meant to experience more…
become more…

and that on the other side of that
there would be more freedom.

And I want you to know—

if you’re feeling dissatisfaction in your life
and it makes no sense…

if you feel like
“I have everything,
and I’m still not satisfied”—

that doesn’t mean something is wrong with you.

It might mean
you’re being asked to change.

Not because your life is broken—
but because your identity
is asking to expand.

To experience more.
To become more.

And on the other side of that…

is everything.

So I’ll leave you with this:

What in your life
feels deeply nourishing…

and at the same time
is quietly showing you
that it’s not where you’re meant to stay forever?

You don’t have to understand it.
It doesn’t have to make sense.

But what if that feeling
isn’t wrong?

What if it’s something
you’re meant to listen to?