Roots in the Earth
My First WWOOFing Experience
Stepping away from Sydney’s hectic rush and into the quiet of the countryside felt like finally exhaling after holding my breath too long. The plan was to WWOOF—work in exchange for room and board—for just a week, maybe two, while I figured out my next steps. Instead, I stayed nearly three months. I’d gone from burning through money in a city hostel to waking up each morning with the sun, weeding garden beds, and sharing philosophical chats with Anna, my host, and Jasmine, another WWOOFer who arrived soon after me.
There was a calmness to these days, but also a restlessness inside me. I realized I needed a vehicle—something to give me freedom of movement, to let me explore beyond the property lines. Yet buying a van in a foreign country wasn’t as simple as I’d hoped. Transferring money from Belgium was a hassle, and I had no clue about the car market or the registration process here. That uncertainty gnawed at me. Meanwhile, I was pouring hours into the garden by morning and researching van builds by afternoon, struggling with a deeper question: Why was I doing any of this in the first place?
Back home, I’d dabbled in posting reels and playing the social media game, but now I felt it draining my energy. I kept swinging between feeling inspired and feeling stuck, between trying to cultivate clarity and wanting to surrender control. As I worked on the land—mulching, pruning, planting—my thoughts churned. I was searching for a reason, for something to guide me. Slowly, I came to see that neither pure logic (the “head”) nor pure feeling (the “heart”) could lead me alone. I needed both, a balance of structured planning and open-hearted listening. This was the first time I truly put that framework into words.
My journal from that time is a whirlwind of doubts, insights, and moments of grace. Some days, I’d wake up heavy with questions about money, purpose, and direction; other days, I felt a spark of lightness and possibility. I wrote:
“Pick up the signs and receive, adapt, change, enjoy. Recalibrate with the info towards the question: who am I? All that comes your way is an opportunity to figure out who you are.”
On tougher days, I admitted:
“I feel a heavy load. As if things won’t work out. I’m second guessing my direction.”
And yet, in the same breath, I’d find relief in nature’s gentle shifts:
“I feel like my energy is refreshed…opening its pores to breathe again, to receive again.”
The physical work grounded me, while my inner world was alive with metaphors and questions. In one entry I mused about straying from familiar paths:
“We feel comfortable staying close to the rails. What’s beyond that border? I wonder how much more I am than the perception of myself. How can we find if we’re never lost?”
I noticed how we humans often limit ourselves, painting within the same lines when there’s a whole mural of possibility just beyond. At times I felt stuck, other times inspired, but always, there was a sense I was peeling back layers of myself. It was draining—ten hours a day split between garden tasks and van conversion plans—but I also sensed I was on the verge of growth.
Eventually, I did get that van. I learned how to insulate it, install a bed, organize storage—a crash course in practical skills I never thought I’d possess. The work was exhausting, but each screw turned and each plank measured taught me something about resilience and trust in my own ability. Instead of scrolling feeds online, I was building something tangible, something I could stand back and admire.
“I feel free. I’ve been here about a month now. It’s been a ride in terms of purpose. I’ve been questioning a lot and have been given messages to follow the heart…it drove my head crazy, but also wiped some blocks.”
By the end of these months, I felt proud of what I’d accomplished—both inside and out. My bank account hadn’t magically filled up, and I still had no solid blueprint for the future. But I was living more slowly, more intentionally, and I saw how presence and action could coexist. I’d built the van and reclaimed some independence. I had a mobile home now—my own means to finally move forward and start seeing more of Australia.
Next, I’d give myself permission to travel. To leave the property and roll down the open road, first heading from Sydney to Melbourne, and then beyond. The future still felt uncertain, but a little less so. My path remained a tapestry of questions, but I’d woven in a few answers along the way.
More from the Journals: Internal Insights
“I feel stale, grey. Scared, on edge. Uninspired yet so inspired…like I’m putting on a mask, aimlessly searching, wanting to slow down and surrender.”
“Information overload makes me blind. I want out. To rub my eyes and see again, feel again.”
“Maybe it’s patience I need to manifest. Maybe it’s the questions that cloud the answers…the talking that hangs as a fog over listening.”
“Who directs my life? My mind or my heart? I need both. To be guided by what comes, instead of over-planning. To walk slower, breathe deeper.”
“I realize not everything needs an explanation. It’s okay to just be. It’s okay to trust myself.”
“The tracks and the rails, like houses on snails. We feel comfortable staying close to it… I wonder how limited I am to the perception of myself. What if I stray off that path? How can we find if we’re never lost?”
“We are all so human—in our own way, such a unique palette of colours. Yet we tend to paint within the same lines, ending up with the same painting. As if our colours trickle through the cracks of the grid… Are we so eager to belong that we never peek beyond those lines?”
“It is a story about a young man who left his tribe in search of connection. He traveled far away and found himself caged by his own thoughts. His focus shifted from seeking connection to seeking purpose. As these questions remained unanswered, his mind turned into a storm… There’s a signal… the young man sees clear, on a mission for inspiration.”
These lines give voice to the complexity I was feeling: the push and pull between comfort and curiosity, the longing to find my own path while wrestling with doubt and uncertainty. They reveal how confusion, restlessness, and bursts of inspiration all shaped the journey, reminding me that questions aren’t signs of weakness—they’re invitations to grow.