I inherited the farm and no longer know why I am saving it

Dear Delyara, My family has farmed this land for five generations. My father died last year and left it to me because my older brothers moved away. I wake before dawn, repair equipment older than I am, negotiate prices that barely cover seed, and tell everyone I am proud to continue the family legacy. The truth is, I do not know whether I want this life. I studied photography for two years before Father became ill and came home temporarily. Temporary became eight years. Now the bank holds most of the farm’s value, drought has damaged the crop, and my mother says selling would kill her. Every field carries a family story. The north pasture is where Grandfather proposed. The red barn was rebuilt after a fire. My name is carved into the workshop wall beside the heights of men who expected someone like me to remain. At night, I edit photographs I took years ago and imagine living in a city where nobody knows what my surname owes the soil. Then morning comes, and the animals need feeding. I cannot tell whether I am preserving my inheritance or allowing it to consume the only life that was actually mine.