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| source : cntraveler.com |
I don’t know if you’ve ever stood at a literal and metaphorical crossroads, suitcase in hand and heart full of questions, but that’s where I was in 1994. At 39 years old, I was a freelance writer in Nashville, checking off career goals and chasing deadlines, but something inside me whispered, “There has to be more.”
So, I bought a plane ticket. Not to Paris or Bali. To Bhutan.
Yes, that Bhutan, the tiny Buddhist kingdom tucked high between India and Tibet, a place that, even now, many people couldn’t find on a map. I’d read about its quiet philosophy, untouched landscapes, and the intriguing concept of “Gross National Happiness.” What I found when I stepped off the plane in Paro wasn’t just a new place, it was a new way to live.
Falling in Love With Stillness (and, Unexpectedly, With Someone)
The first thing that hit me wasn’t the altitude. It was the silence. Clean, sacred, unhurried. I wandered through mountain trails and visited ancient temples where monks chanted in candlelight. My days slowed. My thoughts softened.
It was during one of those walks, with my ankle aching from a twist, that a kind stranger on a motorcycle offered me a ride back to my hotel. Just a small act of kindness. I didn’t know that man would one day be my husband.
Back home in Nashville, I canceled my real estate plans and booked two more trips to Bhutan. The pull was undeniable. By 1997, I’d packed up my life for good and moved. I accepted a job teaching English in Thimphu and found myself working alongside a gentle, quiet art teacher named Namgay. He wore the traditional gho, spoke softly, and listened more than he talked. Our friendship grew slowly. Tea, laughter, language lessons. And then one day, while flipping through a textbook, he pointed at the section about marriage licenses and said, “We need to do this.”
Reader, I married him.
Destiny, Dharma, and a Different Kind of Life
Turns out, Namgay’s late father, an astrologer, had predicted his son would marry a woman from far away, later in life. I still get goosebumps when I remember that. And it turns out that helpful motorcyclist from my first visit? Yep. That was Namgay, too.
Over time, Bhutan gave me more than just love. It gave me a daughter. We adopted Kinlay, a beautiful Bhutanese girl who is now 26 and studying nursing in Australia. I never thought I’d be a mother, but like most things in Bhutan, life unfolds in its own sacred rhythm.
Learning to Unlearn the American Pace
Bhutan isn’t just slower, it’s gentler. Here, people say “Come Wednesday” and it means...sometime Wednesday. Or maybe Thursday. And that’s fine. If a plumber comes the next day, no one’s angry. It’s almost a spiritual practice, learning to release control over time.
When Namgay and I first moved in together, I asked if he had a “water problem” at his house. He said no. Turns out, water only came for a few hours a day. He just didn’t consider that a problem.
We boiled water for drinking, and I hand-washed our clothes in buckets until we finally got a washing machine. But it never felt like suffering, it felt intentional. Boiling water became my daily mindfulness practice. Every small act became a choice to be present.
The Wisdom of Gross National Happiness
I often get asked what makes Bhutan so different. It’s this: Happiness is part of our policy. In the 1970s, Bhutan’s king declared Gross National Happiness more important than Gross National Product. That belief has shaped everything, from education to environmental laws.
Three decades later, Bhutan remains carbon-negative, covered in forests, and home to Bengal tigers and snow leopards. It’s wild, yes, but also profoundly peaceful. I often hike to the 13th-century Tango Monastery, a place that hums with the same energy I felt the day I first arrived. It grounds me. Heals me.
From Manuscripts to Mountains: A Life Rewritten
My journey led to two books: Married to Bhutan and A Field Guide to Happiness. They’re honest, often humorous reflections on cross-cultural living, on learning to let go of the need for everything to make sense right away.
Namgay paints in our art studio, mixing ancient symbolism with images of space rockets (his newest fascination). I spend more time in nature than online. And we cry every time friends and family leave, because this place... it touches people deeply.
Maybe that’s what awe does, it changes your pulse. It softens your lens. It reminds you to feel more than you plan.
Final Thoughts: The Power of Choosing a Different Kind of Rich
Moving to Bhutan didn’t just change my address. It rewired my soul.
Here, people live for connection, not collection. Kindness is a currency. And happiness isn’t a pursuit, it’s a presence.
If you're standing at your own crossroads right now, maybe this story can be a nudge. You don’t have to move to Bhutan (though I highly recommend it). But maybe you can make a slower cup of tea. Take a walk without your phone. Let a day unfold without rushing it.
Because sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is choose to live fully, right where we are.