Walking With Monks: A Journey to Joy

At forty, standing at the summit of my career, I found myself wrestling with uncomfortable questions: Had my desires been misguided all along? Was I simply ungrateful? These questions would ultimately unravel the carefully woven fabric of my life’s work. 

By conventional measures, I had done everything “right.” I climbed the corporate ladder and traded blood, sweat, and tears for the coveted title of Vice President at a software company. Yet at life’s halfway point, I was wondering if it was all worth it. As my professional accolades multiplied, my happiness seemed to divide. Somewhere along the way, I had absorbed the belief that success required sacrifice, that fulfillment would follow achievement.

If happiness wasn’t in accolades, where was it hiding? These questions burned inside me like hot coals, demanding answers. I needed perspective and clarity. I needed distance from the life I built to find both. So, I did something that looked like madness to everyone else: I booked a one-way ticket to Asia and left it all behind.

The decision felt like leaving a mediocre relationship. It wasn’t bad enough to justify ending it, yet it wasn’t good enough to truly satisfy. If you leave, you may not find anything better. If you stay, you may live with future regret. There’s risk either way. 

A month into my journey, I woke up in a modest hotel room in Chiang Rai, Thailand, feeling fundamentally different. Suddenly, a hot shower felt like liquid gold cascading over my skin. Clean clothes became silk against my body. As I brushed makeup on my face, the mirror reflected back a queen. That first sip of morning coffee was pure euphoria. I was high on life itself, though I wouldn’t understand the magnitude of this moment until months later. 

The catalyst for this transformation was a Buddhist meditation retreat nestled deep in Thailand’s forests. I wasn’t seeking luxury or enlightenment – just authenticity and wisdom. The Pa Pae Meditation center was simple but purposeful, dedicated to teaching mindfulness to Westerners like me. Upon arrival, they gave me loose white clothes and a schedule: two wholesome meals daily, four hours of meditation, two hours of Buddhist philosophy with monks. I slept in a bare-bones wooden cabin on a mattress barely thicker than a yoga mat, without heat. That first night was brutal – between the bone-chilling cold and the symphony of forest creatures, sleep was elusive. Looking back, this discomfort was essential. This is where change took root.

Fellow travelers enriched the journey, their presence slowly dissolving my sense of isolation. I met others questioning their paths, seeking something deeper. One woman told me it could take six months to recover from deep burnout. I thought she was crazy then. A year later, I know she was right. It took three months just to remember how to truly relax, to release years of stress from my body. Another six months to unpack and discard beliefs that no longer served me and begin to remember who I truly was.

The morning meditations became sacred rituals. In the pre-dawn darkness, I sat in stillness, waiting for the sun to kiss my face and thaw my chilled body. When had I last truly appreciated the sun? My most treasured experience was joining a monk on his daily alms gathering. We walked in silence through quiet streets as community members offered food with open hearts.

It is a beautiful symbiotic relationship. The monks who had taken vows of poverty were provided sustenance and the opportunity to practice humility and non-attachment. For the community, they are given a rich spiritual presence and a reminder of the Buddhist values of generosity and compassion. Two parties willingly interdependent, engaged in a dance of fulfilling life’s most fundamental needs.

I pondered my fierce independence, a trait I had long worn as a badge of honor. Was my belief that I could “do it all” something to cherish or to shed? Perhaps what I called self-reliance was fear in disguise—fear that kept me from the very interconnectedness that might nourish me. What symbiotic relationships might I be forsaking in my determination to stand alone? 

Looking back, that day in Chaing Rai was one of the most joyful of my life. It was shared with two women I’d met at a bus stop leaving the meditation retreat. The serendipity was perfect—three seekers heading to the same city, all at similar crossroads, all emerging from the same spiritual cocoon. One had walked away from an engagement and stable career, another wrestled with a profession and place that no longer nourished her soul, and then there was me. We existed in various stages of accepting the necessity for deep change. Each carried an open mind and the desire to quench a thirst for a more meaningful existence. 

We explored ancient temples and shared meals in vibrant cafes. Between destinations, our taxi rides became confession booths where we shared our stories, discovering we’d all awakened that morning with the same revelation – the mundane had become sacred. We were drunk on life’s simplicity. Like ships in the night, we parted ways the next day, but the magic of that connection still lingers. I smile when I think of that day, and those women. 

Now, nearly a year into my journey, I understand what I needed to learn. Joy isn’t some mystical creature to be hunted and captured – it’s our natural state of being, accessible when we strip away the excess. I had to lose everything to appreciate anything. All those self-help books preaching gratitude had missed a crucial truth – you can’t just write affirmations and say the words. You have to feel it in your bones. I had been living in a world of material abundance, convenience, and accessibility, where discomfort and pain were easily escaped. The ease of instant gratification had numbed me to life’s simple pleasures.

That day in Chiang Rai, I rediscovered my child-self – full of wonder, happiness, curiosity, and optimism. These feelings had always lived within me, dormant beneath layers of achievement and expectation. This memory still glows with promise. Happiness isn’t just possible – it’s our fundamental nature when we push aside who we “should be” and allow our authentic selves to breathe in the open air.

Written by: Chrissy Schmidt

Corporate Executive, Meditation and Breathwork Teacher, Transformation Advocate

Blending executive leadership expertise with deep study of Eastern spiritual traditions, Chrissy bridges ancient wisdom with modern professional demands. A former Vice President of Sales, her corporate success gave way to a transformative journey across Asia sparked by one essential question: “What is the key to happiness?”

Chrissy empowers others to embrace mindfulness, balance, and high performance that honor both ambition and wellbeing.