Notes from the Swiss Alps- No. 2: The Way Forward

Hi friends,

Three months have passed since moving here, and so much has shifted within me and around me.

I was afraid I would miss the seasons here — that summer would end and winter would begin, skipping over my favorite one. But alas, there is a fall, and it is somehow more fall than I have ever experienced, even without Pumpkin Spiced Lattes in every coffee shop. Every day, the trees in the mountains shift from their lively green to pale green, then to gold, casting a stark contrast against the snow-tipped peaks.

The Breath of Autumn

Have you ever noticed how the wind changes in autumn?
It feels like its purpose is to drive you inside, to prepare you for the coming winter.
I feel everything beginning to slow down. At the same time, there’s this subtle urgency within me — the pull to keep pushing on, to learn, to do, to absorb.

The Language of Frequency

Language is a funny thing.
Part of me has gotten used to the fact that I won’t understand 85–90% of the conversations happening around me. Not yet, at least — and some, perhaps not ever fully.

Languages are spoken so interchangeably here that I’ve almost begun to hear only one language: the language of frequency.
It shifts and flows like water through the pipes of an old house — it always finds a way.

At times, I can’t tell whether we’re all really the same underneath it all, or if our cultural differences shape us so deeply that they change how we experience life itself.

A Simpler Rhythm

This California girl is learning how freeing it is to live without six-lane freeways, massive concrete department-store meccas, and the constant buzz of everyone you know enrolled in some form of self-development or “upleveling” their side hustle.

It’s incredibly… relieving.

I can finally breathe — from a place void of anxiety and full of fresh mountain air. There are more trees than people here, and I’m convinced this little pocket of the world (and others like it) is precious beyond words and worth protecting.

I have everything I need here — and more — even with our one little village market that closes at 6 p.m. every day.
Life just takes a bit more planning.
If you miss store hours, you’re out of luck and simply eat what you have — or don’t — until the next day.
Somehow, that simplicity feels good. It’s teaching me to slow down, think ahead, and trust that there’s always enough.

It feels like I’ve stepped back in time only to realize that this way of living — the one I once only dreamt about — might actually be the way forward.
Sustainable in every sense: mentally, physically, emotionally.

Rooted in Family

I’m surrounded by family now — my husband’s family, who has become my own.
His grandparents live in the apartment below us.
Across the street are his grandmother’s brother and wife.
Down the road, his aunt and uncle and three cousins.
Further into the village and throughout this valley are relatives, friends, and neighbors who have been rooted in this land for generations.

We all help each other. We look out for one another.
I have never felt so safe — and the luxury of being able to not only say that but really live it — is immense.

I thank the powerful mountains — the protectors of this place.
This way of life isn’t for everyone, nor should it be. But the values that run through it are certainly worth pondering.

Family (and friends) is everything. Yes, there are feuds and dramas like anywhere else, but the understanding that family matters seems to override it all.
You can’t avoid anyone here — and maybe that’s what keeps hearts soft and communities strong.

Perspective and Purpose

Of course, there’s so much I don’t yet understand.
I will probably always see this place through the eyes of an outsider.
Life here is different and it has absolutely stolen my heart.

My biggest takeaway so far, living here in the mountains, is that it’s much clearer what matters — and what doesn’t.
Though perhaps that clarity comes more from my own shedding of where I came from than from this place itself.

Our world is so much more than it seems.
You can’t visit as a tourist and leave with a judgment — that’s only the surface.
Living here, I see how easily our perceptions become “fact,” when in truth, as outsiders, we rarely know the whole story.

Life runs deep here — through the daily rhythms, the hardships, the devotion to the land, and the intimacy with nature.
From here, the world looks very different.

I don’t yet know my full purpose here, but I know this:
We are all right and wrong at the same time.
That’s what makes us beautifully different — and the same.

With love from the Alps,
Bridgette Joy