When I think back to my days as an academic researching happiness, I smile at some of the memories that come flooding back. Though, truth be told, towards the end of my career I’d completely lost my way.
Despite being well on my way to becoming a leading thinker on happiness, each time I published a peer-reviewed article on the subject, I seemed to become more miserable.
What saddened me the most was the widening gap between the conclusions of my research and how my life was actually turning out. I struggled to apply the insights to my everyday life.
For academic survival, publishing papers and obtaining research funding had to come first. I’d bust a gut to ensure I delivered, but there wasn’t much of a life left behind once I’d done that.
My area of expertise was money and happiness – an age-old topic on which nearly everyone has an opinion.
Yet, as I wrote in one of my last articles on the topic, no matter how we turn the data, it’s difficult to credibly claim anything other than that – while money may buy some happiness – the amount it does is often so small it doesn’t matter.
Then one day something changed. I’d been thinking about leaving the academic world and putting my happiness first for a while, but I wasn’t sure how to do it.
When I serendipitously encountered Matt Hopwood – an artist walking his own purposeful path across the British Isles – the seed for my journey was planted.
In the end, my time as an academic set me up to have one of the greatest happiness-raising experiences of my life: an 18-month, 20,000km (12,400-mile) cycle journey from the UK to Bhutan (Bhutan being the only country in the world to officially prioritise happiness above everything else).
It was a challenging journey that took me to places in the world where they do a much better job at creating happier citizens – perfect for the unhappy happiness expert that I then was.
My journey to Bhutan enabled me to make happiness central to my decision making – and it brought with it some valuable lessons on happiness that I think you should know.
1. Make the happiness choice easier
Ever wondered why some places in the world just seem happier than others?
If Scandinavian countries come to mind, you might think it’s tied to income – yet studies have shown that underrepresented places and countries compete for these rankings… and their happiness isn’t even associated with money.
The importance of money for happiness is routinely overestimated, with one study highlighting how people focus on conventional achievements at the expense of relaxation and enjoyable activities.
What’s absurd here is that often in the pursuit of more money we overlook, or even sacrifice, what’s truly important for happiness – our relationships and communities, our mental and physical health, our beliefs and values and the planet.
We don’t just sacrifice these things as individuals; we do it collectively as societies too – obsessed with ever larger economies with very little, if any, gains in average quality of life.
My route to Bhutan was intentionally indirect so I could travel to societies like this, such as in countries like Costa Rica and Nicaragua in Central America, which report high levels of sustainable happiness.
After cycling to Spain, I flew to Buenos Aires and travelled through Latin America, where strong social bonds and community remain central to daily life.
Costa Rica, in particular, stood out: a country which, compared to the US, has higher overall happiness (rated as 7.3 versus 6.7 out of 10 by the World Happiness Report) and greater average life expectancy (81 years, compared to 79 in the US).
What’s their secret? Since they abolished their army in 1949, Costa Rica has been able to prioritise health and education in national spending.
By the time I had cycled all the way to Canada, crossed to Asia, and continued on toward Bhutan, the primary lesson had become clear: it’s easier to be happier in some places than others.
This isn’t because people are fundamentally different in different countries, but because the conditions support better ways of living. Rather than focusing on growing their economies, these countries organise work patterns, culture and commercial design around happiness.
Happiness is often framed as a simple matter of individual choice: think differently, act differently, choose better. But in reality, there’s plenty of evidence showing that our ability to exercise conscious, intentional control is more limited than we like to believe.
Instead, our behaviour is shaped by our environment. Online, for example, ‘dark patterns’ (design elements on websites that benefit an online service) have been shown to coerce, steer and deceive us into making unintended and potentially harmful decisions.
If happiness feels hard sometimes, remember that your environment likely hasn’t been designed to support your happiness – it’s likely been designed to get you to spend money and contribute to the economy.
The hard truth is that becoming truly happy in the Western world is difficult.
But, given you probably don’t want to up sticks and move everything across the globe, there are small changes you can make to reshape your environment and take back control.
Little by little, these changes will make options aligned with happiness become the easier, more natural choice for you to make. Consider the steps below a blueprint for making your environment serve your happiness better.
2. Know your happiness
There aren’t many people who don’t want at least a little more happiness in their lives. Understanding the sort of happiness we want, however, can be an obstacle to making progress towards living a happy life.
There are three main types of happiness: hedonic, evaluative and purposeful.
They all have their role, but paying attention to my happiness on a daily basis during my journey helped me tune into which one matters the most – and it’s not what most people think.
The most common understanding of happiness is the hedonic, and it’s about feeling good – smiling and laughing, pleasure over pain.
Sounds good, right? But, as most people will know, pleasure is nigh on impossible to sustain and pain unavoidable, with one major University of California, Berkley study showing that the more you ‘want’ this type of happiness, the less likely you are to actually experience it.
Nevertheless, this doesn’t stop us getting caught up in chasing pleasure and avoiding pain. We’re biologically primed to be this way – and living in a consumerist society where tempting pleasures are dangled in front of our faces doesn’t help.
Then comes the second type of happiness.
In the early days of my journey, while I learnt to embrace the pleasure and pain of travelling, I struggled to let go of the idea that it would all be worth it because I would, at some point, arrive in Bhutan (and be happy once I got there).
I realised then that my sense of happiness – just as when I was an academic – was bound up with achieving goals. I’d just swapped getting another paper published for another border crossed.
In other words, it was a happiness evaluated against expectations. Evaluative happiness is important, but like hedonism, it can be short-lived when life is centred around chasing one goal after another.
Reaching Costa Rica was when the major psychological gear shift came. I’d been on my bicycle for six months and expected to be much further along in my journey – my ingrained habit of thinking I needed to be somewhere else was holding me back.
In Costa Rica I learnt to let go of this and think about purpose at the everyday level (a surer route to long-term happiness, according to research).
This meant ensuring that what I was doing each day would support the development of my relationships, my health and my ability to stay in line with my beliefs and values.
And the science backs this up. A study on college undergraduates by psychologists at the University of Notre Dame, in the US, found that the benefits of attaining extrinsic goals (like wealth or fame) don’t last into middle adulthood.
Having a positive social purpose, however, led to greater personal growth and integrity later in life.
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3. Sleep outside
Before the cycling trip was even on my mind, I did make some initial – if bold – attempts to live out my research while still an academic.
To make travel slower, more meaningful and to connect with strangers, I took up hitchhiking – sometimes journeying for several days to get to conferences.
It saved money, but it was more about prioritising what mattered, rather than zipping from place to place just because I could.
Meanwhile, I was becoming more aware that stripping back to the basics could highlight what's really important in life, so I gave up the tiled roof over my head and swapped it for a tent.
Yes, you read that right – and I actually lived in that tent for two years. Journeying up and down the hills close to my work each day, this move also helped me get outdoors and get active.
Strangely, the tent living days turned out to be one of my most productive times in my academic career (which is probably why no-one kicked up a fuss about it).
I’d be in the office from early until late, especially on cold and wet days. I’d even sometimes sleep in the office, but I tried not to – I loved waking up in nature to the sound of the birds and watching the Sun rise over the horizon.
There’s nothing like lying under the stars after a full day’s cycle through the mountains – the air smells sharper, the sky is infinite, and there’s little to distract from the moment.
We know how good nature is for us, yet so much of our lives takes place indoors – in climate-controlled offices, behind screens or in buildings designed to make us spend.
Getting outside isn’t just about relaxation or aesthetics. It’s about realigning our bodies with natural cycles.
Even brief immersion in nature has been shown to recalibrate attention, reduce stress, and strengthen our sense of connection – not just to the environment, but to ourselves and the people around us.
The ‘million-star hotel’, as I like to call it, has no room service, Wi-Fi or air conditioning – yet it delivers something far longer lasting.
It reminds us that happiness is often less about what we acquire and more about what we inhabit: spaces that allow our senses to open, our bodies to breathe and our minds to slow.
It reminds us that some of the richest experiences don’t come with a bill at all.
4. Get better at receiving gifts
It might not come as a huge surprise that giving to others is important for happiness.
After all, there are huge amounts of studies on how volunteering boosts happiness and reduces stress, for example, or that giving to charity is associated with greater wellbeing (in both rich and poor countries).
However, what’s often overlooked, yet vital in this equation, is that a gift needs a receiver.
When people aren’t willing to accept a gift, whether because of pride or a fear of strings attached, the giver is denied the opportunity – and the potential for happiness might then be lost on both sides.
In many of the societies I spent time in, including Mexico, India and Argentina, there’s a strong culture of giving and receiving. People were eager to stretch beyond themselves to help me on my way.
Yet at the start of my journey, I was reluctant to take these offers of support. I either didn’t think I needed help, or it seemed like those offering owned a whole lot less than me, and I didn’t want to take away from them.
I’d feel awkward when offered something, but then see the puzzled disappointment in someone’s eyes when I turned down a well-intentioned gift.
There was something I was getting wrong. Receiving a gift, it turns out, is neither about charity nor whether the gift is even needed, but rather an essential and age-old practice that’s foundational in building relationships.
And, as much as giving boosts wellbeing in the giver, gratitude in the receiver can also predict healthy relationships.
With time, I learned to accept what was being offered and felt more grateful. The result? I got to know some wonderful people and now see receiving as just as valuable a gift as giving.
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5. Savour the small things
It’s easy to get caught up in daily routines and forget how lucky we are to have so much at our fingertips.
Being on a bicycle for such a long time taught me to keep things simple and not take things for granted. I’d get a wash on most days, be it a dip in a pond or from a bucket, but there were long periods of time when I’d go without a hot shower.
I also ate a very simple diet and would often sleep on the ground with little bedding. Although this voluntary simplicity took some getting used to, my basic needs were met and – in contrast to what you might think – it wasn’t detrimental to my happiness.
In fact, consistent with my experience, a 2021 systematic review reported that voluntary simplicity has a positive effect on wellbeing.
What I didn’t expect was the enhanced pleasure I felt when I finally got a hot shower, a home-cooked meal and a bed with clean sheets.
This is what psychologists call ‘savouring’ – it represents your capacity to regulate, enhance and prolong positive emotional experiences.
Leading happiness researchers have shown that money can inhibit this superpower, with one study even showing that people exposed to reminders of wealth get less enjoyment from eating chocolate.
My experiences on the bike made me better able to savour what I’d previously taken for granted. These days, when I notice my levels of appreciation starting to slip, I’ll restrain my consumption to enhance my sensitivity.
None of this is to say that involuntary minimalism is a path to happiness. Far from it – poverty is, unsurprisingly, associated with poor wellbeing and mental health.
But studies show that for those who can, voluntarily minimalistic lifestyles enhance empathy and behaviour that benefits your community.
Some research has even shown that abstaining through fasting results in greater generosity. In other words, your voluntary simplicity could make everyone happier.
6. Let things go wrong
There is, unfortunately, always the potential for a crisis ahead. I wouldn’t have been able to reach Bhutan by bicycle without encountering a few problems along the way, and in that sense my journey wasn’t unusual – we will all face disruption at some point.
For example, early on in my journey cycling through the Andes, I was bitten by a dog. I was ready to give up, but through support from people after it happened, giving myself time to heal physically and emotionally, and staying grounded in my wider purpose, I found a way to continue on.
What matters isn’t getting back on the bike, but what you do to orient yourself once it’s happened.
Fortunately, you can prepare for this before it happens, and it’s likely to boost your happiness in the long term.
Social support interventions have been shown to protect against stress after adversity, while having a sense of meaningfulness and reasons for living help to transform a crisis into an action plan.
It turns out psychological resilience is shaped less by raw optimism and determination but by connection, meaning and purpose.
These toolkits that helped me navigate moments of crisis on the journey remain just as relevant off the bike.
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