Eight years ago, my wife and I did something our friends and family thought was borderline crazy: We packed up our lives in Calgary, Alberta (population of just under 1.5 million), and moved to Nelson, British Columbia — a quiet mountain town of about 11,000 people nestled in the West Kootenays.
We moved so we could spend more time with our two kids, have less financial pressure, and experience a slower pace of life. But what we didn’t realize was that moving to a remote town would also strip away every bit of outside support we’d been leaning on, and ultimately strengthen our marriage.
We learned to communicate better
In Calgary, our relationship was buffered by a wide social network. If we fought, I might grab a beer with a friend, and my wife might go for coffee with hers. If we needed a babysitter, grandparents were happy to step in.
In Nelson, however, life is different. We didn’t know anyone our first year here. There were no casual friend drop-ins, no relatives to swoop in for a date night, no colleagues to vent to over lunch. When tensions rose, whether over money, sleep deprivation, or whose turn it was to make dinner, there was no one else to absorb the frustration.
Without the option to escape into our respective social circles, arguments sometimes felt more intense. But over time, that changed. We began to see each other less as adversaries in a disagreement and more as co-problem-solvers building a new life together.
It took time and effort to learn how to communicate more directly. For example, asking for help outright instead of hoping the other would notice and making passive-aggressive comments. We worked on apologizing quickly, knowing we couldn’t afford to stew in silence for days.
We built a new rhythm together
Life in the big city meant we lived and died by our calendars: work events, dinners with friends, birthday parties, and a dozen other commitments that kept us perpetually in motion. Conversely, our social calendar was blank that first year in Nelson.
That emptiness turned out to be an unexpected gift. We began cooking dinner together most nights, experimenting with new recipes because we finally had time for it. We took slow walks along the scenic lakefront, pushing the stroller and talking about things we’d never made space for before. Things like what kind of life we wanted and what our priorities were (like me eventually leaving my day job and taking the leap to become a freelance writer).
Even small, everyday rituals like making coffee in the morning while the kids played or folding laundry together in the evening became a kind of glue that bonded us. We were no longer ships passing each other in the night; we were living alongside each other as companions in a way we hadn’t since before becoming parents.
We relied on each other in ways we never had before
Of course, there were hard days. I missed having friends to grab a beer or go for a run with; my wife missed the spontaneous coffee dates with her mom. But in hindsight, those challenges were the training ground for a stronger marriage.
Moving to a remote mountain town stripped away the noise and convenience that had been cushioning our relationship in the big city. The change forced us to build something more durable than habit or routine. We learned how to rely on one another as true partners, not just live together like roommates. And that, more than the mountains, the lake, or the slower pace of life, has been the biggest gift this little town has given us.
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