Believe it or not, there’s likely more to being human than reaching consciousness. While living an easy, conscious life might be appealing, humans are inherently driven to be ambitious, connected, and engaged in their communities. That drive often gives our lives deeper purpose and fulfillment. Just to keep you updated – in my last blog I wrote about the Costa Rican community’s remarkable ability to find joy in situations where many Americans might focus on the negatives. Those “negatives” may be the heat, the humidity, the rain, or the simplicity of life in a remote place like La Selva. The Costa Rican mindset is one of resilience and optimism, one that takes whatever life offers and makes the best of it. In many ways, they are the ultimate optimists.
This week, I’ve felt more connected to our group than ever before. Of course, some of that is due to the sheer amount of time we spend together. That may be in class, on field trips, or hiking muddy trails in search of howler monkeys. But the bond we’ve built is more than just proximity. By the second week, we’d become our own little ecosystem where each of us carves out a niche, like the rainforest species we’ve come here to study. We’re all so different, and yet somehow, it works. There are no rigid cliques or exclusive circles. Everyone has found their people, yes, but the group as a whole remains approachable, supportive, and genuinely interested in each other.
What has surprised me most is how much I’ve learned from my peers. In class, I’ve especially enjoyed our conversations about food networks and agricultural systems. When the course began, I was admittedly a bit wary. I expected to hear a lot of the same perspectives I often hear in my major where recycled talking points about environmental collapse spiral into the same doomsday narratives, with little discussion of creative or hopeful solutions. But this class has been different.
People bring in such diverse and refreshing viewpoints. There are business, education, biochemistry, animal behavior, and other majors. These conversations have broadened the way I think about environmental challenges. For instance, when I think about climate change, I tend to focus on its effects on biotic and abiotic factors like flora, fauna, water, soil. I worry about the animals in my home state. I worry about invasive plants. I try to learn as much as I can about how to protect the natural environment. But I rarely think deeply about the human side of the crisis aside from how we are the problem. Sure, I know that human health is impacted by climate change. But sometimes, in a moment of frustration or cynicism, I think to myself, “Well, it’s our fault anyway.”
That’s where the voices of others in this class have really challenged my ways of thinking in a good way. Someone like Ally, for example, brings up the role of education and the importance of molding young minds to be more conscious and informed, whereas I normally focus on nature centers or trying to educate adults more often. An animal behavior major might speak passionately about domestic animals, creatures I would not put emphasis on connecting to climate vulnerability. These different perspectives remind me that the environmental crisis is deeply interconnected with human lives and decisions. And maybe most importantly, they remind me that it’s not about placing blame, but rather building solutions together.
Coming from the Midwest, Indiana in particular, I often feel a heavy weight when I think about the future of my field. The political climate, especially around environmental policy, can feel like a dead end. There are times when it seems like the tunnel just keeps getting darker, especially when you’re met with skepticism or outright resistance from people in your own community. It becomes easy to either fall into conversations where everyone thinks exactly the same or to end up talking past each other entirely.
What I want to highlight in this blog is the joy of rediscovering people, especially the kinds of people I thought I already knew. I’ve always admired those who are effortlessly outgoing; the people who collect new friendships wherever they go. But now, I’m beginning to experience that joy myself. It’s exciting about taking the risk to talk to someone new, someone outside your usual social circle, and finding a real connection.
And those connections have made all the difference. I spend time with people constantly outside of class, between sharing meals, exploring trails, talking late into the night on cabin porches. It’s not just about proximity anymore and it’s about community. These friendships have added a whole new layer of meaning to our shared experiences. Visiting the pineapple farm and the banana farm, for example, would have been fascinating on their own, but doing it alongside friends who are just as curious, just as engaged, and just as willing to ask questions and reflect on what we’re seeing is what makes it unforgettable. The conversations we have on the bus rides there, the jokes we share while walking the trails, and the mutual awe we feel while learning about the hard yet efficient work from farmers amplifies the learning and the joy.
While Americans and Costa Ricans are obviously different in many ways, I’ve also found comfort in the things we share. I grew up in the same state as many people here where we shared the same trends, followed the same routines. Yet, we’ve all grown in wildly different directions, shaped by our own families, communities, travels, and beliefs. Somehow, we all ended up in Bloomington. And now, we’ve all found ourselves here in the heart of the Costa Rican rainforest/cloud forest. Together, we’re sweating, stinking, laughing, sleeping, and navigating the environment side by side. We’ve accepted one another’s flaws and human nature as well as been baffled together by how the local staff somehow always smell amazing despite the heat.
In the farmers we’ve met, I sometimes catch glimpses of people I know back home. I wonder about the struggles they face, and how their hardships compare to our own. I’m in awe of their resilience (both the people and the animals). There’s a quiet strength in the way they live. It’s made me question my own assumptions, and look more deeply at what makes a life fulfilling.
I see pieces of myself in everyone here, and that reflection has made this experience so much richer than I ever expected. In contrast, during my study abroad in Berlin, most of my peers were from California. They were kind and interesting people, but we never quite clicked. Maybe it was the cultural gap. Maybe it was just timing. But here, the connection feels different. It feels genuine. As we move forward, I know that the lessons I’ve learned here will stay with me long after the trip ends. And more than anything, I’m grateful to have learned that sometimes, the best way to grow is to open yourself up to people. Because it turns out, shared sweat, shared wonder, and shared pineapple can teach you a lot about what it means to be human.
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