I came to learn what I didn’t know, but instead, I unlearned what I thought I already knew.
I’m not sure how I feel about Fruit Loops or Mario Kart anymore. When I think about the things I’ve learned throughout these past two to three weeks, I recall some thoughts about how maybe how nature wasn’t really as kind as I thought; like how toucans steal other birds’ eggs or even eat howler monkeys (as one of our guides at La Selva pointed out, completely ruining my perception of that toucan mascot). Or how fungi can actually be ravenous predators instead of calm decomposers, silent killers instead of your favorite underdog in an animated race. I’m also realizing that the lessons I’ve learned here at the forest haven’t just been reflections of the world but also a reflection of myself. Nature wasn’t unkind or unfair, it held a greater order of balance and resilience, sometimes through death and decay or birth and renewal. And a trip I thought would teach me about cellular ideas like economics or “sustainable politics” was actually just a lesson from nature, about the kind of decay I needed to be revived.
To become a better version of myself, I had to kill the person in the mirror.
I had a scary dream recently. It was about frog eggs that resembled eyes, which then transform into a full frog. Then the frog gets eaten by a big bird. I didn’t know what the bird was. But I woke to the sound of macaws and toucans chattering through a storm. I couldn’t figure out why I was afraid, but after some reflection, I’ve come to realize that my trip has been full of fears and learning how to unlearn them. I had to face my emotions to appreciate what I was afraid of, and that took facing some of the darkest places of my heart and mind I used to avoid. I used to have frogs as a kid, fire belly toads to be exact, and I never really gave the fact much thought besides that I thought they were cool. I learned the hard way that frogs can eat their own eggs and tadpoles (cruel), and that maybe owning fire belly toads weren’t the most attractive thing. You didn’t have to say it for me to know I was quirky, and if you did, your a big reason why I learned to reject parts of me that weren’t popular. Flash forward 10 years later, and I’m learning how to love frogs and toads again despite their “unconventional” demeanor. I was unlearning traits conditioned by society by facing emotions I used to scare away from, but in turn learned how to appreciate myself again. I think the bird represented life, how it can sometimes permeate our boundaries and perceptions of comfort, but when embraced offers a new opportunity to see outside of what’s ordinary. In a way, I had to accept my flaws to see myself as I truly was: tall yet small, critical but a hypocrite. It was then that I could embrace revival and see through new eyes, perhaps ones that soar through vast skies.
A strong tree has deep roots.
“Healthy soil is the solution to climate change”, said Jonah, owner of our last nature reserve site Valle Escondido. He held up a piece of healthy soil as if we were refugees on Mars, learning about what Earth used to look like. It shifted my mindset, including his lesson on the permaculture model. It was a model that taught me what could make something objectively good, whether in terms of the environment, people, or organizing body under importance. My biggest takeaway from that lesson was the underlying ethics, that whatever action or principle is pursued, that it should be done for the earth, the people, and equitability. It reflects back on corporations that pursue means at the expense of that very foundation, the foundation Jonah noted was our soil. I appreciated this concept, it reminded me of other mega corporations that essentially grow on the same soil but don’t give back to it. It was quite unsettling, since it meant that being a sustainable organization didn’t exempt the total harm that was being done on earth by the invasive amount of resource driven organizations that drove the world’s economy. I was reminded of fungi and how our economic systems deplete the earths nutrients in a parasitic cycle, like Mycena that destroy the very coffee plants it feeds on in the coffee farms of Monteverde.
I’m often reminded of the privilege I hold to be living in this time, where innovation is widely accessible and feasible. The sweet spot post green revolution, Industrial Revolution, and now technological revolution all within a century characterized by rapid expansion. Our economic systems, especially for the developed countries like the US and China, had grown like tall trees in secondary forests: abundant light, until there isn’t. The problem was that our roots were short, and the soil grew infertile. We forgot our major industries like agriculture and the downstream suppliers that work from the ground up. The more we extract and satisfy our humane desires without considering the world we share and the nature that brought us this far, destruction and decay are inevitable. Maybe the solution is as simple as remembering the soil we grow on, and the soil we leave behind for our future generations; we can recreate our business models to grow in conjunction with the natural biodiversity around us like permaculture suggests, “without compromising comfortability” and the niceties that uplift our quality of life.
Complicity often wears the face of normalcy.
“The descent into a final solution is not a jump. It’s one step. And then another. And then another.” That was Toni Morrison, author of the Bluest Eye and the Song of Solomon among others. It was a warning as much as it was insight. Her words are a reminder that atrocities like genocides, fascism, mass oppression, don’t usually erupt overnight. They unfold incrementally, normalized by a series of small decisions, silences, and social shifts that, step by step, lead to devastation. When she says, “It’s one step. And then another. And then another,” she calls out our tendency to overlook or justify early signs of moral decay, especially when they’re wrapped in legal, political, or cultural legitimacy. The danger isn’t just in the final act but in the accumulation of smaller, more “acceptable” wrongs: laws passed under the guise of security, language that dehumanizes, history rewritten, dissent quieted. It’s a call to vigilance. Not just against obvious evil, but against the gradual erosion of empathy, truth, and justice.
Rather than seeing ourselves as trapped in systems that degrade our human and natural condition, Morrison reminds me that we’re also builders of new paradigms. One act of ecological stewardship, one policy of equity, one moment of compassion at a time. That every daily choice, whether to listen, to preserve, to participate, becomes a brick in a greater structure of sustainability and shared dignity. It also mirrors ecological thinking: systems evolve slowly and interconnectedly and respond to cumulative pressures. Biodiversity loss doesn’t happen in a vacuum (like how the asteroids didn’t wipe out dinosaurs in a single blast but over time), and neither does biodiversity restoration. Similarly, I’ve learned that democracy doesn’t simply vanish or thrive but it’s constantly negotiated and reimagined by those who live it. So Morrison’s quote isn’t just a warning, it’s a blueprint: one step. And then another. And then another. Not toward collapse, but toward communion.
The most perfect you can get is trying your best.
“Vote with your wallet,” said Jonah from Valle Escondido. Permaculture’s a nice model, but it doesn’t take into account the backbone of a functioning society. Logistics and political frameworks behind the system that we operate in make it difficult to optimize equitable share and access to resources, essentially because they’re limited. Even in Valle Escondido, a permaculture model, there’s still traces of gentrification that harm surrounding neighborhoods and local communities that rely on self-sufficient lifestyles. Despite all the good that Jonah’s doing in terms of raising awareness and education, it’s difficult to acknowledge the concept of “fair share” and equitable access when sustainable communities in the area and continually marginalized, another principle of permaculture. This isn’t just specific to Valle Escondido; corporations are bound to grow. If “expansion” and “integration” are key components of profitable eco-conscious models, maybe the focus should be to recognize our power as individuals to influence demand and price from inequitable, capital focused competition (like Dole). That’s a solid a start.
Maybe the forest didn’t teach me how to save the world, but how to see it again. I came to Costa Rica to study sustainability. I left learning how to sustain myself; how to hold decay and beauty in the same breath, and how to forgive the parts of me I once tried to prune away. Turns out, that’s how new roots form. In the dark, in the quiet. One small step at a time.
Leave a Reply