You are invited to embark on A Journey Through Biomimicry for Educators
Welcome, fellow seeker. If you're here, you have at least some curiosity about the field of biomimicry and a willingness to learn more, perhaps solely for the sake of learning in and of itself, perhaps to apply these concepts in your teaching and work, or of course, for some mysterious third reason that I can't even imagine. Your curiosity and willingness are the only requirements for entry.
This is not a course. It's not a workshop. It's a story about one educator, a fellow curious seeker like yourself, who arrives at a trail in the woods with some questions.
How do I live in this world? How do I teach through this?
Her starting point is where all great stories begin: at a paradox. "To live and teach through this is impossible," in one hand and "There must be another way, because this way is so clearly not working." She has lived through enough to know that she must first enter this tension, sit with it, truly feel it, before progressing out through it into a space of possibility, a space where all tensions fall away.
This is not a course. It's not a workshop. It's a story. A true-ish story (sometimes called autofiction). In each section of the course, our waypoints on the journey, you will find a piece of a story, my story, a character named Karen's story. Following that story, you'll be offered some additional resources that you might choose to use to develop your own understand of and application of biomimicry. These will include things like websites and templates. These are the practical side of the journey. Use them. Don't use them. Trust that you will take what you need from this learning experience and leave the rest.
You are invited to begin.
This is not a course. It's not a workshop. It's a story about one educator, a fellow curious seeker like yourself, who arrives at a trail in the woods with some questions.
How do I live in this world? How do I teach through this?
Her starting point is where all great stories begin: at a paradox. "To live and teach through this is impossible," in one hand and "There must be another way, because this way is so clearly not working." She has lived through enough to know that she must first enter this tension, sit with it, truly feel it, before progressing out through it into a space of possibility, a space where all tensions fall away.
This is not a course. It's not a workshop. It's a story. A true-ish story (sometimes called autofiction). In each section of the course, our waypoints on the journey, you will find a piece of a story, my story, a character named Karen's story. Following that story, you'll be offered some additional resources that you might choose to use to develop your own understand of and application of biomimicry. These will include things like websites and templates. These are the practical side of the journey. Use them. Don't use them. Trust that you will take what you need from this learning experience and leave the rest.
You are invited to begin.
👋🏻 An Invitation
Karen sat on the back steps of her house, a mug of hot coffee in her hands. The woods behind her stretched out in muted greens and browns, a quiet, patient presence at the edge of her awareness. She’d lived here for years but had rarely gone farther than the first few rows of trees. There was always too much to do—classes to teach, emails to answer, meetings that stretched on longer than they should. But for all that busyness, she felt hollow, as if her efforts vanished into the air before they could land anywhere meaningful.
These days, Karen found herself waking before dawn, tangled in worries she couldn’t quite name. Headlines blurred into climate reports, and her thoughts snagged on the fear that her students were learning in a world unraveling at its seams for a future that no longer existed. She’d built her career trying to prepare them for a world that would be better than those that came before, to help them find purpose in the chaos, but lately, it all felt futile—a wave breaking against the shore and slipping back into the sea.
That morning, the sun still rose, lighting the trees in streaks of cotton candy pink. Karen noticed something she hadn’t before: a faint path weaving into the forest, barely visible under layers of fallen leaves and pine needles. It wasn’t new, but it looked as if it had been waiting for her to notice.
She hesitated. There was a meeting in two hours, and her embarrassingly full inbox always demanded her attention. But the path pulled at her: gentle but insistent. She set her mug on the step and stood.
Her first steps were uncertain. The ground felt unfamiliar, soft and uneven under her feet. Her heart slowed, its rhythm syncing with the sway of branches, the soft crackle of leaves, and birdsong that was ever present in these woods, should anyone choose to listen. The hum of her house and the noise of her day receded, replaced by something older and deeper.
She didn’t know what she was looking for. She only knew she needed to be begin down the path. For what was the alternative?
She stopped beneath a proud oak, its roots spilling across the ground, someone knowing when to reach for its fellow trees and when to hold back from violating their space. The bark was rough under her fingers. It felt like a story she might read with her hands.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, half to the tree, half to herself.
The answer wasn’t words, but a feeling. A quiet nudge, a sense of being on the cusp of something important. The forest wasn’t offering an answer just yet. It was offering an invitation—to slow down, to listen, to notice what she’d had been taught her whole life not to see.
Karen closed her eyes and let the stillness fill her. She didn’t know where the path would lead, but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to follow it.
These days, Karen found herself waking before dawn, tangled in worries she couldn’t quite name. Headlines blurred into climate reports, and her thoughts snagged on the fear that her students were learning in a world unraveling at its seams for a future that no longer existed. She’d built her career trying to prepare them for a world that would be better than those that came before, to help them find purpose in the chaos, but lately, it all felt futile—a wave breaking against the shore and slipping back into the sea.
That morning, the sun still rose, lighting the trees in streaks of cotton candy pink. Karen noticed something she hadn’t before: a faint path weaving into the forest, barely visible under layers of fallen leaves and pine needles. It wasn’t new, but it looked as if it had been waiting for her to notice.
She hesitated. There was a meeting in two hours, and her embarrassingly full inbox always demanded her attention. But the path pulled at her: gentle but insistent. She set her mug on the step and stood.
Her first steps were uncertain. The ground felt unfamiliar, soft and uneven under her feet. Her heart slowed, its rhythm syncing with the sway of branches, the soft crackle of leaves, and birdsong that was ever present in these woods, should anyone choose to listen. The hum of her house and the noise of her day receded, replaced by something older and deeper.
She didn’t know what she was looking for. She only knew she needed to be begin down the path. For what was the alternative?
She stopped beneath a proud oak, its roots spilling across the ground, someone knowing when to reach for its fellow trees and when to hold back from violating their space. The bark was rough under her fingers. It felt like a story she might read with her hands.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, half to the tree, half to herself.
The answer wasn’t words, but a feeling. A quiet nudge, a sense of being on the cusp of something important. The forest wasn’t offering an answer just yet. It was offering an invitation—to slow down, to listen, to notice what she’d had been taught her whole life not to see.
Karen closed her eyes and let the stillness fill her. She didn’t know where the path would lead, but for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to follow it.
🗺️ Explore More
What is Biomimicry?
Biomimicry means to learn from the natural world. Not about the natural world. From the natural world. Of which we are, believe it or not, a part. The idea here is that plants, animals, fungi, etc. have deep, adaptable intelligences which allow them to live within the laws of life on this planet.
I like to say "Humans are the most intelligent species...according to humans." The idea that we are the most intelligent species is increasingly questionable. How intelligent is it to bring our species, and many others, to the brink of extinction. The metaphor that we've set our own home on fire is inaccurate. It's more accurate to say that we're on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, and we've collectively been stabbing the boat with a knife. As is often said, there is no planet B.
Biomimicry asserts that right-sizing our view of our intelligence, practicing humility as a species, and turning toward other ways of knowing, will help us shift away from a society and economy built on harm and extraction to one built upon well-being and honoring all life on this planet.
What is Biomimicry for Educators?
Take a minute to consider your teaching (or work) and your courses. What role does the intelligence of the natural world play in your course, if any? Is it possible that you course, despite your likely good intentions, is actually reinforcing and supporting the status quo of our current harmful and extractive models? If so, you are in very good company. Biomimicry can offer you a path forward, a new way of engaging with your students, with learning, with your course content, and with the purpose of higher education.
Read More: What is Biomimicry?
Biomimicry means to learn from the natural world. Not about the natural world. From the natural world. Of which we are, believe it or not, a part. The idea here is that plants, animals, fungi, etc. have deep, adaptable intelligences which allow them to live within the laws of life on this planet.
I like to say "Humans are the most intelligent species...according to humans." The idea that we are the most intelligent species is increasingly questionable. How intelligent is it to bring our species, and many others, to the brink of extinction. The metaphor that we've set our own home on fire is inaccurate. It's more accurate to say that we're on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, and we've collectively been stabbing the boat with a knife. As is often said, there is no planet B.
Biomimicry asserts that right-sizing our view of our intelligence, practicing humility as a species, and turning toward other ways of knowing, will help us shift away from a society and economy built on harm and extraction to one built upon well-being and honoring all life on this planet.
What is Biomimicry for Educators?
Take a minute to consider your teaching (or work) and your courses. What role does the intelligence of the natural world play in your course, if any? Is it possible that you course, despite your likely good intentions, is actually reinforcing and supporting the status quo of our current harmful and extractive models? If so, you are in very good company. Biomimicry can offer you a path forward, a new way of engaging with your students, with learning, with your course content, and with the purpose of higher education.
Read More: What is Biomimicry?