No More, but Better / essays & rebukes 03.
I dedicate this one to Mujica.
Good living. Good dying.
With everything he brought to inspire, he remains my clearest reference that it’s not crazy to want less — to not earn more, not do more. That the greatest act of rebellion might be to do things beautifully and slowly.
Watching someone like Mujica leave reminds me of that systemic ache — and my own stubbornness to keep pushing for change.
Ego’s wet dreams don’t shut up, but I let them play in these texts.
I’m not trying to write poetry. Or dembow.
I don’t know if I write well.
I don’t even know if I live well.
But of all my poetic, revolutionary, and (so far) passive discourse, buen vivir has become a central tool:
Not wanting more.
Not living more.
Not always progressing — sometimes just being is enough.
On days when I get lost in everything I want to buy, own, use, acquire… in everything I want to live and squeeze dry… I remember I’m going to die.
I close my eyes.
I feel death in my body.
I remember that I’m just that: cosmic dust, returning to where it came from. That the only truth I have is what I experience in coherence, with love, with honesty toward my own essence — and the existence of the place I choose to call home.
Between monkeys, cat parasites and toad shit, I remember the most important thing the South Caribbean has taught me: how to let go.
To embrace the apparent chaos of the rhythms and whims of nature.
To see chaos as order.
To see doing nothing as the best kind of doing.
To embody the honesty with which our natural environments show themselves and interact.
Rotten. Crude. Nothing.
We are nothing. And everything.
To live from love is the most radical revolution we have.
But real love, y’all.
The kind of love that involves giving something up. Because that’s how it works, right? Energy exchange always seeks balance, one way or another.
So let’s be honest:
To truly live from love would mean letting go of a bunch of ego-driven desires we’ve normalized as needs.
Like drinking a Coke knowing what it means.
Or eating chocolate knowing its story.
Or smoking weed that came from the narcos.
I could go full gore, no need. Modern consumption is savage — and we’re all part of the party.
Sure, we justify it.
“No such thing as moral consumption under capitalism.”
“It’s the corporations.”
“It’s the rich.”
Reality has many faces.
And no, I’m not saying that not buying will fix everything — unless we all, in unison, decided to act radically different and accept a few famines and wars in exchange for a new system.
Haha… never mind.
Reality is what we collectively decide it is.
But here’s what I find most interesting:
How capitalism has taught us to live in ways that harm ourselves and others — just to have stuff. Comforts. Ideals.
What if…?
What if not everything should be easy? Or accessible?
What if what truly deserves accessibility are things other than capital accumulation?
Naïve questions? Maybe.
The idea of “progress” as a linear necessity came out of 18th century European Enlightenment — where it was popularized that humanity must inevitably move toward higher states of reason, science and welfare.
In Latin America, that idea was distorted through the lens of “civilizing” via economic growth and republican order.
And the irony? The antonym we inherited is “de-progress” — already loaded with disdain for everything else that might be possible. Already set up to lose.
Anyway, all this led me to buen vivir.
Buen Vivir (Sumak Kawsay in Quechua) is an ancestral worldview from Andean peoples. It proposes a way of life centered on harmony — with community, with nature, with oneself.
It doesn’t seek endless growth. It seeks balance.
Collective wellbeing over individual.
Respect and reciprocity with nature.
Time for relationships, not just productivity.
Solidarity economies, not extractive ones.
Territorial and cultural autonomy.
And yet, every single one of our metrics is based on how they reflect financial growth.
(Yes, I’m looking at you too, NGOs, foundations, “impact investment,” and even you, feel-good recycling that sweetens our guilt so we can keep buying crap.)
A while ago, I wrote a sentence that’s followed me like a whisper at the back of my neck:
The solution is so simple — and so uncomfortable — that as a species we’re still not ready to say NO and accept a more humble, simple life.
We could keep exploring powerful ways of being human — techy, creative, beautiful — but without the flare of excess consumption. Without the predatory vision of what a home should look like, or what it means to succeed.
And yes… sometimes I feel naïve. Sometimes I fall into cynicism.
But Mujica showed us — in how he lived, and in how he died.
…And sure, we gotta make money. And it’s sweet, right? Abundance.
But from where?
For me to have that — what does it mean for someone else?
Haha… what a joke. I feel like I’m teaching Sunday school saying this. The irony, right?
So what then?
Do we accept that there’s no such thing as moral consumption under capitalism and just carry on?
Let’s be honest:
If we don’t shift collectively, those who decide what goes and what doesn’t will still be the ones with capital.
And that? That doesn’t work in their favor.
We say we want to make an impact, right?
Make our communities better?
Feel like we’re making the world a better place?
Maybe it’s as simple as:
Giving ourselves the time and space to be — coherently — in this world.
Haha… not that easy.
But imagine if this was what the stakeholders read — and truly internalized.
The ones who hold the money and the decision-making power.
The ones we call “boss.”
One time, designers from a team I led asked me something like:
If it’s obvious and right… why isn’t it done?
And more and more I’m convinced:
It’s not that we lack good people willing to do good.
It’s that we’re not willing to accept that yes, we will make less money.
No more, but better.
A more austere way of living.
- Con amor, Karla Ramona.
The Spanish version hits different — like a little magical realist novela. Read the original here → Ensayo y Regaño 03. No más, sino mejor.