At Ermitaj, the association we founded aims “to support individuals and communities in moving towards a way of life that respects the Earth and people, in a spirit of sharing and solidarity.” But imagining that we are doing this “for changing the world” would be a dangerous illusion. Believing that a few local initiatives could reverse the course of global crises — social, ecological, economic — is to run headlong into a utopia bound to disappoint.
I felt this tension strongly during a workshop with Teodora Bilciurescu from the Buruiana association. She asked us this question: “Which is the most beautiful world that my heart knows is possible?”
During the workshop, we had to answer in pairs: three minutes each, letting a response from the heart emerge. Mine was simple: I can do good around me, cultivate my resilience, create a space coherent with my values. That is possible, doable. As for the rest of the world… I’m not saying it’s impossible, but let’s say it’s another story.
Later, I discovered that this was also the title of a book by Charles Eisenstein. And that phrase has stayed with me.
Because, ultimately, it shifts the perspective: it’s no longer about carrying the weight of the entire world, but about giving life, here and now, to a fragment of that more beautiful world.
Changing the World — the Illusion of a Revolution
Modern societies operate through massive, hierarchical systems, where major transformations are often slowed down by inertia or vested interests. Trying to overturn them in a single gesture, or believing that one project or concept could change everything, quickly leads to disappointment.
But that doesn’t mean change is impossible. As Eisenstein reminds us, it does not always appear as a spectacular revolution. It takes root in the margins, in the cracks, in countless small acts that seem insignificant on their own, but that, together, begin to write another story.
Choosing the Microcosm
So, what is left for us?
To create spaces of coherence. To cultivate ways of living aligned with our values.
At Ermitaj, we try to learn and share practices that reduce our dependence on a system headed for exhaustion (Limits to Growth, the acceleration of entropy through consumer society, the nine planetary boundaries are constant reminders).
We are building a place that seeks resilience, that nurtures tranquility. Not to escape the world, but to inhabit it differently, with awareness.
It may seem small. But each choice, each gesture made in this direction is a seed. And seeds, as we know, travel farther than we do.
Changing the World — Example as Contribution
We have neither the claim nor the capacity to “save the planet.” And at Ermitaj, we know we are still on the way: the utopia we carry on these eight hectares — producing our food, our fibers, our building materials, living in respect of all forms of life — has not yet been realized. It remains a horizon, a compass.
In the meantime, we are learning to walk between two worlds: the one our hearts know is possible, and the one we still have to navigate. Finding financial sustainability, working with existing structures, is also part of the path. Not as a betrayal of our ideals, but as a fragile dance between dream and reality.
Ermitaj is still a research, an experiment, an attempt to embody an image, a possibility. If it can inspire, awaken, or give courage to others, so much the better. And if it were “only” that, it would already be a lot: making a place a little more livable — for ourselves, for those who resonate with it, and for the Earth that carries us.
Modesty as Wisdom
“Saving the world” is, no doubt, an unattainable dream. But healing our immediate world — a house, a garden, a community, a relationship — is a task within reach.
Perhaps wisdom lies precisely there: in the modesty of a coherent daily life, in the peace found with ourselves and those around us. Not to withdraw from the world, but to embody here and now “the more beautiful world our hearts know is possible.”
