Leisha There are seasons when everything appears stable from the outside. It seems solid, productive, visibly rooted, and yet, internally, something is shifting. It is quiet but insistent so that it cannot be ignored.
I can not ignore it. I am in one of those seasons now. It not in crisis but in a deeper, more discerning kind of reckoning and one that causes me to take a good look at the reality of Living Ground.
Living Ground is no longer an idea sketched in a notebook or spoken into existence over hopeful conversations. It is built, planted, structured, staffed, paying wages, feeding people, producing food, growing soil and microbes, printing books, serving food, balancing numbers, holding stories. It is real.
Because it is real and breathing, it requires a new stretch beyond me at this time. It now asks different questions of me than it did in the beginning.
In the early days, the work was about survival and momentum and about whether we could build it, hold it, keep it afloat. Effort equaled growth. If I pushed harder it moved. If I worked longer it expanded. If I carried more, it became more,
That phase required stamina, courage and conviction. It required belief over balance and a commitment that many do not understand. Over the past three, maybe four years, so many have come into the circle of Living Ground and could not, did not stay true. While I desired to have a team at the helm, it was necessary I held the steering wheel alon.
Something subtle has changed in me and the Project lately. There is a steady internal pressure and a sense that my questions have matured or been forced to mature lately.
And the experiment of Living Ground has entered a different stage.
The question now is not whether Living Ground can exist. It does. The pressure is about what it is becoming and what I am becoming inside of it? And if what was (is) built and how it was built, neccessary to continue to sustain it?
Personally, I feel the tension between labor and legacy and between the visible work of hands and the quieter work of structure.
There is a possible version of this path where we keep expanding more meals, more construction, more products, more land projects, more moving pieces, more visible activity, More of me! That road feels productive, measurable, full and satisfying in its busyness. It is who I am. But, what if that wasn’t necassary or important now to the next steps. Yes, it is who I am but what if who I am becoming leaves space for me to question things and take this to a true other level?
In my reality, atm, there is another path where I begin to structure this differently. This looks like where Living Ground does not depend on my constant physical output but instead on systems, collaboration, shared agreements, education, and long-term design. Where my role shifts from builder to steward, from operator to architect, from the one holding every thread to the one weaving a fabric strong enough to hold itself.
That shift is uncomfortable to be honest.
Part of me still equates effort with worth, and there is a quiet belief that if I am not in the kitchen, in the soil, in the spreadsheets, in the construction dust, then perhaps I am not contributing enough. That belief has served me and served the Project well. It built this place and the project. It kept it alive when it could easily have dissolved and I could have retreated to comfortable and convenient life experience.
But, that is not me…and this may not sustain the next year, decade or future. That is my currect reality.
So, this muse, I guess, I am thinking in decades now, not weekends, not seasons, but decades.
What does Living Ground look like in ten years? What does my body feel like in ten years?What is sustainable not just financially but physically and mentally? How do I build something that does not require constant intensity to survive. How can Living Ground succeed without me?
Growth demands structure, clear agreements, defined responsibilities, and transparent expectations, not because trust is lacking, but because trust itself deserves clarity.
I have made the decision to share all the information of Living Ground operations with all team members. The financials, my personal ideas, intentions, and my desire to withdraw from the responsibility and hand it over. This is not a normal choice in Ecuador. I hope it is received well.
The more complex Living Ground becomes, the more important simplicity becomes, not fewer dreams but cleaner lines, not less vision but more focus from the team.
Do we expand outward physically, or upward intellectually? Do we add more products, or refine the message? Do we increase the workload, or increase leverage?
The land itself offers instruction here. Soil does not respond well to constant disturbance; it responds to steady inputs, intelligent design, and time. Perhaps businesses are not so different.
At the same time, I feel innovation pressing at the edges. It is a restlessness that does not come from dissatisfaction, but from evolution, a sense that something wants to modernize and shift form, not to abandon the roots.
It is time to express differently through education, writing, structured courses, and systems that travel beyond this physical place. The café feeds those who arrive; a book feeds those who never set foot here. One scales with physical presence, the other scales with clarity.
The finances whisper their own truth. I wish it were so that we were self sustaining. It is not so. Predictable income brings peace, while constant hustle brings volatility. Stability may not be glamorous, but it is powerful. Recurring revenue creates breathing room, breathing room creates clarity, and clarity leads to better decisions.
And then there is another layer to this questioning, one that has emerged slowly as I have watched this valley over the years.
I have seen many projects rise in Vilcabamba and dissolve.
They are often beautiful, often inspired, often filled with idealism and early momentum. Most will say that when they fade, it is due to community commitment, to the ability to sustain the movement and energy, or to the lack of consistent support.
For a long time, I accepted that narrative, believing that if the community does not hold it, it cannot last. It seems it does not last. Our sales and income are so dependent upon the people enjoying our services. How can we sustain this?
At the same time, I feel innovation pressing at the edges, not as dissatisfaction, but as evolution. It is as if something within this project is asking to modernize and shift form and not to abandon its roots. Maybe Living Ground is born to express our mission differently through education, writing, structured courses, and systems that travel well beyond this physical place.
Yes, sustaining what we are doing is difficult and challenging. The café feeds those who arrive and sustains us at the time. A book or course feeds those who may never set foot here. Where is the attention more important?
The finances of Living Ground carry their own quiet instruction. Predictable income brings peace, whereas constant hustle brings volatility. Stability may not be glamorous, yet it is powerful. Recurring revenue creates breathing room, breathing room creates clarity, and clarity supports wiser decisions. So, what are we to do next to survive?
There is also another layer to this questioning, one that has emerged slowly as I have watched this valley over the years.
I have seen many projects rise in Vilcabamba and dissolve, often beautiful, often inspired, often filled with idealism and early momentum. Most people will say that when they fade it is due to community commitment, to the difficulty of sustaining the movement and energy, or to a lack of consistent support. For a long time, I accepted that narrative, believing that if the community does not hold something, it cannot last. Is this true?
My own views are changing, not in opposition to community but in realism about it. It is exhausting attempting to survive. Should we withdrawal? And, I am beginning to understand that sustainability may require me to design this differently than I first imagined and beyond the support that won’t and can not ensure we succeed..
Am I the one who must hold every thread or the one who builds a structure that does not collapse when energy shifts. I desire the second realty.
Is expansion always the answer, or is refinement.
Is constant effort noble, or is intelligent design wiser.
There is another layer moving quietly beneath all of this, and I can feel it in my own thinking. It is as if my mind has stepped outside of me and is looking back in, examining not only what I am doing, but why I am doing it, and whether the way I think still aligns with the woman I am becoming.
I find myself questioning decisions that once felt automatic. I am revisiting assumptions upon which I built this project. I am weighing instinct against strategy, vision against logistics, expansion against refinement. It is not confusion; it is contrast. I can see both sides of every argument, and while that sometimes slows movement, it also makes it more deliberate.
There is a tension between identity and analysis, between the part of me that knows deeply and the part of me that wants to restructure intelligently. I am not dismantling anything, but I am calibrating. I am asking whether the way I have been thinking about Living Ground still serves its future, or whether my thinking itself must mature.
This is not a dramatic unraveling. It feels more like integration, a careful review, a period of identifying blind spots and adjusting quietly before making bold declarations. I am writing more, thinking more, reframing more, and having honest conversations with myself about direction, sustainability, and alignment.
If anything, this season is teaching me that awareness is not weakness. Questioning is not betrayal. Pausing to evaluate does not mean retreat; it means I am taking the long view.
Perhaps that is what growth truly is, not constant expansion, but conscious refinement.
Living Ground is no longer fragile. To me it is rooted. Now the question is not whether it survives, the question is what form it takes, and what form I take with it.
Whether I have the courage not just to build, but to restructure, not just to expand, but to refine, not just to work harder, but to think longer.
And perhaps this season is not about doing more, it is about doing precisely what will endure.
