Selected, Not by Chance

Photos courtesy of Jenni Pignatelli, Elizabeth Mallet, Laurence deSegonzac and Sarah Schiff

This isn’t my usual post. It’s not an interpretation, nor a synthesis of AI and the future of work.

In fact, it is quite the opposite.

I hadn’t realised how much exhaustion I’d been carrying over the past three years. Only when everything was set down, responsibilities relinquished, work and professional life on pause, even the academic papers on cognitive-load theory left pristinely untouched in my suitcase, did it become clear.

I needed respite.

A digital detox.

A pause.

A return to something unprocessed.

I came to the Galápagos as a mother.

Just that. A single mum, hand in hand with my daughter, Saskia, drawn by a shared love of animals, especially the ancient, reptilian ones that seem to carry time in their bones.

It was meant to be simple. A trip of wonder. Of closeness. But the Galápagos doesn’t just show you nature.

It shows you Darwin.

Variation.

Selection.

And, at this time of year most poignantly of all… continuation.

Everywhere we turned, life was trying urgently, and instinctively to persist:

• The careful courtship of the blue-footed boobies.

• The territorial sparring of female Christmas iguanas securing spaces to lay their eggs.

• The quiet guarding of beyond adorable baby sea lions.

All over the archipelago that make up the precious Galapagos Islands, we witnessed the relentless, almost tender insistence of species to procreate, to pass something forward, to ensure they are not the last.

Not everything will succeed. Not every lineage will continue….(although I am a big fan of observing all instances of parthenogenesis).

But those that do… fit.

And then, suddenly, something else reminded me what continuation really means: Post Office Bay — the postcard island.

A barrel. No system. No optimisation. No algorithm.

Just handwritten notes, left in hope that a stranger might carry them forward.

Today, we did just that. Saskia and I found a postcard for Sarah… and delivered it. 

No tracking number. No efficiency.

Just trust. Just people.

Just the quiet, unexpected joy of strangers meeting in the act of exchange.

A simple act, but it lingered.

But in truth, this journey began with connection.

A group of Harvard alumni, brought together by curiosity, by a shared love of learning, and by something less spoken - a desire to experience the world not just through idea - but through each other.

That is what brought us aboard the Isabela II. But it is not what we left as.

We arrived as strangers.

Different paths. Different lives.

And yet, slowly… something aligned.

Conversation softened. Laughter came easily. Care appeared without effort.

No performance. No positioning. Just… recognition.

And then, unexpectedly — in a rare moment of self-allowed vulnerability — I felt it.

Selection.

Not the harsh kind. Not survival in the wild. But something gentler.

More human. The feeling of being received.

For Saskia and me, this came in the form of the Porter-Paulsen family (Dwight, Chris, Claire, Bear and Dashwa.)

At a time when the islands themselves were full of life trying to continue, to form bonds, to carry something forward…they gifted Saskia and I something just as rare.

Not by declaration.

Not by design.

But by the way they were.

A moment where family was not defined by lineage, but by presence.

By kindness.

By inclusion.

And that… was the gift.

And for Saskia — watching these moments unfold, something meaningful took shape.

Not in a way that called attention to itself.

Not in a way that asked to be explained.

But in the gentle observation of closeness, she experienced something not always available to her.

Not as a substitute.

But as something shared.

It revealed itself in moments.

Watching Elizabeth and her father, Stephen — the ease between them, the closeness that needed no explanation.

The Schiff family — choosing time together, deliberately. Each daughter kayaking with each parent, not out of routine, but intention. A loving choreography of care.

Abby and Roger… receiving the news of their new grandchild being born. In a place defined by life continuing, their own family expanding in real time.

‘Grandma Anne’ helping Saskia choose her first analogue watch and teaching her how to set it.

Martin and Amanda — bringing the islands to life through their superbly informative lectures, deepening not just our understanding, but our appreciation.

And to every member of that circle — named and unnamed — each of you carried something distinct, something essential… gracefully proving that it is variation, not uniformity, that makes something endure.

And through it all, Paul, our tour manager, not simply organising, but holding us. Gently. Skilfully. Like a family you don’t quite realise you’ve become… until you are one.

Alongside him, our naturalists — Alex, Luis, Umberto — whose knowledge didn’t just inform, it inspired. Their love for these islands, for preservation, for Darwin’s living legacy… unmistakable.

And the crew — tireless, attentive, quietly ensuring that every moment unfolded as it should.

People, working not as individuals… but as a system.

A system that didn’t just function… but belonged.

Because Darwin’s idea was never just about survival.

It was about what continues.

In a world that now engineers so much of what is seen, chosen, and surface, this experience felt untouched.

Unfiltered. Unforced. Real.

I came to give my daughter an experience.

I left having received one.

Not survival of the fittest.

But the beautiful, humbling grace of being the right fit.

Update: it arrived. To Saskia’s best friend in the UK.

Nine days after posting… and only four days after we got home.

No tracking. No notifications. No stamp — just human delivery at its finest.

Thank you, strangers 💛

DHL / UPS… eat your heart out.