I always say something that has almost become a life statement: the secret to learning is teaching. It is not just a nice phrase; it is a constant practice. In every class, in every explanation, in every attempt to make something complex understandable, I discover how much I truly understand… and how much I still need to learn. Teaching forces me to reorganize ideas, to question myself, to go deeper. And something wonderful happens there: while I believe I am guiding others, I am actually learning as well.

Over time, I have understood that this is not by chance. From a perspective closer to neuroscience, a field that deeply interests me, learning involves building and strengthening neural connections. It is not just about receiving information, but transforming it, integrating it, giving it meaning, and even making it part of our lives.

When we teach, this process intensifies: we explain, we remember, we associate, we feel. It becomes a deeper, more real form of learning. That is why, when we say “practice makes the master,” we are not repeating a cliché—we are describing a biological and human phenomenon at the same time.

However, there is something that is rarely said honestly: learning is also hard. And it can be very demanding, even when we have spent years in a field—there is always something new that requires us to retrain ourselves. This is happening to me now as I integrate other areas such as microbiology, the use of more advanced equipment, and as I have shifted my focus from the sea to rivers. On a personal level, I have tried to learn how to play an instrument. The truth is, I have always wanted to, and it has been far more challenging than I imagined. At first, I thought perhaps I lacked the ability, that maybe it was not for me. But then I understood that it is not about talent, but about process. My brain is simply facing something new, something that requires time, repetition, and patience. And my responsibilities often take over.

The same has happened to me with some statistical software packages. Tools that are part of my field, but that I do not always master with the fluency I would like. And in those moments, a very clear feeling arises: I need to stop. To study. To go back to the basics. To relearn. And that is where an internal tension appears, because I have many projects, many responsibilities, many ideas in motion. Stopping is not always easy.

But I have started to recognize something important: my body is also part of the learning process. There are moments when I simply cannot keep moving forward, and it is not a lack of discipline or commitment. It is a signal. An invitation to pause. To integrate. To breathe within the process. Because even from a scientific perspective, we know that rest is not wasted time—it is part of learning. It is in those spaces where the brain organizes, consolidates, and strengthens what we have worked on.

Sometimes we believe that certain skills are innate, that some people are born with certain abilities and others are not. But reality is far more hopeful. Our brain has the ability to adapt, to change, and to learn continuously. Practice not only improves what we already know how to do, but also allows us to acquire what we once thought impossible.

Today I recognize myself in that intermediate space between who I am and who I am learning to become. I continue teaching, I continue learning, I continue making mistakes. I keep trying to play that instrument, even if it does not sound perfect. I keep facing tools that challenge me. And I also continue listening when my body asks me to stop, even though I am still learning to do so without guilt. I keep trying to return to physical activity and to make self-care part of my life.

Perhaps that is what all of this is about. Understanding that learning is not a destination, but a path in motion. A process where doubt, error, pause, and effort all have a place.
And if there is something I can share from my experience, it is this: do not underestimate what you can learn through practice, nor what you can discover when you allow yourself to teach. And do not think that pausing means taking a step backward—it is always possible to begin again.