To conserve nature is to conserve ourselves.
Entre 2021 e 2024, a psicóloga Letícia Alves percorreu 75 parques nacionais brasileiros em busca de uma resposta que a prática clínica já sugeria: o contato regular com a natureza não é um luxo, mas uma necessidade humana fundamental. Num país onde 87% das pessoas vivem em cidades, essa desconexão do mundo natural produz o que pesquisadores chamam de 'extinção da experiência' — um empobrecimento silencioso do sentido de pertencimento. A expedição de 90 mil quilômetros tornou-se, ao fim, uma documentação do processo inverso: o de como a natureza nos reorganiza por dentro quando voltamos a habitá-la.
- A maioria dos brasileiros cresce e envelhece sem jamais ouvir o canto de um sabiá em seu habitat natural — e essa ausência cobra um preço mental que a ciência começa a medir.
- A psicóloga Letícia Alves transformou três anos de estrada, rio e trilha numa investigação viva sobre o que perdemos quando nos afastamos dos ritmos do mundo natural.
- Da floresta amazônica ao Pico da Bandeira, cada parque visitado reforçou a mesma evidência: entrar em contato com a diversidade da vida reorganiza emoções, reduz o estresse e fortalece a imunidade.
- Nomear um lobo-guará ou uma anta não é apenas botânica ou zoologia — é o primeiro gesto de pertencimento, e pertencer é, segundo Alves, o começo do cuidado com a saúde mental.
- A expedição aponta uma saída acessível para a crise silenciosa de desconexão urbana: visitar um parque, caminhar numa trilha, notar o que floresce ao redor — o remédio existe e está disponível.
Entre 2021 e 2024, a psicóloga Letícia Alves, 39 anos, e seu marido, o economista Dennis Hyde, percorreram o Brasil de ponta a ponta: 90 mil quilômetros de carro, 10 mil de barco e 3.500 a pé, visitando 75 parques nacionais. Chamaram o projeto de Expedição Entre Parques. O que começou como uma travessia por paisagens protegidas foi se tornando algo próximo de um estudo clínico sobre como o mundo natural nos repara.
Alves partiu de uma hipótese construída em anos de consultório: o contato regular com a natureza não apenas nos faz bem — ele nos reorganiza. Cada floresta atravessada, cada noite sob o céu aberto, cada canto de pássaro ouvido em silêncio são, para ela, manutenção essencial. No Parque Nacional do Caparaó, onde o Pico da Bandeira se ergue como a terceira maior altitude do país, ela observou como a mente se aquieta diante da imensidão — e como essa quietude carrega uma lição universal sobre dependência e saúde.
O pano de fundo é urgente: 87% dos brasileiros vivem em cidades. Pesquisadores chamam o efeito dessa separação de 'extinção da experiência' — a perda gradual do sentido de pertencer a algo maior do que nós mesmos. Alves viu o processo inverso acontecer em tempo real: pessoas que entravam em trilhas saíam diferentes. A ciência confirma o que a intuição já sabia. No Japão, o shinrin-yoku — o banho de floresta — demonstrou reduzir o estresse, estabilizar emoções e fortalecer o sistema imunológico. Crianças com acesso regular à natureza desenvolvem melhor coordenação, mais confiança e saúde emocional mais estável.
Para Alves, aprender a nomear um lobo-guará ou uma anta é mais do que conhecimento — é o primeiro gesto de pertencimento, e pertencer é o começo do cuidado. 'Conservar a natureza é conservar a nós mesmos', ela conclui. O convite está aberto a qualquer pessoa: visitar um parque, caminhar numa trilha, notar o que floresce perto de casa. A medicina existe. Basta aparecer.
For three years, a psychologist and an economist drove across Brazil in search of something most of us have forgotten how to find. Letícia Alves, 39, and her husband Dennis Hyde spent the time between 2021 and 2024 visiting 75 national parks, covering 90,000 kilometers by road, 10,000 by boat, and 3,500 on foot. They called it the Expedição Entre Parques—the Between Parks Expedition—and what began as a journey through protected landscapes became something closer to a clinical study of how the natural world repairs us.
Alves is a psychologist, and she came to this work with a hypothesis born from her practice: that regular contact with nature doesn't just feel good, it reorganizes us. Each step into a forest, each night under an open sky, each moment of listening to birdsong—these are not luxuries or escapes. They are, she came to believe, essential maintenance. "Cada passo e cada travessia eram um convite ao contato cotidiano com o mundo natural," she reflected on the journey. Every step was an invitation to daily encounter with the living world.
The expedition began in the Espírito Santo, at Caparaó National Park, where the Pico da Bandeira rises as Brazil's third-highest mountain. The park sits at the intersection of altitude and water—its peaks feed springs that supply thousands of people below. For Alves, climbing there meant more than physical exertion. "A mente se aquieta diante do silêncio e da imensidão," she observed. The mind quiets in the face of silence and vastness. Different people find different things on that mountain—rest, the proof of their own strength, something that might be called spiritual. But the lesson, she argues, is universal: we only understand health when we recognize how completely we depend on what grows and flows around us.
The context for this journey is stark. According to Brazil's census bureau, 87 percent of Brazilians live in cities. That statistic carries weight beyond demography. Researchers like Miles Richardson and Lis Leão have named what happens in that gap: the "extinction of experience." When we stop encountering the natural world regularly, we lose something harder to measure than income or education—we lose the felt sense that we belong to something larger than ourselves. We forget we are nature. And forgetting that, we stop caring for it.
What Alves witnessed across those 75 parks was the inverse process: reconnection as healing. She watched how entering a forest or following a trail seemed to reorganize something internal, as though the sheer diversity of life around her returned her to balance. She noticed small things—how a sabiá bird in São Paulo sings earlier than it should, driven by light pollution and urban noise, while in protected areas the same bird's call echoes as an invitation to presence. These observations align with what science has begun to confirm. In Japan, the practice of shinrin-yoku—forest bathing—has been shown to reduce stress, stabilize emotion, and strengthen immune function. The intuition was right. The body knows.
Alves speaks often about naming. "Os nomes que aprendemos a dar e reconhecer — lobo-guará, anta, jaratataca, buriti — são mais do que espécies. São sinais de pertencimento," she writes. The names we learn to recognize—the maned wolf, the tapir, the skunk, the buriti palm—are more than taxonomy. They are proof of belonging. To name something is to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it is to begin to care for it. And to care for the natural world, she argues, is to care for the mind and the life we actually live.
The research on children supports this. Those with regular access to natural environments develop better coordination, greater confidence, and more stable emotional health. As adults, they tend toward balance. The inverse is also true: disconnection from nature appears to exact a cost in mental health that we are only beginning to quantify. Alves sees her work not as advocacy but as documentation of what happens when we remember what we are. "Conservar a natureza é conservar a nós mesmos," she concludes. To conserve nature is to conserve ourselves. The invitation, she suggests, is open to anyone: visit a park, walk a trail, or simply notice what blooms nearby. The medicine is available. We have only to show up.
Notable Quotes
The mind quiets in the face of silence and vastness. Different people find different things on that mountain—rest, the proof of their own strength, something spiritual. But the lesson is universal: we only understand health when we recognize how completely we depend on what grows around us.— Letícia Alves, psychologist
To name something is to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it is to begin to care for it. And to care for the natural world is to care for the mind and the life we actually live.— Letícia Alves, on the significance of learning species names
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
You spent three years driving across Brazil to 75 parks. That's not a vacation. What were you actually looking for?
I was testing something I'd noticed in my practice—that when people spent time in nature, something shifted in how they understood themselves. Not metaphorically. Physically. Their nervous systems changed. I wanted to understand that at scale, across different ecosystems.
And did you find what you were looking for?
I found something more specific. It wasn't just that nature felt good. It was that naming things—learning the animals, the plants, the geography—created a sense of belonging. Once you know a place, you can't ignore it. You become responsible for it.
Eighty-seven percent of Brazilians live in cities. That's a lot of people disconnected from that responsibility.
It is. And the research shows it costs us. Children without nature contact develop differently. Adults without it carry a kind of ambient anxiety. We've created a system where most people never encounter the living world except as scenery.
But visiting a park once doesn't fix that, does it?
No. It has to be regular. The Japanese understand this—forest bathing isn't a one-time event. It's a practice. The body needs rhythm. It needs to remember it's part of something alive.
What's the hardest part of that message to get people to hear?
That it's not optional. We treat nature contact like a hobby, something for weekends. But it's infrastructure for mental health. As essential as sleep.