During one of my interviews in Auroville, we were speaking passionately about environmental responsibility. About protecting water systems. About sourcing fabrics consciously. About extracting natural dyes from plants without harming the earth.

As we talked, cigarette smoke drifted between us.

At one point, the cigarette was pressed into the soil underfoot, the same soil from which plants are grown, and the same ground that supports the sourcing of materials and the creation of natural color.

The image stayed with me.

Not because it felt hypocritical. But because it felt human.

How often do we devote ourselves wholeheartedly to one aspect of sustainability while quietly neglecting another? How often do we protect the planet in one area while unintentionally harming it in another? The contradiction did not cancel out the passion I was witnessing. If anything, it made it more complex.

The cigarette became a sort of symbol to me. It reminded me that sustainability is rarely complete. We separate our ethics into different parts. We pour energy into the causes that move us most deeply, while other habits remain untouched, unquestioned, or postponed for later.

The 17 Sustainable Development Goals are interconnected for a reason. Environmental protection cannot be fully separated from human health. Care for the earth cannot be entirely divorced from care for the body. Sustainability is not only about materials, production methods, or business models. It is also about daily choices, consistency, and alignment.

That moment challenged me more than it judged anyone else. It made me ask myself where I practice selective sustainability. Where do my values and my habits fail to meet? Where do I protect one thing while ignoring another?

Maybe real sustainability is not about being morally perfect. Maybe it is about being aware. It is about noticing the small contradictions in our lives and slowly working to reduce them. It is about trying to bring things together instead of trying to be perfect.

We all practice sustainability in parts. The real work is learning how to bring those parts together into one whole.

By Sarah Azarian