R3ciprocity Podcast

I think a lot of the unrest we've seen in the last 10 years is because data is exposing more of who we actually are.I read a working paper on conflict of interest in academic markets, and honestly—it was unnerving. The researchers analyzed public data, did some matching, and showed how personal relationships strongly shaped outcomes. I won't name names—but what they found was shocking.We're told that as researchers, we're “the noble bunch.” But the reality? Conflict of interest isn't rare. It's baked into the system. It's not some evil conspiracy—it evolved slowly, and most of us benefit from it without even realizing.Now that the data is available, we can't unsee what's going on. And it's creating two reactions: • Fight: Deny, defend, discredit the data • Flight: Avoid, deflect, go silentBut maybe there's a third path: Sit in the discomfort. Be open. Ask: Have I benefited? What does this mean for the future of science?The reality is: We've built a profession where fairness is assumed—but rarely verified. And the more data we get, the more it shows just how much of this game has always been about who you know.

Some people move through life telling you they are always busy.They never have enough time.Everything is urgent.Everything is falling apart.And then there are others who somehow… make time.Even when life is chaotic.I live in this strange duality myself.Part of me feels the constant pressure:“I need to get this done. I need to do that. I'm behind.”And the other part of me knows:Things unfold at their own pace.Very little truly changes with panic.Building the R3ciprocity Project has made this even clearer.I never feel like I have enough time.Between research, teaching, service, family, health, and trying to build something new — the whole thing feels messy.Yet I carve out fifteen or twenty minutes every day to keep moving forward.Not because it's efficient.But because one small step a day is the only real way anything gets built.Most people misunderstand this.Busyness is a feeling.Progress is a practice.The world will always try to make you frantic.People will project their anxiety onto you.You will feel scattered, behind, inadequate… until you realize:The only thing you can ever do is take the next small step.No multitasking.No rushing.No magic.Just a calm, stubborn commitment to something that matters to you.Whatever you are working on:Stop letting “busy” control your life.Pick one small thing.Do it today.Everything else unfolds on its own.

Why Original Thinkers Rarely ‘Make It'

Doing a PhD means you are in your head a lot. You live inside your own thoughts, and it becomes very difficult not to go into great depths of negativity. You start to ruminate, to fixate, to compare yourself to others, and it becomes this spiral where you feel horrible about yourself.Loneliness becomes an industrial hazard of the profession. You are rated against others constantly, and you start to think you are not as good as you should be. It is a very strange, internal negotiation—just you and your own mind. Some days you get it miserably wrong and have a miserable day. Other days you get it just so, and you have a good day.Over time, you begin to realize that managing your head is the real work. You learn to find good people around you, to step back, to wander, to rest, and to give that poor soul in your head a break. The outlets that are healthy will feel like a waste of time, but they are not.This is the hardest part of doing research: managing your mind, learning how to live with your own thoughts, and finding peace in the fact that you will never fully control them—but you can keep coming back, again and again.

We don't talk about this enough:Teams don't fail because of bad strategy. They fail when someone starts rationalizing their effort.“I've already put in too much time.”“This isn't going anywhere.”“There's no ROI.”“I'm not feeling it anymore.”If you've ever heard those words—you know it's over.Because what breaks a team isn't misalignment.It's when one person emotionally checks out… and justifies it with logic.And here's the harsh truth: you can't logic someone back in.You can't force them to fall in love with a mission again.Just like marriage—when someone decides the struggle isn't worth it anymore, it's already dead.I've seen it happen. I've lived it.As a professor. As a founder. As someone who's tried to build things that mattered.And I can tell you this:The best teams aren't built on convenience.They're built on irrational grit.The kind that says: “This is hard. We'll keep going anyway.”Not because it's efficient.Not because the spreadsheet says so.But because something deeper drives them—something unmeasurable.Call it love. Call it stubbornness.Call it refusing to quit when you know what you're doing still matters.It's not about psychological safety.It's about the act of getting back up, again and again, when things break.So here's what I look for now:Are they going to get back up—no matter what?Are they responsive when it's ugly, not just when it's exciting?Are they okay with starting over and still pushing forward?Because if they aren't, the team's already broken.And no ROI calculation will fix that.

You know what makes me most excited about artificial intelligence?It's when I see viral posts on Facebook, LinkedIn, whatever platform—people outing others for using AI. Someone includes the wrong kind of prompt in a research paper, and suddenly… it's a scandal. It's a rejection. People get really, really upset.And honestly? That's the moment I start paying attention.It's uncomfortable. It's weird. But these uncomfortable, weird moments?They're almost always signs of a massive shift.It's the same feeling people had with Galileo and the telescope. That thing only magnified by 3 to 10 times, and still—he looked at the sky, and people freaked out. He didn't benefit from it. But the world changed.I remember when people had to switch from typewriters to WordPerfect.It made everyone furious. Teachers didn't want to learn a new system.It felt like everything was falling apart.Same thing with Uber and taxis.With Airbnb and the hotel industry.With Napster and the entire music business.People were outraged—until they weren't.People got upset about electricity.They got upset about disposable diapers.They got upset about the horseless carriage.They got upset about Spotify, about Google Docs, about Grammarly.Heck, even the microwave was controversial when it showed up.We don't like transition. We like control.And so here we are again—freaking out over artificial intelligence.But if you do realize it, you can stop blaming the wrong thing.You can stop calling AI “cheating” and start asking:What is this discomfort trying to tell me?Because this shift we're going through—it's bigger than research.It's going to hit physicians.Architects.Manual laborers.Construction workers.Teachers.Therapists.Probably even dog groomers.I'm not saying it's perfect.I'm not saying it won't replace some things.But here's what I am saying:The laws won't lead us.They'll follow.Just like they always do.And no—we're not going back.We never do.You don't un-invent the car.You don't un-send the email.You don't stop the music once it's streaming.So maybe—just maybe—it's time we stop being afraid.Maybe we stop calling it cheating and start asking:What would happen if we embraced this shift?If we leveraged it?If we used AI to build things we actually want?To make our lives a little easier?To multiply what we already do well?These moments—the ones that make you uncomfortable, make you hide, make you fight—they're just growing pains.We've had them before.We'll have them again.You don't have to love it.But you might want to pay attention.Because we're not going back.

If you are building some form of software or doing new product development, you will never feel like you have enough time. Lots of people out there have a little startup or they are trying to build something, and that is a big part of what this channel is about. I just want to explain what has happened and why I am talking about this. I try to document all of the things I am going through.I am a real life professor. My job is normally to do research most of the time, 80 percent of the time, and 20 percent is to teach, plus all the emails and administrative stuff. I am always doing research, and I am building the R3ciprocity Project in between all of these moments. It is foolish to jump into something without a safety net, so you do it on your part-time until you get the damn thing working. But you never have enough time at any given moment.We started on a project back in May. It is now late October. I was really excited about this feature because I think it is quite revolutionary. You can call it the TikTok of science. It went live today. I planned for so long to be excited about it, but when it went live I realized I cannot tell anybody because I have to get to work. My wife is at home. She is a doctor, a veterinarian, and she gets one day off a week. I cannot stay at home to talk about it, so I have to do it from my car. It feels like this endless sense of not having enough time.I need to publish a book. I need to put it together. I never have enough time. My work is my priority, my family is my other priority, my health. I am trying to do it in all these moments. When something spectacular happens, people say “just do this,” and you think: I have no time. You have to forgive yourself and realize it is a long journey. It is always going to feel like it is not working out. That is the name of the game. That is what it means to do something entrepreneurial. At any moment you feel like it is falling apart. You feel like you are falling apart. You keep trying to put this thing together until you get the damn thing to actually work.Everything always feels broken. You always feel broken, but you get back up and do it again and again. If you do not have unlimited funds, it is very different than a job. It is about being embarrassed. The whole thing is feeling like you do not know what you are doing.There is a difference between grad school and entrepreneurship. In grad school you do not know what you are doing, but entrepreneurship adds the element of doing it in public. People think you should not do things in public, but it will never work unless you do it in public. It is a combination of being nervous and uncertain, but doing it in the public eye at any given moment. You feel embarrassed and wish you could have things put together, but you do not have the right answer.If you are doing this, just know it is a 30-year commitment of being embarrassed and feeling stupid until you get the damn thing to work. If it works and it takes off, maybe it cuts down to five years. But until then, it is a long commitment where you do not know what you are doing and you keep trying every day. If you have it in you, you realize it is just a journey. The whole thing is fun, exciting, and interesting at any given moment.All right, take care, and have a wonderful day.

I love building something raw — and letting everyone see the mess.That's the point of the R3ciprocity Project.There's uncertainty.There's embarrassment.There's a lot of “I have no idea what I'm doing.”But I keep going.Because what I've realized — in startups and in academia — is that we have a strong culture of hiding.Hiding failure.Hiding doubt.Hiding how much of this is just making it up as you go.Here's the wild part:I've read thousands of articles. I've studied innovation for two decades.I have an engineering degree.I'm a professor.And still, I don't always know what I'm doing.And that's the truth no one says out loud.Instead, we tell people they're wrong for feeling lost.Or we pretend it's easy — that everyone has it figured out.And that makes it worse.We don't talk about how much comes down to connections.To having a parent who can fund your startup.To being in the right room at the right time.To having the “right” people give you a chance.And when people like us try to do it legitimately, transparently, and slowly…We feel like failures.But we're not.We're just playing the game differently.Building R3ciprocity has been messy.I've spent way too much money.I feel guilty I can't pay my team more.I wish it had worked faster.But I keep showing up.Because I know this is what real work looks like.If you're struggling —If you feel like you're the only one who hasn't figured it out —You're not alone.You're just doing the hard thing, honestly.And that's the part we don't talk about enough.

People think being a professor is easy.You sit around, read a few books, teach a few classes, and write the occasional paper.But that's not the reality. Not even close.I've talked to Olympic athletes, bankers, folks from construction—and many of them say the same thing after stepping into this profession:“I had no idea it would be this hard.”Because here's what nobody tells you:Being a professor means spending years creating ideas that no one believes in.You wake up every day and try to convince some of the smartest, most skeptical people on the planet that your idea is worth hearing.And you do it alone. Quietly.For years.It's not just intellectually demanding—it's emotionally brutal.And every single day, I ask myself:Should I quit?The writing.The reading.The isolation.The rejection.You're always behind. Always not doing enough.Ten pages a day? Still not enough.Hundreds of pages of reading? Still not enough.And the reward? Often a silent desk and another anonymous review that dismantles your work in a paragraph.The truth is, this job messes with your head.The data proves it: doctoral students and faculty have some of the highest rates of depression of any professional group.Because we are wrestling—not just with ideas—but with ourselves.And you can't fake it.If you care about truth, if you work with real data, the job gets even lonelier.Because you see the mess. You see the complexity.And you know that what's “publishable” isn't always what's true.So why do I stay?I'm still figuring that out.But I think it has something to do with making peace with the grind.Trying—somehow—to turn the isolation into something quiet and sacred.And finding ways to detach from the metrics, from the pressure, from the impossible standards we set for ourselves.Because if I don't…This job will eat me alive.If you're in it too—if you're trying to do good work, trying to hold onto some joy, trying to stay kind in a career that often doesn't reward it—then this one's for you.You're not alone.And yes, it's this hard for all of us.

I've hit every milestone I was supposed to hit.I got the degrees.I earned tenure.I published the research.I'm raising a family.I even built a platform to help other researchers.And still—most days, I feel like I'm failing.Not because I've failed.But because perfection culture has trained people like us to believe we're never enough.In academia, in parenting, in life—we are constantly being measured, ranked, judged, and compared.We're told that if we just optimize one more thing, maybe then we'll finally feel successful.But it never works.In this video, I'm sharing what it feels like to finally admit that I'm not perfect—and why that may be the only thing keeping me sane.If you're exhausted from pretending you're okay…If you feel like you're doing everything “right” and still feeling empty…This one's for you.This isn't about giving up.It's about letting go of the illusion that success means you have to be flawless.Let's talk about what really matters.

I think about mental health a lot—especially mental health at work.Most of us were never taught how to manage the invisible stuff. Not in school. Not in research. Not even in our families. It's only in the last 20–30 years that people even started talking about mental health outside of medical journals. And even now, most of what we see is snapshots. Clean. Marketable. Sanitized.But life doesn't feel like a snapshot.It feels like managing thoughts late at night.Trying to nudge yourself from the bottom quartile to feeling just okay.Wrestling with who you are when everything looks fine on paper.Doing all the tricks—music, walking, not oversharing, trying not to fall apart.I talk about this stuff not because I have answers. But because I've lived it.Because I think we need more real, human-generated data—not just survey stats.Because this is what research life actually feels like.Take care. And if you're struggling, you're not broken.You're just alive.

Not the pitch decks. Not the TED Talks. Not the LinkedIn wins.But the quiet moments of anxiety. The constant doubt. The deep embarrassment of putting something out into the world before it's ready—and maybe before you are.In this podcast, Professor David Maslach (creator of R3ciprocity) shares a brutally honest take on what it actually feels like to build something real—when you have no funding, no roadmap, and no clue if it will work.This is for the people in the middle of the mess, trying to build anyway.

simple: 1. Generate knowledge 2. Turn it into real-world solutions 3. Repeat—with joyBut instead of pretending that this happens in a perfectly rational system, I want to remind people: it's allowed to be fun.Serious progress can come from play.Deep insight can come from silliness.The point is to keep going, and keep trying—even when it feels pointless.

Most days, I feel like I'm failing at everything.I'm trying to be a good dad.A good husband.A good son.A good professor.A good person.And most days—I feel like I'm not doing enough in any of those roles.Like I'm stretched so thin, I barely exist in any of them.But I still show up.Not because I have it figured out. Not because I'm successful.But because I believe there are people out there who feel the exact same way—and think they're the only ones.You're not.I talk about what it's really like to live in that space where you're trying hard, giving what you can, and still wondering if it matters.I also talk about what it's like to build something—like the Reciprocity Project—when you're not confident, not famous, and not sure anyone's listening.This isn't a success story. It's a survival story.And if you're in that place right now, this is for you.

I'm going to say something that might sound extreme:If we got rid of higher education as we know it—college, university, all of it—maybe we'd be better off.Why?Because most people don't actually want to learn.They don't care. They're checked out. And no message—no matter how true or kind—seems to land unless it's already preaching to the choir.And yet… I keep going.Because I know this: real education moves the needle.But only when people take it seriously.Only when they do the hard work.Only when they show up—again and again—even when it's miserable, boring, thankless, and lonely.I've lived it.I've seen what this kind of work does to a life.You don't see it in the moment. You don't feel it in your bank account.But give it 10 or 20 years, and it changes everything—your class, your identity, your capacity to survive.This episode is for the person who's being laughed at right now.For the person who's grinding and feels invisible.For the one who wants to quit because the gains feel too far away.Keep going.It's supposed to be hard.And yes, it feels stupid while you're doing it.But one day, someone will come up to you and say: “I wish I had done what you did.”And that moment will be worth it.

We're taught in school to look for a single best answer. One multiple-choice question. One correct option. Select A and move on.But the real world never works like that.Most of the time, the answer is never given to you.Most of the time, you don't even know what the question actually is.In real life, the “answers” are never independent. They're highly connected in weird ways. If you select A in the first question, the response in the second question might be B. Or D. Or something you didn't expect at all.And when you actually interact with the world, you realize you just don't know. There isn't a straight answer. There isn't even a clear question. You have to piece together artifacts of this very complicated world and make sense of it yourself.The central problem is this: people wait to be told the right answer.But it's not going to present itself that way.You have to figure out what you're even asking.Then decide what you will call the correct choice based on what you see.And the only way to build that skill is by pushing against the world. Saying “screw you” to the idea of a single right way. Doing something. Seeing what happens.It's always going to be a complicated interactive mess.But you learn by doing. Not by waiting.

It's not lost on me how wrong management theories often are.I read a lot. And I know this sounds pretentious, but I'm confident enough now to say I'm one of the few people who actually studies platforms and builds one. The only reason I got here is because I'm building the Reciprocity platform with my own money, my own time, and all the embarrassment that goes with it.And that's why I see how disconnected management theory often is from the real world. We rarely capture what it feels like to actually build something — the shame, the failure, the stress, the weird looks, the feeling of being an outsider, and doing the “wrong thing” for years before anything works.Nobody writes about how hard it is to get attention.Nobody writes about being stuck in the middle — too practical for academia, too theoretical for builders.Nobody writes about waking up, wasting money, screwing up, and getting back up again.Students talk about innovation.Big companies talk about innovation.But almost nobody actually does it — because it's humiliating, slow, lonely work.The only reason I understand this now is because I was foolish enough to build something real. And once you do that, you realize how little our theories explain and how much of innovation is simply:get up, feel the shame, try again.Take care and have a wonderful day.

I built the most powerful research tool I have ever used — more impactful than AI. It lets you compare ideas, generate abstracts, and get instant feedback. I don't know why researchers keep scrolling past it.

I keep hearing that academia is dying.That we're in an existential crisis.That peer review is broken. That the system is collapsing.And I get it.I've been deeply concerned about parts of it, too—especially peer review. When it's bad, it's almost useless. But when it works, it's beautiful. And hard.Still, I don't buy the narrative that we're watching the death of the academic system.Because one thing organizational theory teaches us—if we're really paying attention—is that you can look at the same system in multiple ways. And when I step back and squint, academia starts to look like something much simpler:A distributed network of smart people paid to think.That's it. That's the whole thing.Strip away the institutional formalities, the politics, the performative routines—and what we're left with is still valuable. Because even if universities crumble or AI replaces traditional processes, there will still be demand for smart people solving hard problems.And if the public systems fall apart? Private ones will emerge.Will they be better? Maybe. Worse? Maybe.But they'll exist—because thinking has value.In this episode, I explore why I'm not afraid of the supposed collapse of academia.I'm actually kind of excited.Because the system was never perfect.And maybe what comes next could be even more alive.

Sometimes I'll see a new bill passed or read a shocking headline—and my first reaction is the same as yours: “What the hell is happening to the world?”I'll get grumpy. I'll vent to my wife. I'll think, “This is dumb.”But then I stop.Because I've learned that we, as human beings, are terrible at making sense of complicated systems.Even if something seems obviously harmful—or genuinely is harmful—it's often impossible to know what the actual long-term effects will be. The systems we live in are too complex. You move one piece, and another shifts in a direction you never saw coming.We teach this in business schools all the time. But we forget it when the world feels uncertain.In this episode, I talk about why we get suckered into overreacting to things we barely understand. Why even smart people with lots of data still get it wrong. And why real change—like with climate tech—often comes from places we least expect.I talk about China, capitalism, solar panels, and storms. But really, I'm talking about how hope still survives in complexity. And why stepping back doesn't mean giving up—it just means seeing the system for what it is.If you've felt overwhelmed by the news, this episode is for you.Not because I'll tell you what to think.But because I'll remind you that it's okay not to know right away.

There is absolutely far too much hype around innovation.I say that as someone who teaches innovation for a living and then tried to build something myself.I have spent unbelievable amounts of time, effort, and money on the Reciprocity platform. And the great irony is that it was meant to help researchers in a field that talks nonstop about innovation. Yet when you look around, almost no one actually innovates. Not really.At the beginning, I fell for the hype. I read all the good stories. I believed the models. But once you try to build something in the real world, you see how big the selection bias is. We only hear from the winners. Nobody counts the people who tried for a week or two and quit because they were crushed by the psychology of it.The truth is this: most innovation is not technical. It is emotional.You have to sit with your own failures. You have to feel like an outsider.You have to speak into the darkness and hope someone even cares.And you have to keep going when it feels like nobody does.I misunderstood how hard that would be.And I am still trying.

There is a lot of mystery and ambiguity around the career of a researcher or scientist, and the general public often gets it wrong. Reporters and commenters talk about science in a certain way, but when you are in it, you know it does not work that way at all. Different domains are very different in how they operate in the scientific way, and there is a lot of nuance that people never see.What the public thinks we actually do is striking, and these misperceptions pass to policymakers and government analysts. Even popular science shows report things like the number of citations, but that is one of the most meaningless things in terms of what good science really is. More citations does not mean better science.Good work needs depth, nuance, and looking at the world in a different way. There are big differences in scientific effort across fields. Some work is very good, and some is easy to see as not very good at all. You see it fast when you look at abstracts, even my 13-year-old could spot it.People also think science is full of facts, but real facts are very hard to come by in a world with so much uncertainty. Science is probabilistic, complex, and never as clear as it looks. Better understanding of probability, science, and even financial literacy would help people understand it all a lot more.We need more clarity about how science actually gets done, why ideas repeat, why norms develop, and why science is not the simple story most people imagine.

Is Business Strategy Just Luck, Privilege, and Repetition?Over time, I have become increasingly cautious about what strategy truly means. I have spent much of my career studying it, teaching it, and trying to apply it. Yet the longer I engage with the topic, the more I have come to wonder whether we sometimes overstate what we can actually achieve.Respecting the TraditionIt is important to acknowledge that the study of strategy has given us remarkable insights. The field has taught generations of scholars to think about positioning, competitive advantage, and the careful use of scarce resources. These ideas have shaped me deeply.The narrative assumes that we can diagnose a situation, marshal our resources, and execute a well-chosen plan. Yet when one examines real world examples as it actually unfolds—in markets, in careers, in scientific discovery—the connection between deliberate planning and eventual success appears less direct to me.The Invisible Forces: Luck and Social PositionMuch of what we observe as performance may be better explained by forces that are rarely incorporated into our models of organizational life: luck and social position. Luck determines when and where one is born, who crosses one's path, and which events unfold unexpectedly in one's favor. Social position shapes access to information, status, and networks that magnify opportunity.None of this invalidates the importance of strategy. It simply means that strategy often operates within constraints that are difficult to see and even harder to measure.If luck and position matter so much, what remains within our control? The answer lies in gumption and humility, rather than perfect decision-making. The causes of success and failure are often intertwined.In such a world, the most strategic capability may not be the ability to choose perfectly, but the ability to continue acting (gumption) when the outcomes are unclear. It is not brilliance, but endurance, or… stupidity.The Engine of Performance: Gumption and FaithI have grown to see persistence as the quiet foundation beneath every form of performance. Those who continue to show up, to be curious, and to believe that improvement is possible—despite repeated setbacks—often discover forms of success that were invisible.To me, this does not diminish the value of strategy; it deepens it. It reminds us that deliberate planning must coexist with faith. Something we have known for all of humanity.⸻The Humility to See ComplexityThe traditional tools of strategy remain valuable, but they describe only one slice of a vast, open, and adaptive system. Recognizing this should not make us cynical—it should make us humble.True strategic insight may not come from trying to control the world, but from patience, grace, and joy. Strategy, at its core, is not about mastery. It is about learning to move forward through muddy messes—again and again—while still believing that tomorrow can be brighter than today.

There is a lot of discussion about the validity of science right now.Researchers talk endlessly about how to make results “more valid,” how to fix problems, and how to improve the system.But here is what I actually think.It is not about “bad apples.”It is almost never about that.The real issue is culture.And culture often comes down to one or two people inside a community who stress performance above all else. Those one or two people create tension. They make others feel lesser than. They make you feel like you are the problem. And then everything starts to bend around that pressure.This is true everywhere.Every organization. Every department. Every field.You can feel it when the conversation becomes only about outcomes:number of citations, number of papers, number of grants.All lagging indicators. All terrible predictors.My field in strategy does this constantly.It is completely wrong.And it has been wrong for a long time.A lot of this came from the old Jack-Welch-style management thinking of the 1980s. That mindset seeped everywhere. It made people believe outcomes were all that mattered. Just hit the number. Hit the target. Hit the metric.But if you look at the research coming out of the systems-dynamics world at MIT — the Sterman group especially — the story is always the same:When you focus on outcomes, everything erodes.Eventually it all falls apart.Because outcomes are not the thing that matters.What matters is whether people feel safe.What matters is whether people feel supported.What matters is whether there is unconditional kindness in the room instead of fear.You fix culture, you fix science.And none of that starts with performance.

Everyone says to optimize. To fit in. To specialize.But what if playing it safe is exactly what's holding you back?In this raw and honest episode, David Maslach shares what most people won't say out loud:Being weird might be the only reason your career survives.Drawing from experience as a tenured professor and researcher, he explains: • Why the best ideas start as misunderstood • How “goofy” projects become strategic breakthroughs • Why great firms like Google protect weirdos—and so should you • What it feels like when even your friends think you're wasting your timeThis isn't hustle advice. It's a survival guide for researchers, PhDs, and anyone trying to build something real when nobody else sees the vision yet.If you've ever wondered, “Am I off-track or just early?”This episode will help you keep going.

Hey assistant professors that are just starting out. I just wanna remind you to live with as much joy as you possibly can. It is very easy to focus on what you need to get to and be very strategic in terms of who you are going to work with, but the key thing to always focus on is joy. Make sure that you are smiling every day. Make sure you have some laughter every single day. Look for those moments that make you feel warm inside. This is what I call the Spidey sense — the warmness you feel once you start engaging and you start doing things in life.Take a step back from the things that make you feel uptight. Engage with the moments that give you the warm fuzzies. It is not about being impractical and it is not about living life with rose-colored glasses. It is about figuring out how to survive in a world that often pushes all of that joy away. The more you focus on feeling warm inside, being light on your feet, and living your life with joy, the better off you are going to be.You might be listening to this and saying that joy will not make you productive. You have already lost as soon as you start thinking about productivity. That is a dead-end journey. As soon as I say the word productivity, I get uptight in my belly. But if I focus on how I can feel warm, how I can live my life with joy, how I can be a more joyful researcher where every moment I am laughing and every moment I have a sense of lightness, I feel better.For me, joy comes from people who want to laugh, who smile, who shrug off the seriousness of life. It comes from going for walks, hearing the birds, talking to you, and getting to engage in these moments where I feel good. None of this has the word productivity in it. None of this is about accomplishing things. Push that language away.If you think this will not help you get tenure, you have already lost. Your life will be dominated by trying to get tenure, and by the time you get there you will ask why you were so focused on it. Live with joy. Live with an open heart. See people smiling. Laugh. It is OK to get a cup of coffee or grab a lunch. It is not about productivity.My life used to be dominated by the logic of productivity, and every time I heard about working all the time, I felt awful because I could never compare. So I disengaged with that and focused on what makes me excited and joyful. When I could not get things done, when I was grocery shopping or spending time with my kids, I disengaged from the pressure. The joy comes from these moments, and it will change who you are inside.It may not always work out for you, but at least you lived a life worth living. You will take more risks. You will engage more. People will want to be around you. There will be a fundamental shift in who you are. Ironically, by not focusing on productivity — by focusing on joy — you actually become more productive. The less you care, the better off you are.You might not listen to this now, but one day, 20 years from now, you will hear this again and say: now I get it. Learn how to engage in the warmth and the joy of the process of discovery. Disengage from everything that pushes you toward “getting things done.” In the end, what matters is that you lived a good, healthy, lovely life where you laughed, had fun, and every moment was a joy.If you have small kids, I know it is difficult. I live that life. But remember they are a blessing. They are not taking away from your work. They are adding to it. Live a life of inspiration for others. Do not live a life about productivity. Live a life where you want to be joyful at any given moment — where you laugh and you smile. Something changes when you do that.All right, take care and have a wonderful day.

My dad used to sit in the backyard and just watch his garden.No phone. No emails. Just stillness.It never made sense to me when I was younger—how he could be happy with just that.But now I understand.He wasn't chasing anything.He had arrived.In academia—and in so many elite careers—we're trained to chase.Chase status.Chase metrics.Chase recognition from people we don't even know.I feel that pull every day.This deep, unshakable urge to be part of the most prestigious schools.To be recognized as “one of the best.”To earn a seat at the imagined table.Even when my life is full—A partner I love.Kids who make me laugh.Colleagues I care about.Freedom to think, write, and build.Still, the voice whispers:“Shouldn't you want more?”Here's what I think is happening.We construct this amalgamated ideal—a stitched-together fantasy of all the “best” traits we see in others.The top publication record.The perfect teaching scores.The charming personality.The viral following.The elite institution.The MacArthur. The Nobel. The NYT op-ed.But this ideal?It's a monster.It doesn't exist.And comparing ourselves to it only makes us feel broken.We forget: the entire picture matters.That so-called “flaw” you carry might actually be the source of your integrity.That “slowness” might be the root of your originality.That local, quiet life might hold more wisdom than any global award.The pressure to perform isn't just exhausting.It's distorting.It makes us forget that this—right now—might already be enough.Maybe we don't need to outrun the system.Maybe we just need to stop sprinting toward someone else's fantasy.And remember how to sit still.And notice the garden.

This is one of those moments I promised I'd be real with you. Nothing polished. Nothing fancy. Just the truth. Right now, I'm grumpy and tired after work—and honestly, that's all I wanted to share. Not as a rant, but as a reminder. Because we're surrounded by advice telling us to love every second of our careers, to feel passion at every turn. And if you're not feeling it, then maybe something's wrong with you. That's the lie.Here's my experience: after a full day of real work—whether that's writing papers, mentoring students, or even just managing life—I'm drained. I feel grumpy. And that's not failure. That's what it feels like to do something. Any kind of work, even the cool, creative kind, still wears you down. Whether you're a professor, a parent, a podcaster, or a so-called “influencer”—at the end of the day, you're still just a tired human trying to do your best.I see a lot of research, a lot of career advice, and a lot of “hacks” about how to be happy at work. But I'm going to tell you what I know for sure:A) I never fully know what I'm doing.B) I often feel like I'm doing the wrong thing.C) After doing the work, I usually feel completely wiped out.And honestly? I think that's completely normal.It's also normal to disengage now and again. To feel like you need to hit pause. Sometimes, switching up what you're doing—even just a little—can bring you back. That doesn't mean you're lazy or dispassionate. It means you're human. Not everything has to feel exciting. Sometimes, the best work feels like a slog.So no, you don't have to feel good all the time. You don't have to be lit up with purpose 24/7. Life isn't constant joy. It's cycles. There are days when you feel unstoppable and days when you feel like you want to curl up and disappear. That's not a flaw. That's just how it works. Take care, and keep going.

Most people ask: “Why do universities produce so little innovation per dollar spent?” or “Why don't university labs focus on real-world innovation?” The problem is that we keep using metrics that don't capture what's actually happening.Universities are playing a very different game than companies. They don't just chase performance. They teach. They serve public missions. They take on harder problems—ones others walk away from. And most of their innovation efforts? They aren't failures. They're options—investments in ideas we can't yet predict.So when you hear someone say “university patents don't make money” or “companies do it better,” they're forgetting the whole point: we're terrible at predicting success. In fact, most business leaders fail at this too—they just get to pick from projects that already look successful.If we want real innovation, we need to stop asking why universities aren't more efficient. The real question is: how do we make life good enough for the people who can see around corners—so they actually want to show up and build?

I've spent the last 10 years building a platform to make research better.To make it less lonely.To make it more joyful.To make rejection less painful.At first, I thought people would jump in.I assumed: “If I build something good—something that helps—people will just show up.”They didn't.I kept building anyway.And along the way, I learned the hardest part of innovation isn't the tech.It's not funding.It's not even the science.It's belief.Getting people to believe something new is possible…That's the game.And most of us are too tired, too overworked, too skeptical, or too burned by the system to believe.So we tell ourselves: • “I don't have time.” • “I haven't heard of it.” • “I'm already overwhelmed.”And those are real. I get it.But here's what I've learned:If I want to build something that changes anything at all, it's my job to figure out how to break through that.Not yours.You don't need to believe in my platform.But maybe this:If something feels hard to share or grow, it's not because people are wrong.It's because people are tired. Burned. Stuck.That's not an obstacle.That's the reason to keep building.Because maybe—just maybe—someone else is quietly trying too.And they need to know they're not alone.

The research career is hard in a way that's not often talked about. It's not just intellectually difficult — it's personally difficult. It functions a lot like entrepreneurship. You are left entirely to your own demise. You have near-total autonomy, and what that does is amplify whatever your default tendencies are.If you are a high-anxiety person — which describes a large number of successful researchers — you will likely internalize everything. You'll obsess, push harder, and feel like the world will fall apart if you don't accomplish something today. That's often why people succeed. But it also means you can burn yourself out or break down completely. The anxiety becomes the thing that eats you alive.On the flip side, if you are naturally more relaxed or chill, it's easy to default to avoidance. You just won't get much done. You tell yourself it'll be fine — and nothing happens. And nobody is really there to push you, because there's nobody watching.The whole system reinforces whatever your crutch is. If you're prone to loneliness, you'll feel it more. If you're prone to overwork, you'll overwork. If you need structure, there isn't any. And over time, it becomes clear that the hardest part isn't the research — it's regulating your own head.Most of the damage comes from being left to your own psychology. And that's what makes the research profession so much like building a startup. It's rarely about your ideas. It's whether you can survive being left to yourself.

I've become increasingly skeptical of the peer review system—not because the intention behind it is bad, but because of the complicated world in which it's embedded. On paper, the process sounds idealistic: submit your research, get anonymous feedback, revise, and resubmit. But in practice, it's a messy system shaped by invisible games, ambiguous standards, and enormous variability in what counts as “good” science.In this episode, I reflect on what it feels like to send work off into a black box—where editorial decisions are shaped by uncertainty, disagreement, and sometimes just luck. We talk about how reviewers often don't agree, how “A-level” work depends on who's judging it, and how real people's careers and livelihoods are affected by invisible rules no one fully understands.I still believe in the value of careful research. But I also think we need to get honest about the cost—emotional, intellectual, and financial—of playing the current game. And maybe, just maybe, we need to imagine a better system.

Why do we choose this strange, difficult career of research—and what makes it worth it?David Maslach sits down with Olav Sorenson, Professor of Strategy at UCLA Anderson and one of the most influential voices in organizational theory and entrepreneurship.“We're professional problem solvers.”In this powerful conversation, Sorenson shares how curiosity—not credentials—built his career. From almost launching a startup to shaping the field of entrepreneurship, he reminds us why the real reward in science is the process, not the prize.We talk about: • Why choosing “weird” ideas matters. • How to build real, lasting relationships. • Why intrinsic motivation is more powerful than prestige.This is a reminder that being a good scientist means staying brave, sometimes irrelevant, and always learning to love the climb.

Most people give up.They try a few times. It gets hard. It gets quiet. No one notices.So they stop.And that's why the game is winnable.That's why you never see professors building open platforms.Why researchers tell you not to start something new.Why smart people will laugh at your idea and say,“That's not how it's done.”They're not wrong.They're just done.But I'm not.Every day, I show up. Even when no one cares.Even when I feel ridiculous.Even when I want to quit.Because I know the truth:Consistency outlasts brilliance.One more day of effort stacks higher than one perfect performance.And I've seen this across research, careers, and life:The people who win aren't always smarter.They're the ones who refuse to stop when it stops being fun.They do the boring thing.The scary thing.The invisible thing.Until something cracks.And then people say:“Wow, you're lucky.”“Must be nice.”But the truth is simple:You didn't quit.And that's always been the difference.

I've never liked how we talk about retirement. Like life just… ends at 65. You stop being relevant, you stop pushing, and you're supposed to disappear into golf courses and travel ads. That might have made sense in 1955—when making it to 70 was a miracle. But that's not our world anymore. Most of us will live far longer than we think, and if you've made it this far, chances are you're healthy, sharp, and still very much alive.This episode is a gut-check: why “retirement” is outdated, why aging is framed all wrong, and why it's not too late to build, explore, and press against the world. We've confused age with irrelevance—and it's costing us. It's time to unlearn what we've been sold, respect the long arc of curiosity, and show up again—with all our might.

As a professor and researcher, you'd think I'd be certain about things by now.But the more I study the world, the more I realize how little we actually know.We act like understanding is easy—as if truth is just waiting to be downloaded.But most knowledge is fragile. Most beliefs are assumptions in disguise.And still, everyone around us—especially in academia—pretends like they know.This creates a strange culture:One where people compete by displaying knowledge, not seeking it.Where learning becomes performance, and doubt is seen as weakness.But here's the secret:The best minds I know live in the tension between knowing and not knowing.They don't shout. They ask. They keep peeling things back.Not because they have the answers—but because they're still curious.

You are more capable than you think.Most people won't tell you that. The world will make you feel small. Rejections pile up. Deadlines feel impossible. And sometimes it feels like quitting is the only way forward.But here's the truth: if you've made it this far, you already have a level of grit, intelligence, and persistence that few people ever reach.You don't need to “prove” yourself to anyone. You don't need the world's permission. You are already one of the most capable people in the room.

I've been thinking a lot about ultra-wealth—what it means when someone can earn more money in a year than most of us will see in a lifetime, and still have their wealth grow faster than they can spend it. On one hand, they earned it—through luck, skill, or strategy. On the other, we've created a world where a few people now sit above every system, every law, and maybe even time itself.This isn't a rant. It's a puzzle.What happens when wealth becomes untouchable?What happens when markets can't contain individuals anymore?There's no easy fix. But for those of us studying systems, innovation, and inequality—this is the kind of problem we have to think through. I don't have the answer. But I think we need to ask better questions.

When I began my academic journey, I assumed science was about accumulating facts that would eventually point to some clear understanding of how the world works. I believed, like many do, that each study added a brick to a larger structure we call “truth.”But over time, I've come to appreciate a more complex view.In many areas, evidence is often ambiguous, methods rest on assumptions, and interpretation depends on context. The questions we ask, and the tools we use to answer them, shape what we're able to see.Pluralism is defined as the view that multiple perspectives, methods, or explanations can each contribute meaningful insights to a phenomenon. In my own work, I've found that no single model captures everything. Some scholars use experimental design. Others prefer ethnographic immersion, formal modeling, or archival methods. All have their strengths—and their limitations.Rather than treating one method as “the” path to insight, I've come to rely on what you might call a weighted mental model: I take what I can from each approach and try to integrate these insights in a way that makes sense for the specific problem I'm studying. It's not always elegant, but it reflects the reality that many phenomena are multifaceted and dynamic.Truth as Process, Not EndpointThis doesn't mean there is no truth. But it does suggest that truth in the social sciences often emerges through approximation—through triangulation across methods, perspectives, and disciplines.Even strong findings can vary across contexts. A causal mechanism that holds in one setting may operate differently elsewhere. What looks like a robust effect in one dataset may fade in another. This doesn't invalidate our work—it simply reminds us that most knowledge claims are conditional.Rigor Still MattersIf anything, this view has deepened my respect for rigor. In complex systems, rigor is not about perfection. It's about careful design, clarity in logic, and transparency in assumptions. It's about acknowledging limits while still striving for insight.The challenge is balancing structure with openness, precision with flexibility.So Where Does That Leave Me?Honestly? I still wrestle with doubt. There are moments I wonder whether I'm overcomplicating things—or not pushing hard enough for generalizable results. But I've come to believe that uncertainty isn't a weakness in science. It's part of what makes this work so important.

I've been building a platform for years. And here's the truth I wish someone had told me:You won't know what you're doing—most of the time.Building anything real means making decisions with half the data, managing problems you didn't know existed yesterday, and waking up unsure if you're wasting your life. Some days you feel like a visionary. Other days, like a fool. That's normal.The hardest part isn't the code. It's not the funding. It's managing the quiet doubt that creeps in when progress is slow, bugs are endless, and people stop paying attention. But you show up anyway. You keep building.

(And no, I'm not talking about romance.)One of the most underrated forces in our working lives is love. Not romantic love—but the kind of love that feels more like what a good parent gives: steady, safe, present. You mess up, and they're still there. They guide, they coach, they believe in you.It's the kind of love that says: You're not your worst moment. You're still worth it. Let's figure it out together.As I've gotten older, I've realized this is what shaped me most. My parents weren't perfect—they were grumpy, snippy, just like everyone else's. But underneath it all, I never doubted they were there for me. That kind of love? It's the ground you walk on. You grow because someone believed you could.In my adult life, outside of family, I can count on one hand the people who've shown me that same kind of love. My wife. My kids. Maybe one or two close friends. That's it. And almost never in work settings.We talk about trust in business—but I think what we're really craving is this deeper sense of commitment. Not transactional. Not conditional. But a quiet promise: I'm here even when things go wrong. Especially then.That kind of culture is rare. But when you build it—when you coach, support, and still hold people accountable—it changes everything. Not because it's soft. But because it's strong.That's the kind of workplace I want to build.That's what R3ciprocity is about.That's what I'm still learning to practice, every day.

The fastest way to wealth almost always feels the slowest and the most painful. Everything that truly moves the needle—high-return assets like index and mutual funds—feels boring, ordinary, and slow. Entrepreneurship and flashy startups may seem exciting, but they come with spectacular risk and rarely pay off.Research, psychology, and economics all point to the same truth: long-run, low-risk investments—the kind nobody talks about—generate real wealth. We don't see stories about the hundreds of small, ordinary gains that compound over decades. Instead, we hear about that one viral investment while the many failures go unseen.If you want to build lasting wealth, don't chase hype. Don't buy the narrative that makes you feel weird or left behind. Stick to tried-and-true assets that grow steadily, even if they feel slow or boring. Over time, those tiny moves are the ones that win.

What if Science Isn't About Truth After All?When I started out, I believed research was about uncovering some objective reality. Something we're all moving toward, together.But over the years, I've let go of that belief. Not out of cynicism, but because I've seen how science actually works.We don't just ask what is “true or valid.”Truth and validity is just the beginning.Seeking truth is challenging. We really often don't know what “truth is.”We have to remember the system managed by imperfectly rational humans. But, let's not just blame the people involved. They are doing their best. We often all are. And, we often research things that are challenging.Science and research is just hard.There are tools, like replication and retesting, but it is only the start.We also have to ask:- What will reviewers like?- What will get published?- What will get cited, shared, or funded?What makes it through isn't always just truth, as I once understood.It's what feels persuasive, legible, beautiful.Strange ideas, messy ideas, uncomfortable ideas? They rarely survive the filter.We don't have good universal definitions of what is persuasive or beautiful. And this isn't just a social science problem. It's science, full stop.⸻I have seen this firsthand with my own work.I share publicly. I build tools. I try to make research more human.And most of the time?Ignored. Discounted. Misunderstood.I am not upset. This is not a rant. It's just reality.Look at my Youtube videos on R3ciprocity or these posts. Some work because some see their own humanity in it, and others barely get a few dozen views. I cannot predict what will be liked or who will pay attention.Some warrant more attention than I would like. It is such a challenge to understand.But I have realized: it's not just me.It's the system.The our realities are not only about facts.It's about style, status, and maybe who gets to speak.Again, this is not a flaw. This is the reality of being a human being in a beautifully ambiguous and changing world.⸻So what's left?I don't think the answer is perfect peer review. That is very difficult to do, and perhaps impossible.I don't think the answer is another ranking system.The answer might be simpler: • Let more voices in. • Accept more ambiguity. • Make the invisible visible.Just have more ideas to be heard, no matter who they come from.Maybe we create different ways to communicate become more acceptable?Maybe we explore and play. Be silly.I do see many positive things happening.We need to figure out how to get people to continue to show up in science, and not give up.Because science isn't only about truth.It's about listening to others' realities.It is about not giving up in the face of the difficult uphill climb.It's about letting your voice sing in a way the shares truth, and what you love to explore.Because it is so more than about truth. It is about what is beautiful.

After years in academia, I've realized something few people admit: most people don't actually want to change the world. They just want to live their lives, stay comfortable, and avoid risk. Innovation, entrepreneurship, and research only attract a rare few who are willing to keep going despite rejection and ambiguity.

You've been fed lies about productivity. “Do more, faster, smarter.” But in real research careers, that ratchet-up mindset breaks labs and burns people out. Most “efficiency gurus” overlook the truth: productivity doesn't come from hacks—it comes from culture.I used to believe I had to optimize everything—every minute, every task, every thought. But all that pressure to “ratchet up” only made me feel like I was falling behind. The truth? Most of what's sold as productivity in science is just noise. It doesn't reflect how real progress happens.The best research careers aren't built on hacks. They're built like kindergartens—with guidance, patience, messy days, and small wins. What actually matters is creating the space where people feel safe enough to try, fail, and grow over years—not just days.I've stopped chasing the illusion of perfect efficiency. Now I ask: how can I build a meaningful environment where people want to show up? Where I want to show up? That's the real work. Share if you've felt this tension too.

Can a non‑top‑tier doctorate program get you into a job or career within the academic or research world that is top tier? I used to think that if you did everything right—you were producing more papers, asking profound questions, and had the “nod”—you could eventually land that rare job at Stanford or Princeton. But after years in the profession, I've come to realize there are tremendous headwinds, especially around market efficiency, sorting mechanisms, and even bias against geography or resources. These institutions are looking to make the biggest bang for their buck—they invest in uncertain resources and often reinforce existing hierarchies.So what do you do? As I've learned, you have to play those forces—get the scores, network, aim high. But equally important is to reframe your identity. You can't move up rankings if the market engine is too strong. Instead, love yourself where you're at and build a meaningful life doing the best you possibly can given your reality. You can define success on your own terms—creating impact, enjoying your work, and living an enjoyable life—without chasing a permanently unreachable “top.”

Everyone says the algorithm is broken.That it penalizes you. That it keeps you invisible.But after 6,000+ YouTube videos, I've realized something:The algorithm isn't the enemy. It's just a mirror.It reflects what we click on, what we crave, what we can't look away from.Here's the problem:If you're not exceptionally beautiful, funny, shocking, or extreme, the internet ignores you.“Being normal” doesn't trend.But being normal is what lets you survive.Most people burn out chasing performance.Trying to out-hustle, out-shock, out-perfect the algorithm.Me? I chose survival.I chose to lower the bar, to just show up every day as a professor, a dad, a researcher, and a human being.Because survival compounds.It lets you build for decades, while everyone else quits after a few months.It's not glamorous. It's not clickbait.But maybe — just maybe — showing up as yourself is the most radical strategy left.

I was just having this conversation with my son—about how human nature drives so much of what we see online. You go on LinkedIn, and it's like everyone has to sound like they've got their act together. “Founder of this,” “Thought Leader of that.” You meet them in real life, and it's like… wait a minute. That title doesn't match the person. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's sad. But mostly, it's just human.I know I sound like a pretentious jerk saying all this, but you've probably seen it too. The polished title, the perfect posts, the projection of success. Yet behind the curtain, we're all a little bit of a mess. And maybe that's okay. Maybe the only real status is being okay with falling apart some days and holding it together on others. If you're someone who's tired of the fakeness—or just wants to feel human again—this one's for you.

Don't buy into the highlight reels. The truth behind progress—real, lasting, meaningful progress—is much slower and far more painful than anyone admits. Most people who look successful are just better at hiding their struggle. The ones who are actually making a difference? They often feel like failures. Because they're pushing. Because they're going slow. Because they're honest with themselves about how hard it really is.

I had no investors. No team. No roadmap. Just one strange, stubborn belief: that I could build something that changed the way research is done. Everyone said it was foolish. Many still do. But I kept showing up. Every day. With nothing but a broken idea and a full heart.This post is about what it actually feels like to create something when the odds are against you. It's not glamorous. You'll be ignored, doubted, and dismissed. But you might also build something no one else dared to try. If you're chasing a wild idea—if people don't understand why you're doing it—you're probably on the right path. Keep going.

The internet is designed to keep you scrolling.Not thinking. Not learning.Most people check out the second a conversation gets difficult.Not “heated.” Just difficult.Hard conversations — about data, about money, about failure — get ignored, not because they're wrong, but because they're inconvenient. They feel uncomfortable.And this is why so many of us never learn the most important lessons. • Learning is not fun. • Real growth feels terrible while you're doing it. • Engagement online isn't built on wisdom — it's built on what people already believe.Once you see this, you can't unsee it.You stop expecting people to stay.And you start focusing on the few who don't check out.Because the future is always built by the people willing to sit in the discomfort and keep going.