R3ciprocity Podcast

I'm Still Not Over My PhD — 15 Years LaterIt's been almost 15 years since I ended my PhD. I graduated in 2011.And if I'm being honest, I'm still not over it.I came in strong—undergrad and master's at one of the best engineering schools in the world. The first in my family to get an university degree told me I was no slouch. I thought I'd accelerate through a top business school, graduate in four years, and be on my way. Perhaps being a business professor or management consultant.But that's not what happened.What happened was… grief, confusion, silence, rejection.Two years of wandering at the beginning of my PhD program, trying to find mentors and figuring out me. I eventually found extraordinary mentors that pushed me every day and were often there to listen to lement.A job market that punished my pedigree— Canadian schools just don't have the same cache in the market.I can't tell you the number of times I heard: Waterloo what?Ivey who?I didn't know about the US academic market, so I never applied to those programs. I WAS living my dream schools.Endless ambiguity and crushing self-doubt.I nearly quit. Perhaps, more than once.I had a newborn one the way and a toddler. I was ready to work in a factory for nearly minimum wage if one more door closed.Then, one opened at one institution. I've been here ever since.But the scars linger.The questions. The bitterness. The confusion over why some thrive and others feel like they never quite click. Even today.And the deep, unshakable sense that I had to figure it out alone.That's why I built the R3ciprocity Project—to help fix this broken system. I've spent embarrassingly amounts of money and time trying to build this platform because of it.I get the same rejection. The same silence.But, I keep going forward because I know that this is important.I get the private messages and nods.If you're in it right now and struggling, you're not weak. I can tell you the majority of the professors out there feel the same way that I do. You just don't see it.You're not alone.You're living through what most of us never talk about.Keep going.

We're living through the biggest information shift in 100 years—and no one's prepared. Institutions are stuck. Algorithms reward chaos. But there's hope in something no one talks about: being a thoughtful, average, flawed, and kind person who still shows up every day. In a world built for extremes, the future belongs to those who build slow, human, and real.

There are days I feel like I've done nothing important since high school. Like the best is behind me—and I'm just slowly fading.And I know I'm not the only one.Even as a professor of innovation, I wrestle daily with the quiet fear that I'm falling short of who I'm “supposed” to be. The shame of wanting recognition. The guilt of not doing enough. The fear that others will take advantage of my vulnerability.But here's what I've learned:You don't need to fix it all. You just need to do one small thing today. Then do it again tomorrow. And the next day.If you've ever felt stuck, unseen, or like you're slipping backwards—this is for you.You're not broken. You're human. And you're not alone.

In academia, recognition isn't just a nice bonus. It is the reward system. If people don't notice your work, you don't get the job, the promotion, the funding. But if you seek recognition too openly? You risk looking awkward, insecure, or self-absorbed.It's a strange paradox: we are judged by how much others defer to our judgment. But to earn that deference, others must be paying attention. And to get attention, we're expected to self-promote—often in ways that feel deeply uncomfortable.For me, this isn't just professional discomfort. It's personal shame.I grew up in a Roman Catholic family where humility was everything. So when I see others promoting themselves online, or when I do it myself, I feel a wave of guilt. I think of all the people who might feel worse because of what I posted. I reflect on my own insecurities. I wonder if I'm good enough. And then I go quiet again.But the truth is: silence doesn't always serve us. And neither does shame.If you feel uncomfortable with self-promotion, you're not alone.If you secretly crave recognition and hate yourself for it, you're not alone.This is the messy middle we live in.There's no right answer—only the daily effort to be honest with yourself, and maybe kind to others trying to figure it out too.

In academia, one of the biggest red flags I've learned to recognize is when someone proudly says they “outwork everyone.” It sounds admirable—until you realize it often signals transactional thinking, competition over collaboration, and a mindset that leaves no room for empathy or building something bigger than yourself.Research is not a race. And outworking others isn't the goal. The goal is to build something that lasts, something meaningful—with people who care just as much as you do.If you're trying to create anything truly new—especially in research or academia—you can't do it alone. You need trust. You need support. You need people who show up for each other.The ones who win at that game? They don't say “I outwork everyone.”They say: “Let's build this together.”Let me know if this resonates—or if you've seen this kind of mindset, too.

You're not going to like this—but I've come to believe it's true:We're not teaching people empathy.Not in business school.Not in PhD programs.Not in most classrooms.We're teaching performance.Frameworks.Strategy.Execution.But not how to read a room.Not how to ask:“How is this person actually feeling right now?”Or: “How do I show up in a way that helps, not harms?”I used to think empathy was soft.I now believe it's the core skill that makes or breaks your success—in research, in business, and in life.The thing is… I'm naturally empathetic.And for a long time, I assumed everyone else was too.That people were good.That they meant well.That if I showed up with kindness, it would be returned.That was wrong. Painfully wrong.Empathy doesn't work on everyone.Some people take advantage of it.Some people weaponize your kindness.And the more you give, the more they take.But that doesn't mean you give up on empathy.It means you learn to use it wisely.Empathy is not weakness.It's not being a doormat.It's not endlessly giving.It's knowing when to give.And when to walk away.In my house, we talk about feelings.We ask, “How do you think they felt?”And I've seen the difference that makes with my kids.A little empathy changes everything:How you teach.How you parent.How you lead.How you breathe in a room that doesn't fully accept you.But here's the catch:Empathy only works if you also protect yourself.So if you're the kind of person who gives…Who senses everything…Who gets crushed when you're ignored or dismissed—This is your permission:You are not wrong. You are not soft. You are not naive.You're reading the world at a deeper level.Just make sure you don't burn out trying to fix it.Empathy is your superpower.But like all power, it needs boundaries.

At some point, you realize the climb they promised was never real. Maybe there isn't a ladder. Maybe there's no pinnacle.You start to feel a shift—where you stop buying into this dream of “moving on up” and start accepting the world as it actually is. That doesn't mean you give up. It means you embrace modesty. Simplicity. The birds and the bees. The tingly feeling when you realize: I'm doing OK.It's not about climbing anymore. It's about finding peace with where you are and who you are. And when that happens—strangely—everything begins to change.

People will tell you it should be easier. They'll say you're doing it wrong. But until they actually stand up and do it themselves, they haven't got a clue.The truth is: it's way frigging harder than you think it is. You will make mistakes. You will feel embarrassed. You will doubt yourself every single day. But your job is to keep going, to try your best, and realize that we all universally suck at this.You have as good a shot as anybody else. Forget their noise. Get up. Try. Be willing to look foolish. That's the only way anything real ever happens.

Ignore what other people expect of you. Reinvest everything into things that go up in value. That's it. The trick is doing it for 30, 40, 50 years—even when nobody understands, even when it looks foolish. Get the boring degree. Drive the boring car. Make the ambiguous choices. Invest in yourself. In your family. In your future. You won't see the payoff right away, but that's the point. Keep doing it. Day in. Day out. That's how it works.

I get it — I've felt it too. I grew up far from academic circles. I was the first in my family to go away, and it always felt like everyone else was just more polished, more confident, more… something. But after years in academia and building the R3ciprocity Project, I've learned that what looks like arrogance is often just insecurity, stress, and isolation. Most of us are introverts forced into strange performances. You'll meet some kind ones, and some who act like they've made it. Just remember: everybody puts their pants on the same way. If you've ever felt small or out of place around someone with a PhD — you're not alone. You are enough. You're gonna be okay. Keep walking into those rooms and forgiving yourself when it feels awkward. You're doing better than you think.

Nobody cares. You have to get to the moment where that's just your thing. You walk past them. You say, “Whatever.” You don't listen. You just keep going forward every day. Most people are deeply compliant. They're in the here and now. They don't get it. But you do. You've been humiliated. You've been broken. You've been ignored. And yet, you're still going.This isn't about applause. This is about doing something for the greater good. It's grinding. It's expensive. It's lonely. But if you're still moving, still building, still saying, “I love myself for doing it,” then you're doing something right.Practice smiling from the heart. Practice wonder. And remember: every day, it's a little bit of not listening. And every day, you get better at it.

I'm 45. I'm in the middle right now. I feel like I plateaued ten years ago, but I'm still moving up.” In this episode, I talk honestly about aging, the struggle with aging parents, and why I'll never resonate with my mom. I share what it's like to care too much, to realize that the roles have reversed, and to feel like your parents—your superheroes—no longer understand you. I open up about generational gaps, acceptance, walking as the happy pill, and the hard truth that “you can't help people who don't want help.” This is about learning to step back, love others as they are, and love yourself more.

I've been doing this for a long time—and I keep asking the same question:Why do so many people disappear from academic research?We tell ourselves it's about intelligence. That people drop out because they weren't smart enough.But I think that's a cop-out.What I've actually seen is this: people leave because they don't feel supported.Yes, it takes grit.Yes, it takes personal drive.But the thing that keeps people going—year after year, failure after failure—is community.And that's exactly what's missing for so many PhDs and researchers.We burn people out.We isolate them.We make the process so cold and transactional that it breaks the spirit of even the brightest minds.But what if we changed that?What if the academic journey didn't just leave people bitter and alone, but helped them feel loved, seen, and supported along the way?That's what I'm building with the Reciprocity Project.It's not perfect, but it's a step toward something better—toward keeping more of us in the game for the long haul.Because research doesn't just need brilliance. It needs people who feel like they belong.

Someone reached out to me recently. They were interested in working together—but it became clear they hadn't taken the time to really understand what I'm building.This isn't about ego. It's about depth.We're taught to move fast, to skim, to pitch before we listen. But real innovation—like real relationships—requires a deeper dive.Before we build something new, ask:What already exists? What's been solved? What's working beneath the surface?Most systems, ideas, and platforms are held together by years of invisible learning. When you ignore that, you don't move faster—you end up starting from scratch and repeating old mistakes.I'm not looking for quick wins or surface-level partnerships.I'm looking for people who want to knead the dough slowly, fold in the right flavors, and build something that lasts.If someone asks you to slow down and understand—don't take it as resistance.Take it as a chance to do meaningful work.

I'm super grateful for my parents. I know my mom listens to this—love you, Mom.They taught me something really important: you don't have to care about everything all the time. That might not sound profound, but it's one of the most useful lessons I've ever learned.There's this pressure in the world to always be on—to always be pushing, performing, doing something big. But the truth is, if you care about everything, you'll fall apart.And if you care about nothing, nothing gets done.So there's this middle ground—this space between trying hard and letting go—and I think that's where real life happens.Some days, you push.Some days, you rest.And if you land somewhere in the middle? That's more than enough.That's what I learned from watching my dad work in the garden. That's what I learned from a life of quiet moments and thoughtful choices. And that's the kind of wisdom I want to pass on.Take care. And remember:You don't have to be on all the time.

It's personal, quietly profound, and instantly relatable for anyone carrying long-term emotional weight—especially PhDs, professors, or high achievers navigating invisible pressure.

Most people never do anything important in their life—not because they're lazy, but because they can't stand feeling unimportant.To build anything real, you have to walk through rejection. You have to be okay with looking like a fool, with people asking, “what the hell are you doing?” and you having no good answer.I've lived it. I still do.I've spent years pouring time and money into something that looks like a flop to the outside world. But I show up. I make it happen. I take the next step—even when it's embarrassing.That's what it means to do good work. You push the needle by doing embarrassing things every day while people look away.Not because you're special. But because you're willing.Real life isn't some magical moment where everything comes together. It's the moment you stand up, ignore everyone else, and get crap done.If you feel like an outsider, like you don't matter—that's actually the sign that you're on the right path.This is about the grind, the taint, the courage to matter when you feel like you don't.

Every time I see a handwritten sign taped to a light pole that says:“MAKE $10,000 A WEEK — NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED”“TURN OLD MATTRESSES INTO CASH”“CALL JERRY FOR A FINANCIAL FREEDOM HACK”…I ask myself the same question:Who falls for this? And more importantly: who's out there posting these signs like it's their life mission?But here's the thing—people do fall for it.Because these scams follow a formula: • Promise something absurd • Target people desperate for change • Hope that 1 out of 10,000 is desperate enoughThis is the same mindset behind scammy financial influencers with no training, fake AI tools, “passive income hacks,” and every shortcut that conveniently skips over the actual hard, painful, years-long grind it takes to build something real.Here's the truth no scammer will say:If it looks easy, fun, and instantly profitable—it's either illegal, unethical, or completely made up.The only path that works?It's boring. It's slow. It's painful.It requires you to do things no one wants to do, over and over, for years.If you don't see the suffering, there probably wasn't any value created.

Being experience essentially means that you know that not everybody does what they say, and say what they mean. It means that you have to live with and get up and keep going when you have a lot of disappointment.

Professor Jen Heemstra, Chair of the Chemistry Department at Washington University, shares her remarkable journey from being told she wasn't “good enough” for science to leading in academia. This conversation explores navigating failure, building inclusive and psychologically safe academic spaces, and why leadership roles in academia are often misunderstood. Insights from her upcoming book, Lab Work to Leadership, offer actionable strategies for thriving as a leader in science. This discussion provides valuable lessons on mentorship, resilience, and creating positive change in academic culture.

I've been in the research game long enough to know that intelligence isn't what I look for anymore.It's empathy.It's quiet respect.It's that subtle feeling you get when someone actually sees you—not as a stepping stone or a means to an end—but as a real person.For a long time, I assumed everyone worked like that. That if you were kind, if you cared, others would too.But I've learned the hard way: not everyone plays the same game.Some people view empathy as weakness.Some use it.Some never had it to begin with.That's why now, my only real filter is this:Do I feel safe, respected, and valued in your presence?If not, I'm out. No drama. Just gone.I don't want clever.I want care.I want to work with people who feel things.People who build slowly, trust deeply, and show up for the right reasons—not just to get ahead.It's rare.But if you're one of those people—if any of this resonates with you—reach out.Maybe we work together.Maybe we don't.But I'd love to know that you exist.Because this world needs more empathetic researchers.And I'm done pretending that's a soft skill.It's the only thing that matters.#ResearchLife #EmpathyInAcademia #PhDLife #RealTalk #R3ciprocity

I used to believe in magical thinking—the idea that if I just worked with the right person, picked the right hot topic, or followed some “research success formula,” it would all come together.But it doesn't work that way.What actually works?Grinding. Rejection. Isolation. Picking yourself back up. Again and again.It's not glamorous—but it's real.I've accepted that no one's coming to the rescue. So I'm trying to build something instead—a small platform called r3ciprocity.com. It helps researchers get feedback, build confidence, and stay motivated in a system that's honestly stacked against them.The idea is simple: • Make research feel a little less lonely. • Help people keep going. • Give them tools so they don't quit too soon.But I can't build this alone.If you've ever felt stuck, burned out, overlooked, or like you were doing everything “right” and still falling behind—this is for you.If you believe academia should do better by its people, please share this.Let the presidents and deans see that we're not asking for shortcuts—we're asking for support.We don't need magical thinking.We need better systems.And we need each other.Thanks for reading.And if you're still showing up every day—even when it's hard—you're already the hero in your story.

When I was younger, I thought if I just went far enough—got the degrees, did the work, built something real—I'd finally feel like I understood the world.But the truth?I've never felt more foolish than I do now.The more I learn, the less I know.The deeper I go, the more I wonder if I'm just doing it all wrong.I've spent 8 years building R3ciprocity—a platform to help researchers create nearly non-rejectable research papers. I show up every day. Rain or shine. Quietly. Consistently.And still—I question everything.People ignore it.Some laugh.Some say I'm wasting my time.And, honestly, some days I believe them.But I keep going.Not because I know it will work.Not because I feel confident.But because getting back up is the work.This feeling—of making a fool of yourself and trying anyway?It's not failure.It's what building anything real feels like.And if you're stuck in that middle zone—feeling lost, doubting yourself, wondering if anyone cares:You're not alone.You're not broken.You're not behind.You're just in it.So am I.And tomorrow, we try again.

Yeah, so I'm always terrified of telling people the truth… because most people don't give a blankety blank. Most people — many people — try to scam you. They will try to pull you down.You will bump into 1,000 people. 950 will give you the dead look. 20 will try to take you down. 10 might want to help. One will actually help. That's the game.And you? You still get up and try. You still say, “I don't have time. I don't have resources. I don't know what to do. I am a complete fool.” And then you do it again.You tell people what you're doing. They don't care. They give you that total dead look. And a small group? They get upset — because they've benefited from sketchy behavior.But you keep going. You say, “This is going to be the day everything changes.” And it never is. But you do it again anyway.That is the story. That is the work. That is the world.Welcome to reality.Take care and have a wonderful day.

I've long thought that the biggest barrier to innovation isn't funding or resources—it's the fear of looking foolish. This feeling stops people from trying new things, from taking risks, and from pursuing ideas that might actually change the game. It's a mystery why we let this fear control us, but it's a universal experience. If you've ever held back because you didn't want to look silly or make a mistake, you're not alone. The truth is, every breakthrough comes from stepping into discomfort, from trying things that feel awkward and uncertain. The best ideas don't come from playing it safe—they come from being willing to be weird, to be different, and to put in the work even when it feels messy. So, if you want to innovate, embrace the awkwardness. Be willing to fail. Keep pushing forward until something clicks—because that's how real progress happens.

I grew up in a family where the default was just love. It wasn't perfect — there was a lot of messed-up stuff — but no matter what, people were there for you. There was a deep respect for family and a deep respect for unconditional love.I often think about how different life would be without that. A lot of people never get coached on right or wrong. But in our house, the default was you don't harm other people. You build people up.As I get older, I realize more and more how lucky I was. Despite the struggles, the default was love — and that made all the difference.

Why don't we invest in our future selves? Whether it's saving money, exercising, learning, or showing up for people we love, we often avoid what matters most—because we don't respect the person we're going to become. In this honest reflection, I talk about what it means to live differently today so that your future self can thrive. It's not about being perfect—it's about practicing quiet, daily acts of care for someone you haven't met yet: future you.

There's this message that frustrates the bananas out of me—when people say, “I made it, so can you.” It sounds nice, but it hides a deeper truth: most of what happens in life comes down to dumb butt luck. The country you're born in, the parents you have, the people who give you a break they probably shouldn't—it's all chance.We try to copy what others do, thinking best practices will lead us there. But when you actually try it, you realize: this is dumb—it doesn't apply to me. Everyone's story is different. Your path won't look like mine. It might be harder, longer, slower—or maybe even faster. But that's not the point.The only thing I know that works? Get back up. Repeat. Over and over and over again. Keep going—not because it's fair, or because it guarantees success—but because repetition and delusional optimism are the only real tools we have.And maybe, just maybe, something happens when you do.

The Prayer of Saint Francis isn't just a spiritual message—it's a blueprint for how to lead, influence, and build something meaningful in business. “Where there is hatred, let me sow love…” That's not weakness. That's the foundation of lasting influence. Real leadership isn't about control—it's about presence, service, and building others up. Whether you're running a company, managing a team, or just trying to make it through the research game, this prayer teaches the hardest, most important lesson of all: give more than you take. That's how real leaders are made.

If you've ever felt like a mess in academia—like you're supposed to be confident, polished, and certain, but inside you're wrestling with doubt, contradiction, and confusion—this one's for you.I talk about how I've spent years trying to build something real with the R3ciprocity Project. I've done it in public. I've done it without a roadmap. And I've done it while constantly second-guessing whether I'm “doing it right.”Over time, I stopped trying to impress people. I stopped believing the cheap talk. I started watching what people actually do. And I gave myself permission to say, “Screw the world,” when I needed to.This episode is about letting go of the pressure to have it all figured out—and learning that not knowing is not a weakness. It's the start of becoming yourself. If you're in the middle of it—confused, stuck, or feeling off-script—you're not alone. This is what growth looks like.

I used to care what everyone thought. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to impress. But years of building the Reciprocity Project—putting in the work when no one believed in it—taught me something deeper.People say a lot. But if you watch their eyes, their body, the tension in their face—you'll see the truth. Most of it is just cheap talk.So I stopped listening to the noise and started believing in myself. Not because it was easy. Not because I had it all figured out. But because no one else was going to do it for me.If you don't feel that warm, real, supportive energy around you—walk away. Do your thing anyway. You'll be surprised how far you can go when you stop trying to convince people and start taking steps forward.

We get it wrong—over and over again.We chase the exciting, the flashy, the dream jobs we see on TV and TikTok.Entrepreneurs, influencers, movie stars, pro athletes. The few that make it look easy.But we rarely ask: what's the probability of actually succeeding?I've been thinking about this a lot.As someone who's built something unconventional, I know how seductive the dream can be.But I also know how important it is to run the numbers.If you multiply the likelihood of success with the actual return, you start to see the truth:boring, predictable careers usually win.Plumbers, nurses, corporate sales reps, mechanics—they're often the ones with stable incomes and clear paths.And if you're strategic? If you keep learning, keep building, keep stacking skills—the upside is enormous.Before you chase the hype, run a basic expected value calculation.The return on boring is surprisingly high.It just takes work, humility, and patience.But over a lifetime, it adds up—quietly, steadily, and powerfully.

Doing the right actions that were result in good outcomes doesn't always result in good outcomes.

We think if we just try harder, think more, or help more, things will work out. But the truth is—we can't control much. I've had to learn that over and over again. Even with good intentions, even when I do everything “right,” things don't go the way I thought they would.We believe we're in control of ourselves, of others, of the world. But real life doesn't work that way. It's messy, uncertain, and full of unexpected outcomes. Most of what we think we understand—especially as academics—is squishy. We explain 10%, but 90% is unexplained.So I've learned to step back. Stay in my tiny world. Be humble. Walk forward anyway. Even if I look like the bumbling fool, I get back up and keep going. That's the best we can do—accept the world as it is, and keep showing up.

How do you become a legitimate professor without getting an education? It's an interesting problem. The only way is if you worked backwards and came up with a major discovery so important that people can't look at the world the same way. But even then, legitimacy is squishy. You'd always be discounted by some.Yes, it's possible to make intellectual contributions without formal education, but it's extraordinarily difficult. You don't have mentors, guidance, or a path. The truth is, most people follow the route—PhD, publications, tenure—because it's recognizable.There are exceptions—people like the inventor of Ozempic or someone like MrBeast, but those paths are highly unusual. Unless you have extraordinary resources, create a lab, and produce real discoveries in the public domain, you'll face an uphill battle. For most, the challenge isn't brilliance—it's legitimacy, and that's hard to earn without the traditional path.

The more that I understand how the sausage is made, the more disillusioned I get with it. I used to have this sort of envisioned idea that if I simply just worked and I did a good job, I treated people nicely, I did everything that I was supposed to do, that it would work out. That was very naive. It's often not what you thought it would be. The process is not what you think it is.There is more to the story. There's a tremendous amount of loneliness. You could be a very nice, well-intentioned person, trying to do your best—but it very often will not work out for you. There is very little rhyme or reason. Many things are outside of your control.What people often present in the scientific game is not what happens. The stories that are told—there are stories, they're narratives. The best way to understand science is more through a narrative lens. It is often vastly unfair and nonsensical. The idea that things are orderly, scientific, free of bias—it's just complete nonsense.The only thing that you can do is to accept the craziness of it all. Stop believing in this sort of “the more that you put in, the better off you get out of it” kind of idea. It's narrative. It's chance. It's silly, goofy things that happen.The only way that I know to deal with it is to dissociate every day a little bit—maybe it's a lot. Figure out a way to remove yourself from all of it. Walk forward every day.

Fear is powerful—but it's often used as a tool for manipulation. In this deeply honest message, we explore why fear is so primal, how it shapes our actions, and how bad actors—from the media to people close to us—exploit it to control behavior. But you have a choice.Like firefighters, judges, and leaders in high-stress roles, you can pause. You can think clearly. You can take one calm step forward.This reflection is a reminder that real strength is quiet, intentional, and grounded in principle. Each small action you take toward your goals chips away at fear's grip. You don't need to do everything today—just one thing. Hope is the antidote. And as Annie says, “The sun will come out tomorrow.”Walk forward. The game isn't over.

I grew up in a working-class family—blue-collar through and through. Now I live in a world full of academics, PhDs, and prestige. And to be honest, I don't feel like I fit in anywhere.Both sides have their own kind of snobbery. On one side, being “too educated” makes you the outsider. On the other, if you act like a normal human—go to your kid's baseball game, show up at a PTA meeting, take time to just live—it's seen as a waste of time.There are unspoken rules about how you're supposed to act, what success looks like, and who belongs. And most days, I feel like I'm doing a bad job at playing both roles.But here's what I've learned: most people are just figuring things out. Nobody really has it all together. And the more we pretend we do, the more we lose what really matters—connection, curiosity, and just being human.

There's a pressure to “perform” that is deeply ingrained in research culture. A norm of climbing the ladder, being cutthroat, doing more with less. But I've come to see how detached this is from reality.Very detached.I grew up in a very average, blue-collar family. Now, I'm in a different place. I've made it, at least on paper. But here's what I've learned: the things that make me happiest have no financial value. Going for walks. Coloring with my kids. Saying hi to colleagues in the hallway. And the things that make me miserable? They're almost always tied to “performance” and “measurement.”There's this constant voice saying, “You must justify your worth.” But I can't. I've tried. I can't say my actions on any given day are “productive.”Saying “hi” is just not.And that is not a weakness. That's the truth of being a researcher.I've experienced a lot of failure. I've studied it, too. And failure has taught me to detach from metrics. It taught me to say, “Screw you—I'm good enough without proving it to anyone.”This isn't about giving up. It's about living fully. It's equally good to take time off. It's equally good to have tea with someone you love. The problem isn't you—it's the narrow definition of success we've been taught to chase.If you're struggling in academia, know this: You are not alone. And you are not weak.You are doing the right things.

I was going to proclaim that blogging is dead. The traffic on the R3ciprocity Project blog has steadily declined since the rise of artificial intelligence. People get answers faster now, and it's changed how we interact with content. But I keep thinking—what is the value added of humans over algorithms?Computers are fast and accurate. But humans? We're good at finding and fixing exceptions. We have a sense of what resonates. And we struggle. That struggle adds depth. Even if AI can process emotion or aesthetics someday, the pace of human experience is different.The blog might be dying, but the combination of my voice, my struggle, and the tools I use still tells a story that's worth sharing. That human story—amplified by algorithms—isn't dead. It's just changing.

One of the hardest things I've learned as a researcher is this:If people can't see the depth of what you've done, it doesn't matter.You could spend years thinking through a layered, nuanced idea. Build a framework that connects pieces nobody else has connected.And what happens?Someone skims your work in 30 seconds and says:“Huh, seems basic.”It's crushing.But it's not because you did something wrong.It's because most people won't ever read deeply enough to notice.So you're stuck doing the most paradoxical thing imaginable:Make your work simple enough to remember, but layered enough to respect.That tension? That's the grind behind every “cute” idea.That's why your best work feels so invisible.The trick is not to dumb it down—but to distill it.And distilling takes more pain, time, and quiet struggle than anyone sees.So if you're in the middle of that painful space, trying to say something real in a way people will understand:You're not alone.That's where the real work is.

Academic research is built on knowledge—but not on community.And that's a problem.Incentives in academia don't reward cooperation.They reward competition, individual credit, and winner-takes-all outcomes.Even when we want to collaborate, the system quietly tells us not to.Unlike companies, which reward people for building something together, academic research often rewards people for standing apart.Here's the truth:Most academic “collaboration” is instrumental—I'll work with you if I get something out of it.That's not real community. That's strategy.The only way this changes?We need to start rewarding cooperation explicitly—not just with nice words, but with actual recognition, incentives, and resources.Until then, if you want to do meaningful work and stay sane, you'll need to:– Disengage from local prestige games– Focus on the long-term global impact– And define success by the quality of your work, not how much applause you getThe academic game may be lonely. But we don't have to play it the way it's always been played.Let's reward people not just for being brilliant—but for being good to each other.

My tone changes when I talk about professional doctorates because many institutions are designed to extract a lot of value from you while providing little in return. It's not just about getting a degree—it's about ensuring that what you're paying for actually adds value to your life. Some programs are legitimate and well-established, but many prey on people's optimistic beliefs and desperation. Before committing, step back and ask: Do I really need this? Is there a less expensive way to reach my goal? Be practical, analyze the costs and benefits, and don't fall for marketing tactics that make you feel like you have no other choice. A degree should leave you in a better position than when you started—not just financially, but in terms of opportunities and personal growth. The key is making sure you're doing it for the right reasons, not just because it feels like the next step.

Venturing off into new knowledge—whether it's a PhD, R&D, or building something new—comes with a strange, painful truth: you need a community, but you won't know who that community is until after you've been completely alone.You have to feel lost. You have to not know what you're doing. You have to go through hard knocks, pain, and moments where you say, “What the hell, why is this happening?” And only then—when you've got your own story, your own struggle—do the right people start to show up. People who say, “That's me. I've been there.”You don't find community first. You build it after. Not by pretending to have it all together, but by being open, honest, and brave enough to talk about the stuff that most people never do.It's painful. It's lonely. But it's the only way that works.

The more that you start looking at things, you start realizing that there's just lots of moments where things break down and they don't work as if you wanted them to actually work. We look at somebody else that seems really, really successful, and we try to mimic what they do, but we inevitably fail. There is almost always a ton of invisible infrastructure that you never see. I've learned this repeatedly with this whole R3ciprocity Project. So I simply choose now to simplify my life and do things as easy as possible. What is the most simplest approach? What can you do with just what you have to make sure it actually works in your favor?

What happens when you do everything right, yet the recognition never comes? In this deeply personal reflection, I share my journey from a lonely high schooler seeking validation through achievement to an academic navigating the brutal realities of the research world. The market never tells you you're good enough—so how do you keep going? This is a story about detaching from external expectations, embracing self-worth, and taking one small step forward every single day.

I can guarantee this is how it's going to play out for you—unless you're one of the fortunate ones. You'll spend a great deal of time building something, and when it's finally out there, people will discount it. They'll say it's not good enough. They'll pass over it.It doesn't matter what you're working on—a new product, a research project, a PhD, or a business—it's the same old story. You will have to convince people it's legitimate. And the hardest part? It won't be strangers telling you it's a bad idea. It'll be someone close to you.That's when the real test begins. You can either give up, like most people do, or you can keep going. Almost everybody quits—doesn't matter if it's a week, a month, ten years, or fifty years in. People stop. They say it's not worth their time.But look around. Everything that matters exists because someone pushed further, worked longer, and didn't listen when people told them to stop. You can rely on luck, but I think most of us don't have that option. We have to decide to keep going, even when nobody else believes in it.

Forget the beautiful story—none of that works.The real secret? Do the boring. Repeat the boring. It's the Toyota Camry strategy, the ordinary, the tedious, the thing nobody cares about. Every flashy move takes away from future success. The more boring you are, the better off you'll be. Don't fall for the fishing stories. Ignore the noise. This is what actually wins.

Some people think there's a clear path to success in research—that there's a small, elite group of people who always knew what they were doing. But that's not reality. The truth is, if you feel lost, uncertain, or like an outsider, you're not alone. That's the defining feature of this career.I know what it's like to struggle to get into the research game. I had to change my identity completely. I had to let go of what I thought my life would be, and I know so many others who have had to do the same. There are incredible people out there—people who could revolutionize science—who are never given the chance because we don't communicate the struggle well enough.If you're feeling like you don't belong, you do. If you're thinking that you're not good enough, you are. The reality is, most researchers feel like they don't know what they're doing. Even the ones who act confident are often just covering up their own insecurities.Here's the truth: if you feel lost, you're doing the right thing. It means you're actually engaging with the world, actually trying. You're not supposed to have it all figured out. Nobody does.So if you're doubting yourself, if you feel like an outsider, cheers to you. You're exactly where you need to be. Just take a step forward every day. That's all any of us can do.

Absolutely, academia is an industry—it has all the signs of one. If you look at the production and distribution of knowledge as a product category, it's clear. But here's where it gets complicated. The academic world is the ‘general purpose engine' of the economy, fueling industries with new ideas that drive productivity and innovation. The challenge? Costs are immediate and easy to measure, but the benefits—more knowledge, better design, scientific progress—are amorphous and hard to quantify. This makes academia both incredibly valuable and vulnerable to people gaming the system. So yes, it's an industry, but it's also deeply complex, filled with politics, inefficiencies, and big questions about quality and investment. The question isn't just ‘Is academia an industry?'—it's ‘Can we make it better?'

What if reading and writing don't come naturally to you? Can you still succeed as a researcher or a PhD? The answer is yes—but it takes relentless determination. I've struggled with reading and writing my whole life. I was undiagnosed with ADHD for years and likely have dyslexia, yet I've still built a career in academia. The key isn't natural talent; it's curiosity, persistence, and finding strategies to push through challenges. Success in research isn't just about producing perfect papers—it's about showing up, solving problems, and refusing to quit. Finding the right tools, support systems, and motivation can make all the difference. If you're struggling, know that you're not alone. In this video, I share my personal experience, the real struggles many researchers face, and the mindset needed to keep going—even when it feels impossible.