R3ciprocity.com - Prof David Maslach: Innovation; Research Life; Striving Towards Happiness

You know, one way to view academia in today’s economy is to see it as a platform for creators. A lot of people don’t understand this, but platforms like YouTube, Facebook, LinkedIn—they’re modeled after universities. All universities are, quote unquote, platforms. They connect people who want to create things. And that content looks different in every domain.

In mine, it’s research papers. In yours, it might be music, art, or a new idea no one’s seen before. But here’s the thing most people won’t tell you: being a creator is a miserable process. Ask anyone who’s built something—really built it. It’s mentally grueling. Socially painful. Everyone who’s done it says: don’t do it. Because it’s hard. And no one cares. Until they do.

So why do it?

Because the misery means you’re actually making something real. Because we’ve built these imperfect platforms not to remove the pain—but to share it. To give each other a shot at surviving the creative journey. And maybe even thriving.

Would I choose another path? No. Even on the worst days. Because this—this struggle—is still the only thing that feels worth doing.

And maybe, if we keep showing up, we’ll build something that matters.

Most people will never understand what you do as a PhD researcher. Even inside your own field, you learn very fast that you are walking into the unknown. You do work no one has done before. It is easy to feel lost. It is easy to feel lonely. It is very easy to lose hope.

You also learn that the comments you get are not always helpful. You learn that the path is full of confusion and mixed signals. And on top of all of that, you run into the deep social structure behind research. You find out that it is not just about working hard. It is not just about doing good work. There is a real system around you that you never saw before.

Some people call it the Matthew effect. The rich get rich. The poor get poor. In research, this effect can be very strong. You do not see it at first. You think it is all skill and luck. But later you learn that the structure shapes who gets chances and who does not.

But here is the truth I want you to hear. This structure is not fixed. It is not a wall you must accept. Once you understand how it works, you can move through it. You can shape it. You can even change it. You can become an entrepreneur of your own life.

This is why I talk to you. I went through all of this too. I still feel it some days. But I also learned that you are not strange. You are not doing this wrong. You are on the same path every real researcher walks. And you can turn this hard path into the best chance you ever get.

So ask yourself. Will you accept the world as it is? Or will you shape your own world and build something better?

It’s interesting how humans can sense when something is directed to self-improvement or non-entertainment. We gravitate to entertainment and escapism — comedy, beauty, sex, drama — but if there is a learning angle with some lesson that is going to benefit you, almost all humans sense that and discount it.

I was thinking about this while reading The Wealthy Barber with my 13-year-old. It was one of the most influential books of my life. I picked it up when I was 14 or 15, and it shaped how I think about financial management. It’s full of simple lessons: living below your means, saving money, putting it in mutual funds for a long period of time.

But very few people know the book. And even when I talk about it, people tune out. We sense these things and we don’t prefer them. There are so many scammy people selling plans that we get used to tuning things out. It’s hard to find somebody that is actually in your best interest.

The truth is simple but not entertaining: slow, incremental choices build real wealth. But we lose our humanity when we think about things over the long haul. So we chase the quick win, even though the real answer is right in front of us.

If you have the right answer for why humans do this, let me know.

I’ve come to a pretty strong belief over the years: if I’m struggling to make progress on something, if I’m not energized at all, if nothing is moving, then it’s often a sign I should stop and find something else to do.

And yes, this applies to graduate students. But it also applies to professors. Researchers. Founders. Everyone.

I think we give far too much benefit of the doubt when nothing is actually happening. We tell ourselves, “Next month will be different.” And then another month passes. And another. And nobody wants to say the hard thing out loud.

In my experience, dragging things out helps no one.

If you’re truly not working, if you’re deeply stuck, if your intuition is screaming that something is wrong, then quitting is not failure. Sometimes quitting is the most honest move you can make. And I actually think people should be coached to quit more often, not shamed for it.

What really hurts people is silence and tiptoeing. Nobody wants to admit a relationship, a project, or a path isn’t working. So everything just meanders. Time gets burned. Trust erodes. Eventually someone leaves anyway, but now everyone is tired and resentful.

I’ve learned to trust my “spidey sense.” When something feels off, it usually is. That weird ambiguity is almost always a sign that someone isn’t being fully forthright.

So now I’m much more direct. I end things faster. I don’t tolerate prolonged weirdness anymore. My marriage is radically open and honest, and I try to bring that same clarity into every part of my life.

Being upfront is uncomfortable. But dragging things out is far worse.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is tell the truth early.

Take care.

There’s one thing that’s a real detriment in your career—and almost broadly in your life. Humans are programmed to desire success extraordinarily quickly. That’s just how reinforcement learning works. It’s the same mechanism behind artificial intelligence, and it’s why we chase the hit.

The tighter the feedback loop, the faster the response, the stronger the hit we get. That’s what happens with drugs. But it also happens with side jobs, careers, little wins. And the more intermittent that hit is—when you can’t figure out what’s causing it but still get that pleasure—you’ll chase it even harder. It pushes out everything else that matters.

That’s what I worry about with my own family. And honestly, with myself. I think about this all the time with the R3ciprocity Project. I work and push and sometimes get a hit—but most days, I can’t figure it out. Still, I keep going.

The scary part? Artificial intelligence doesn’t need the hit. It doesn’t have to feel good to keep going. It doesn’t quit when things get hard. We do.

And that’s the difference.

So the real question is: how do we keep doing the things that matter—even when they suck in the moment? How do we stop letting our pleasure sensors trick us into quitting?

Because almost everything that matters—from making money to building relationships—hurts.

You just have to keep at it. Every day. Even when you don’t get the hit.

If you ever do a PhD, there is one feeling that almost never leaves you.

“I am behind.”

“I am slow.”

“I’m not that good.”

And the entire infrastructure seems to reinforce it.

The program.

The tenure system.

Sometimes even your colleagues.

There is this quiet story that you are a mistake. That you shouldn’t be here.

So here is my ask.

Be the broken link in that chain.

The old logic says pressure will fix people. That if you tell them they are behind, they will get motivated. That fear will sharpen them.

That is not how humans work.

When people are told they are a problem, they crack.

They shut down.

Or they run.

The fastest way to change that is simple.

Tell someone they are doing okay.

Tell them they are on track.

Tell them they are not a screw-up.

Tell them you believe in the big, strange thing in their head.

Almost everyone already thinks they are failing.

Be the person who says, “You are an incredible human being. And you are exactly where you should be.”

You will be shocked how much changes.

In them.

And in you.

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 silent

But 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.