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

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This episode is a gut-check: why “retirement” is outdated, why aging is framed all wrong, and why it’s not too late to build, explore, and press against the world.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 Endpoint

This 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 Matters

If 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.

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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.

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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.