I could have bought a high-end Maserati. Or even a beautiful lakeside cottage. Instead, I chose a path that leaves me embarrassed almost every day. I have a hard time even talking to my wife about what I’ve done—not because she doesn’t care, but because she doesn’t quite understand what it means to do what I do.
The truth is, very few people do.
Most people think researchers spend their days in an ivory tower, chasing after useless knowledge. They see us as detached from reality, spending hours on things that won’t matter until, maybe, thirty years from now. And the sad truth? Many researchers play into that narrative, treating what we do as a game to secure the next publication or boost their reputation.
So, why did I build R3ciprocity, a platform that helps researchers help each other? Why did I pour my time, money, and energy into this project when I could have spent that effort on more financially rewarding ventures?
If $100,000 were properly invested in S&P 500 index funds over 24 years, it could grow to $1 million, with much less risk. I know the math–I study business every day. It hurts.
I was tired of seeing the same story unfold for so many researchers—stories filled with mental health struggles, isolation, and feelings of failure. The PhD journey is one of the toughest intellectual challenges anyone can take on, but it’s also a lonely road.
Too often, we just look the other way and pretend everything is fine.
I wanted to change that—not by writing another research paper that might get a few citations but ultimately fade into obscurity. I wanted to build something real, something that actually helps people.
Read this post if you want to learn about doing hard things.
What I’ve Learned Building R3ciprocity
Turns out, R3ciprocity is just like a PhD—it gets ignored. People think it’s not worth their time. It’s not shiny, it’s not glamorous, and it’s certainly not an easy sell.
How do you sell it? The truth is, you can’t sell a problem that no one cares about. It’s impossible to convince people to support isolated and ignored PhD researchers when the world is too busy to notice. You can’t sell empathy where there is none, and you can’t force people to care about something they don’t see as important.
Here are some hard lessons that I have learned from building R3ciprocity. They suck.
Even the researchers themselves are often too focused on what they can personally gain—this, more than anything, surprised and saddened me.
But here’s what I have learned from building this project—lessons that might help you, whether you’re working on research or tackling any other hard problem in life:
1. Don’t Stop, Even When No One Cares
Most people will never understand why you do what you do. They might call it silly, they might ignore you, or they might flat-out tell you that you’re wasting your time. But your job is not to get everyone’s approval. Your job is to keep going because you see the value—even if no one else does.
I have learned to center my goals on something higher than just getting things done. I’ve learned to care more about building something meaningful, even if it’s quiet and underappreciated.
2. Learn to Enjoy Feeling Like a Failure
My life as a professor can be summed up pretty easily: I’m a screw-up. I screw up almost every day. I get rejected, criticized, and ignored more often than I succeed. And yet, I’ve learned to live with it. More than that, I’ve learned to appreciate it.
There is a freedom that comes when you embrace the fact that you’ll mess up. No one is coming to save you, and the road is hard, but if you keep moving, you’re already doing more than most people ever will.
Learn to say “Screw you, I am remarkable, to the rest of the world.”
3. Trust Is Built Over a Lifetime
I try to build trust with the R3ciprocity community. Building trust when you start from nothing is extraordinarily difficult. It takes years of consistent effort, showing up day in and day out, with no shortcuts.
When I think about my relationship with you, I don’t expect you to trust me fully in just a year or two. It takes time to develop trust, so you can see that I won’t rip you off. Over thirty years, I hope you’ll see that everything I did was always in our best interest. A community takes time to build, and you have to understand my intentions, even when the results are not immediately clear.
Redefining Success
I don’t need to brag about how much I work or how many papers I have published. I try to disregard this stuff as much as possible. You need to learn that this project should speak for itself, showing my worth without me having to prove it.
It does not matter. In fact, worrying about what I have done or what others have done makes me sad. And, unproductive. Worrying about my success and productivity is the antithesis of productivity.
My research doesn’t define who I am.
What matters most to me is that the people around me are doing well—my students, my family, my friends. I care less about my global impact because I believe that happens naturally when you focus on what’s right in front of you. This mindset keeps me grounded, and it’s what allows me to get back up every time I fall.
Creating a New Vision for Academia
The scientific community is often portrayed as a place where only the strongest survive—a place where you either make it or you’re out, and there’s no room for those who struggle. But I envision a different kind of academia. I want a world built on empathy, support, and inclusion, where everyone has a chance to thrive.
Imagine an academic environment where people are encouraged, where those who feel like they don’t belong always have someone to turn to. A place where struggling individuals have the tools they need to succeed, even on their hardest days. A place where fun and fulfillment are part of the profession, even when the work is incredibly tough.
That’s the kind of academia I want to be a part of. That’s why I built R3ciprocity—to create a community where researchers lift each other up, where no one feels like they have to go it alone.
Standing Up, Even When It Hurts
If you’re reading this and you’re a researcher, a student, or someone tackling a difficult problem, I want you to remember this: You’re doing the work. You’re standing up when others won’t. Your critics might be watching, but they never tried. They were too scared to even begin.
“They” are eating popcorn.
But you? You stood up. You showed up. And that’s already more than most people will ever do.
You are playing the game.
It hurts. I won’t lie about that. There will be days when you feel like giving up, when it feels like no one sees the value in what you’re doing. But I promise you, the work you’re doing matters—not just to you, but to the people who will come after you.
Thirty years from now, someone might see the R3ciprocity Project, read your work, and build on it in a way that changes the world. Thirty years from now, a student might look at your persistence and find the courage to keep going. Thirty years from now, the world might be a better place because you chose not to give up.
R3ciprocity may go down in a burning flame, but, someone can learn from it when I am long and dead.
That person may change the world.
Here is a blog post about what motivates me to keep going as a researcher.
A Higher Calling
At the end of the day, building R3ciprocity has been about more than software or peer review—it’s been about showing up, every single day, for something bigger than myself.
It’s about trying to make academia a place where people feel seen, supported, and encouraged.
It’s about making academic research silly, so we can laugh at ourselves. Rather, than tear each other down.
And I hope that’s something you take with you—whether you’re working on a research paper, raising a child, or building something from scratch.
Don’t stop.
Keep going.
Center your goal on something greater, something meaningful.
The world might not understand you today. They might even ignore you. But keep going anyway.
Because, just maybe, thirty years from now, someone will thank you for it.