There are two paths in research.

One where you sit in a room, alone, writing ten pages a day for twenty years—no recognition, no guarantees. You don’t talk to anyone. You just keep going, because that’s what “success” is supposed to look like. And the guilt if you’re not doing it? It’s crushing.

And then there’s the other path.

The one where you still write, but you define impact your own way. Maybe that means building something new. Maybe it means helping others. Maybe it means working a job while trying to stay in the game. Everyone tells you that’s the wrong way. That you’re distracted. That you’ll never make it.

But I’m choosing that second path anyway.

Not because it’s easier. It’s not. It’s messier, lonelier, and it doesn’t come with applause. But it’s mine. And honestly, I’m not trying to be a star. I’m trying to survive. I’m trying to build something that matters to me, even if no one ever calls it “success.”

Because I know I’m not built for that first path. I’ve tried. I’ve failed. And I’ve realized—my only shot is to keep doing my thing. To build R3ciprocity. To show up with care. To be a dad. To create something weird and kind and different.

So if you’re out there, trying to make sense of your own strange, meandering path—maybe this is your reminder: you don’t have to do it their way.