Life lessons from Willie

In my first year at Columbia University as a Professor at the new Climate School, it has truly been a pleasure getting to know the graduate MA students in Climate + Society. While the past few weeks have been disquieting on campus (and let’s see if the students have a graduation), it is that time of year when they come to me for advice on potential jobs and careers. Students want to discuss life advice on how they can carve out a path that is meaningful personally and professionally. The funny thing is, at 52, I am still trying to figure that out. I often say, “My plan was not to have a plan.” That may not be all that helpful in practical terms…

Copyright: © MARK SELIGER

But there is a person who I find quite helpful as even I continue to navigate what I want to be when I grow up. I recently watched the four-part documentary on Paramount called “Willie Nelson and Friends.” Now, let me tell you that I am not a huge fan of Willie Nelson’s music. I appreciate many aspects of him, his talent, and his voice, but I don’t partake, so to speak. My perception of Willie before watching the series is that he is considered the pot-smokin’ punk rocker of the country world. And after watching the series, I realized he is so much more. Why am I digressing to Willie about career advice? Well, because he has some lessons to teach us on how to work and live well, and you can seamlessly do both. I feel quite strongly about these three lessons and I try to make headway towards them.

Lesson number one: Only do work you enjoy. Willie spent a long, long time trying to accommodate what Nashville and the public wanted to hear and wanted him to be. He started off in the Air Force and held many remedial, random jobs, even moving to Washington state before settling in Nashville, where he pursued singing and songwriting. But his persona, his look, his music—while appreciated—never launched him into superstardom in Music City. It wasn’t until he started pursuing the kind of music he wanted to listen to, dressing the way he was comfortable, and living the life he was meant to live in his home state of Texas that he truly came into being quintessential Willie. He describes himself as the “Ol’ Cotton-Pickin’, Snuff-Dippin’, Tobacco-Chewin’, Stump-Jumpin’, Gravy-Soppin’, Coffee-Pot-Dodgin’, Dumplin’-Eatin’ Hillbilly From Hill County.” Remember, Willie came from stark poverty and abandonment. There is a part in the documentary where he says, “Freedom is control in your own life. I have more control now than in the past, and I'm learning the value of saying no.” While we all have to do things we don’t enjoy in our jobs, most of your time should be spent doing projects and work you truly take pleasure in. As Willie said, “We create our own unhappiness.” There are estimates that we spend 1/3 or more of our life at work. How to make the most of those 100,000+ hours? I know this all seems basic and privileged, but being authentic and true to (and honest with) yourself is at the core for everyone. Willie does it. So can we.

Lesson number two: Keep on, keepin’ on. Willie is 90. He struggled for a long time to find his voice and purpose, but he found it. He had many personal losses, heartbreaks, and health scares (and owed the U.S. government 32 million buckaroos for a stint), but he was able to take all the lows that life dealt on the chin and kept pushing on. He remains incredibly prolific with 152 albums. Now, maybe there isn’t enough self-editing going on there, but he has this urge (and enjoys) writing and composing music, collaborating with different genres of music, and touring. Part of his stamina relates to lesson one. If you love what you do, you want to keep doing it. In the documentary, Willie says, "It's hard to believe it was 60 years ago I wrote a song 'Funny How Time Slips Away.’ I was only 27, and I really didn’t know what I was talking about."

Number three: Be collaborative and find your tribe. Willie has collaborated with just about everyone in country music, and in other genres. His relationship with Ray Charles, for example, was exceptional. Everyone “in the business” has nothing but nice things to say about him. Willie Nelson Family’s motto is: “Don’t be an asshole. Don’t be an asshole. Don’t be a goddamn asshole.” This ethos is what enabled him to start Farm Aid, which is an incredible endeavor started in 1985 to “build a system of agriculture that values family farmers, good food, soil and water, and strong communities. Our annual music and food festival celebrates farmers, eaters, and music coming together for change.” Willie is always on the road, bringing his tribe with him. His band is made up of immediate family (including his sister and sons) and some of the same members for the last 50+ years. At the core is knowing who you are, figuring out what you love, and who you want to do it with.

Well, maybe there is a number four. Pay your taxes because the IRS will always catch up to you….

Hey Academics, Don’t Get Caught Up in the Drudgery

Academics face an interesting conundrum. With every paper, every research project, and every class you teach, you become more and more of an “expert” on a topic or discipline. If you are lucky, that expertise is tapped by many – students, organizations, peers.

But often, that tapping is done “for free” (and by free, I mean financially but also without care, respect, or thought on one’s time and life). I will always go to the ends of the earth to give all my energy to students and write letters of recommendation, etc. What gets my goat is when organizations solicit your ideas and knowledge without pay or acknowledgment.

Let’s first talk about reviewing journal articles. I must get at least ten emails daily asking me to peer-review manuscripts (many from predatory journals) without any immediate reward or incentive. To be clear, I am a big advocate of the peer-review process when it works and is robust – it is an essential part of the scientific process. That said, reviewing manuscripts takes a ton of time to do thoroughly and thoughtfully, and reviewing is always unpaid. Having no financial ties makes sense because once you start to monetize the process, the purpose of peer review is tainted. Serving as an editor of a journal is even worse. The honorarium payment does not nearly cover the time one must commit to ensuring the journal is stellar.

There is a multitude of reviewing requests—reviewing organizations’ reports, books for publishing houses, grant proposals submitted to funding organizations, and people’s accomplishments (tenure cases and other hires). Most of these requests to review are unpaid, and if they are paid, the payment is a very small token honorarium. What irks me is the timeframe expected to review – usually a week or two. Now I understand the need and importance of reviewing—as academics, our grants get funded, and manuscripts get published depending on the process. As academics, we honor, value, and understand the peer review process. The thing is, it has become a complete deluge of work outside the day-to-day activities that require our paid time, sometimes with little respect for how long things take to do at a level that is considered high-quality and with the workloads put upon us.

Even for organizations that pay for consultancy time – the amount paid does not match the work output. What was five days of paid consultancy takes more like ten days of one’s time. Often, the rate is relatively low (compared to the daily rate of your salary). And even when consultancies are over, one often doesn’t get the credit or acknowledgment on the final product. I have had some UN consultancies that were pathetically underpaid, way too much work, and with zero outcomes or credit. No fun...

Academics have a heavy and unique workload. For many working in research positions, you have to raise more than 50% of your salary by applying for grants (in public health schools, the amount a professor needs to raise can be as high as 80%!). Applying for grants through large university systems takes an insane amount of time, paperwork, emails, and thinking time. We have to manage teams, teach (one of the most important things we do), and serve on university and external disciplinary committees and advisory groups. We do research – which takes dedication and detail-oriented attention, particularly if you work internationally. I work about 100 hours a week. Probably a quarter of that is responding to the 300 emails that hit my inbox daily. Yup. No joke. All of this work is rewarding, and I love it. It is truly an honor to be in academia – being exploratory, describing the world and why it is the way it is, and learning from students. I really don’t have a boss. Total freedom. But the thing is, that freedom can be quickly squashed when one says “yes” to too much of this other stuff. I don’t think there is any other job or industry where you are not paid to your contributions to knowledge, or a job where you have to raise your salary. Can you imagine someone from the private sector giving their time and expertise without pay? A lawyer? A doctor?

So what to do? I admit I am in a privileged position – I am a full professor with tenure and can say no to most things I don’t want to do. I get serious joy out of saying no (which, by the way, is usually an unacceptable answer to the asker, resulting in five or six emails. Dude, no means no.). But it wasn’t always that way, and that is not the case for early career faculty and researchers. They have to do these unpaid, time-consuming tasks to show they are contributing to the world of knowledge and science, getting experience doing such things, and working towards promotion and tenure. But it is just too much.

My advice to my younger self? Be picky. Turning down one opportunity to review for Nature will not make or break your career. In fact, saying no may save it. Cherish your time and work only on the things you enjoy, and projects that move you towards tenure and promotion. Focus on doing fantastic work that contributes to the field. Serve on a few committees, but only ones that deeply interest you. Review 2-3 high-impact papers a year but not more (and definitely don’t support anything evenly seemingly predatory). Only be on grant proposal reviewing committees when the work is right in your wheelhouse; the process would help you become a better grant writer. Don’t review books – they are a waste of time, and the $200 in books they promise you nowhere near matches the time it takes to review them. It’s okay to turn things down. Be punk rock about it. Because when you come up for promotion and tenure, tenure committees will not count how many committees and articles you reviewed for journals. Instead, they will count the articles you wrote, how you contributed to them, and if you have influenced and informed your field in meaningful ways. This is what matters. So spend your energy doing great discovery research and cutting-edge science you care about. Don’t get caught up in the drudgery.

Ran my fingers across the world

On the eve of a new year, we are meant to reflect on all that we accomplished (and didn’t) and put forward our hopes and goals for the new year. I find this hard to do as I get older because time seems so warped, and change is hard to measure. When I reflect back to 2023 to see what has changed for me, I am left with blurry memories and vague recollections, much like the three years of living during the pandemic. But there were some bright spots and standout moments.

View fullsize

Our last New Year’s Eve was spent crisscrossing most of Italy, ending in the heel, also known as Puglia (where my family is from), with the idea that we wouldn’t return for a long while. Not that we don’t love Italy, but we spent almost six years living there, and maybe it is time to see other places if we do decide to travel. I had just learned I was granted tenure at Columbia University and would join the new Climate School faculty in July of 2023. Exciting. Now comes the hard part – we had to sell our house and downsize our belongings to snuggly fit into a smaller Columbia-subsidized apartment in NYC. Offloading a house in the middle of a housing crisis with high interest rates is stressful and borderline nightmarish, but we managed to do it. Plus, moving just sucks. No matter how often you do it (and for us, we are at 25 times), it is just a massive hassle. So, the first half of 2023 was one significant stressball transition phase.

Things fell into place once we got to NY in June. We live in the Upper West Side, where I have worked for a long time and where we have lived before, so it all seems routine and familiar. Are we too comfortable and normalized? God forbid that we get too comfortable. It may be time to move to another borough and start another walkabout MaPhattan project. Brooklyn beckons, but the ever-evolving NYC landscape is unpredictable, and it is hard to know where to move that won’t become overly gentrified or where you are not participating in such a predictable path.

On the work front, I published, in collaboration with many stellar scientists, 18 papers, the final one being the Food Systems Countdown Initiative paper and report. I started a new job as a Professor of Climate and Food at Columbia’s Climate School and as the Interim Director of the International Research Institute of Climate and Society. It has been an interesting adjustment since leaving Hopkins, with a lot of my team going on to spread their wings in other institutions. The Food Systems Dashboard is going strong along with other various projects.

On a personal note, we, the Sound Furies, finished our fifth album, Times Edit. My favorite song is Mandelbrot’s Coastline. I traveled a hell of a lot less and will continue on that path in 2024. What I will do in 2024 is spend some time curating and sharing all the photos I have taken on my 60+ country travels. 2023 was filled with ordinary experiences — I got COVID, which sucked. I walked an average of 5.8 miles per day, up from last year, which was 5.2 miles. I tried out the Peleton (there is one in my building) and found it ridiculous but effective. I ate red meat maybe five times and tried my best only to take public transport (maybe got in a taxi/uber 4-5 times) if walking wasn’t an option. I continue to bake sourdough…I decided I like folk music (maybe it’s my age) and succulents (maybe it’s my age). We celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary. I turned 52. We ate in 55 restaurants since arriving in NYC (hey, don’t give me shit, I’m in the food business).

Looking to 2024, the new year brings the opportunity to turn over a new leaf, improve, and make a change. But change is ruthlessly tough, and we are often hard on ourselves when we don’t make those changes “successfully.” And I must admit, I am worried about the changes to come. The poem, What they did yesterday afternoon, by Warsan Shire has been running through my head:

“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”

Almost half of the world will be voting for new leaders in 2024, and democracy looks pretty fragile to me. I worry about the U.S. elections, as I am sure almost every American does, and the results will impact future decisions about our lives and goals. I am also profoundly concerned about the lack of action on mitigating climate change, what that will mean for everyone, particularly the poorest and most vulnerable, how much they will need to adapt, and with what resources.

But as the late Sam Cooke beautifully sang, a change is gonna come – the question is, are we ready for whatever comes? Because things don’t always change for the better, but they do change. Rebecca Solnit, author of Hope in the Dark, wrote, "Incremental change can happen quietly, and change is rarely straightforward. Victories slip by unheralded while failures are more readily detected.” I will remain hopeful in 2024 as I run my fingers across the world. I am going to remain hopeful. Not because I think everything is going to be okay. But hope for the possibility that the change that is coming pushes us forward to a more sustainable future.  

No place else is good enough

In John Steinbeck’s 1953 essay, The Making of a New Yorker, he wrote: “New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it – once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough.”

I have traveled to over 60 countries, visited just about every state in the United States, and lived in 9 of them – 4 in the near corners of the country (Arizona, Georgia, New Hampshire, Washington), and moved 25 times since meeting my partner 30 years ago. It is reasonable to assume I have seen my fair share of people, places, and landscapes. Yet, still, New York is good enough, at least for me. It is always in flux—changing, gentrifying, molding in both ambitious and merciless ways. The constant liquescency and, at the same time, the unyielding character of the city is home.

View fullsize

Having been here for almost a month now, it isn’t the same city as when we first moved here in early 2000. It isn’t necessarily better or worse. It metamorphosed in some ways and remains utterly unvarying in other ways. Watching the documentary, Meet Me in the Bathroom, about the early naught NY resurging music scene, takes me back to my younger self, when we saw a ton of live music, ate out probably way too much, and took in everything we could.

This second go-around will be a bit different, I suspect. I think, and hope, we will be here a good long while (I don’t want to move for the 26th time). New York will be where we occupy our 50s and 60s. I have elaborate plans to be the quiet academic, the routine professor. I want to frequent my neighborhood restaurants and bars “where everybody knows your name…” Days will consist of stellar meals and drinks (we already had some delicious meals near our apartment, like Sushi W, Ortomare, Osteria 106, Calaveras, Rosies, and Flor de Mayo – nothing that requires booking months in advance…), books, movies, live music, and lots of walks.

We are starting our Maphattan* project again – in which we walk every city street of Gotham. A decade has passed, and we won’t do too much research this time. It will be more zen: reflecting and flaneuring with some tentacles into the other 4 lovely boroughs. To kick it off, we did a 9.5 miler today in our own hood: 98th to 109th Street on the west side.

*Our Maphattan Project is named after the Manhattan Project established by Oppenheimer, who lived in our hood on 155 Riverside Drive.

The town that we could call our own

Preface: To hear the deep cultural history of DC, I highly suggest listening to The Atlantic’s Holy Week podcast — a story about the week following Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination on April 4, 1968, and the seven days of heartbreak and revolution, much of it centered in DC.

After eight years (well, technically six and half years, but more on that later) living in DC, we are heading back to New York. In 2015, I was wooed to leave New York and Columbia University to take on a tenured, chaired professorship—as a Bloomberg Distinguished Professor of Food Policy and Ethics—at Johns Hopkins University. I split my time between Baltimore and DC, with appointments at the Berman Institute of Bioethics, the School of Advanced International Studies, also known as “SAIS,” and the Bloomberg School of Public Health. I started the Global Food Ethics and Policy Program and built and mentored a strong team of food system scientists. Amid those eight years, 1.5 were spent in Italy – one year as a nutrition policy program officer at the UN Food and Agriculture Organization and another at SAIS’ Europe campus in Bologna. I also took a sabbatical and wrote the first draft of my hippie food book (more to come on that!). I cannot even begin to describe how pivotal these years at Hopkins have been for my career and those I had the privilege to mentor and work with.

But Columbia and, more so, New York City are calling me back. Starting July 1, I will be a Professor of Climate at Columbia University’s new climate school, the first in the country. I will also lead their Food for Humanity Initiative. I am looking forward to my 4th stint at Columbia. Yes, 4th. The first time was as a postdoc fellow in the Molecular Medicine Department of the College of Physicians and Surgeons. The second was with Jeffrey Sachs at the Earth Institute, leading nutrition work. The third was as an assistant professor at the Institute of Human Nutrition and the School of International and Public Affairs, aka “SIPA.” So, I guess my home is Columbia or, at least, where I continue to feel grounded.

Columbia University’s Low Memorial Library and “Low beach.”

I am looking forward to living in Gotham again. DC has been a fine place to dwell, but nothing that I felt would be our long-term home. Sure, you have free-entry Smithsonian museums, many memorials dedicated to the US wars (if you are into that sort of thing), and two rivers surrounding it. But, still, to me, DC is a suburban-oriented town that is culturally vacant. What I think I will miss most is the greenery, book boxes, birds, and Rock Creek Park. It is clean, but I would not necessarily say it is any safer than NYC at the moment.

I won’t miss the unfettered, careless gentrification of historic neighborhoods, so much so that you cannot distinguish parts of the city from other American towns like Atlanta, Philly, or Baltimore all that much. DC has become a city full of Sweetgreens (you know, the place that sells $13 salads) and Tatte Bakeries. Likewise, NYC has gentrified, and the old-school feel of the city has diminished. That said, when you are in NYC, you know it, and there are still plenty of unique places that are quintessential to Gotham. It just doesn’t seem so brutally gentrified, but maybe I’m biased.

Gotham

I will not long for the insanely expensive and the not-at-all-worth-it restaurant scene in DC. You either spend $200 on dinner for two or dine at a fast-casual place like the aforementioned Sweetgreens or Starbucks. NYC has a range of eateries to satisfy all tastes and wallets. Of course, you can spend even more than $200 on dinner in Gotham, but you can also score some real-deal delish dumplings, scrumptious sushi, or hand-rolled badass bagels for cheap. You just need to know where to go. I can’t wait to walk into a back-in-the-day diner (yes, they still exist), sit at the counter, and order a grilled cheese sandwich and a hot cup of coffee, private eye style. All for under ten bucks. I look forward to frequenting Hasaki or Takahachi in the east village, Lupes LA style burritos in Soho, the dumplings at Shu Jiao Fu Zhou, and the pizza. My god, the pizza.

Tom’s diner

I will appreciate seeing live music with more than five people in the audience (so sad for bands!) and grooving with like-minded lemurs as opposed to a strange mix of randomers, some just coming from work with World Bank badges hanging around their necks. At least take the goddamn badge off for chrissakes. It’s okay not to be networking all the time…

Moments to look forward to, like hanging out with friends in dive bars with a jukebox and ordering a beer instead of frequenting some douchey bar where cocktails are $20. Of course, NYC is also abundant in douchebaggery up to your knees, but you have more options to escape to the said dive bars and delicatessen, and I am yet to find a cool dive bar or old-school diner in DC.

Mo’s - dive bar in Brooklyn

I will relish walking the vast cityscape without fear of being hit by a car. And for the record, while DC is a bikable town, cars rule, and those cars seem to have a habit of running red lights. In NYC, pedestrians dominate. Plus, walking 6 or 7 miles in DC is like drudgery because everything looks the same. Lots o’ suburbs. It lacks eye candy to keep you preoccupied as you ramble.

I will love the true diversity that NY offers around you in its cultures and peoples, 24-7. Sure, DC is diverse, but everyone is either a politician, a policy analyst, a government contractor, or working for an NGO. Because it is a city of great political power, the whole area of the DMV feeds off that government infrastructure. The first question someone asks you when they meet you is, “What do you do/where do you work?” It is a pretty buttoned-up place. Pearls and pinstripes. Khakis after dark. You get the picture. It just doesn’t have the cultural cache. One of my students gave an apropos comparison between Miami and DC. She said: “In Miami, everyone who is 75 wants to be 25, and in DC, everyone 25 wants to be 75.” Too true.

I guess I just never felt like I belonged in DC. I miss who we were and the place, the town that we could call our own. I know everything will be different, and we, too, have changed. But change is good. I am not saying NYC doesn’t have its problems. Unfortunately, it does, especially right now. Rats, homeless populations, unsafe subways, and grime. But I love the grit. I love the jenk. It’s my kinda town. I can’t wait to go back home.

Time's the revelator

The jig is up. I turned 50 this past October. It seems like a long time ago already, but now being on a sabbatical, I have time to think (what a concept) and write more, including on the Food Archive blog.

Even though we were still in the throes of a pandemic, I was lucky to celebrate my birthday in one of my favorite places in the world, the Amalfi Coast. It was glorious. Some more personal, epic milestones happened during covid, including my promotion to full professor, my 25th wedding anniversary, and a temporary move to another country. All these moments got me reflecting.

It is strange to think that my life is (probably more than) half over. But at the same time, I feel the same as I did at 40 or even 30, with maybe a little more stiffness in the morning and the predictable wrinkles and grey hairs here and there. At the core, I am not that much different than my young adult self. Of course, that is not totally true. We all change – time has a way of ensuring that. As Gillian Welch sang, time’s the revelator.

What does feel very different is my vantage point. I am officially at least 20 years out from my getting my Ph.D., and that means 20+ years of work experience post-grad school. It also means a lot of different jobs under my belt – two postdocs, one foundation, one CGIAR center, two UN agencies, two universities, and one NGO. It also means a lot of travel– 64 countries and counting – much of that with my partner by my side. I have been lucky.

What have I learned in the first half-century through these work and travel experiences?

• I care less and less what people think about me, and I am not liked by everyone. And that is ok. And Richard Feynman thought the same thing.

• To honor my integrity, I had to burn a bridge or two. It was worth it.

• I changed careers; I changed jobs. These changes have been good – I have learned a lot from them.

• Young people have taught me the most. I am humbled by them.

• Walking (+ music and movies) is the best therapy. Especially when enjoyed with others.

• Food—and all the biodiversity that makes up food—is remarkable, joyful, and complex, and I am every day in awe of it.

• I got better at admitting when I was wrong, and apologizing goes a long way.

• I am often not right about much of anything. Who is?

• Telling people how to behave or at least thinking you are the authority to do so is just so naïve.

• The answer to everything is, “it depends.”

• The grass is never greener.

• I am not a “glass is half full,” or a “glass is half empty” kinda person. I am a “who’s gonna wash the glass” kinda person.

• The best decision I ever made in my life was who I chose to spend it with.