Beef or Bear? On Ambition, Academia, and the Art of Letting Go

I’m sure many of you have been watching The Bear—the TV show that follows Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto, a brilliant young chef who returns home to Chicago to take over his late brother’s gritty sandwich shop, The Beef. Through the chaos of grief and grease, Carmy builds something new: The Bear, a sleek fine-dining restaurant born from heartbreak, hope, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. And yet, he keeps The Beef alive—its humble sandwich window still serving the neighborhood that built it. Amid gleaming, white-tiled walls and sky-high expectations, the crew fights to grow, grieve, and find meaning in their craft. They become a family, forged in heat and held together by love and purpose.

A recent New York Times piece reflecting on The Bear’s Season 4 captured the show’s central tension between the up-scale Bear restaurant and the no-frills Beef sandwich shop perfectly:

“It’s about ambition vs. accessibility, change vs. repetition, risk vs. consistency, complexity vs. simplicity.”

It got me thinking. Over the past 20+ years of my career, I’ve always wanted more Beef than Bear. I craved simplicity—not just in science, but in life. I used to joke that the measure of a person’s life could be found in their keychain. I aimed for two keys or fewer.

But somewhere along the way, the Bear crept in.

Ambition found me. Or maybe I chased it. I threw myself into research, publishing, pivoting. I moved countries several times in pursuit of new opportunities. I left the comforts of traditional academia to dive into international development and returned once more. I pursued sprawling, interdisciplinary projects with too many partners and not enough time. These complex, messy, often maddening endeavors shaped who I am.

That bearish ambition brought me accolades, big jobs, incredible collaborators, and students who have inspired me. But lately, I’ve begun to ask: can I keep going at this pace? Do I even want to? I know I’m not alone in this. An article by Arthur C. Brooks in The Atlantic hit hard:

“Call it the Principle of Psychoprofessional Gravitation: the idea that the agony of professional oblivion is directly related to the height of professional prestige previously achieved, and to one’s emotional attachment to that prestige.”

In academia, no one teaches you how to slow down. It’s always go, go, go. First, you need to raise money just to do your work—and often just to pay yourself and your team. That means writing exhaustive, often soul-sucking grant proposals for donors who want the world for pennies. The odds of success? Dismal. And feedback when you fail? Don’t hold your breath.

Then there’s publishing. To prove your worth and make your science visible, you need to land in the “top journals.” But the peer review process is increasingly dysfunctional—often driven by AI-generated reviewer selection, unpaid labor, and endless revision cycles. Want people to read it? You’ll need to pay for open access. In the end, who benefits? Journals. Not the people we claim to serve.

And that’s just the research. You also need to teach, sit on committees, engage with policymakers, serve the public, and perform the theater of relevance. Academia has become a hamster wheel powered by prestige, productivity, and fear. Don’t get me wrong—I love academia and the freedoms it affords. The opportunity to engage with students is unmatched, and the pursuit of new ideas, discoveries, and knowledge remains deeply fulfilling.

I know I sound old. Maybe I am. I’m 53, and as Jackson Browne once sang, I’ve been running on empty for a while now. The spark is still there, but the fire’s a little dimmer. I’m not interested in building anything new—no more centers, initiatives, or empires. I don’t need another publication, another invisible promotion, or a bigger team.

I want to work differently. Slower. With more intention. Less Bear, more Beef.

That means letting go—not of the science, but of the ego that comes with it. It means embracing the role of mentor, not builder. Teacher, not hustler. I’m ready to spend less time painting the canvas and more time showing others how to hold the brush.

So, as I step into this next chapter—joining the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies in Bologna, Italy—I’ll say goodbye to all that: the pace, the prestige, the panic. If I build or invest in anything now, it will be with intention—to ensure that those who come after me are prepared to navigate the complexities of this shifting world.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll enjoy the art I’ve already made. Hang it up. Share it with others. Teach the next generation how to sketch something of their own.

Because sometimes, success is knowing when to stop chasing stars—and start passing the torch. So, enjoy every sandwich.

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.