There’s a particular feeling that comes with the beginning of a new chapter—not the loud excitement of starting something new, but the quieter process of settling in.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been finding my rhythm at the University of Massachusetts Global as an Associate Professor of Operations and Project Management. And what I’ve been reminded of—almost immediately—is that meaningful work isn’t built in big moments. It’s built in the small, repeated interactions that define a place.
The early class sessions.
The first student emails.
The subtle calibration of tone, expectations, and presence.
Teaching, at its best, is relational before it is instructional. It’s about creating an environment where people feel capable of engaging with complexity—where they don’t just learn concepts, but begin to see themselves differently.
And as I settle in, I find myself less focused on proving anything, and more focused on building something—consistency, trust, and a classroom experience that actually matters.
Returning to Where It Started
Soon, I’ll be traveling back to the University of Tennessee at Martin for Alumni Day.
There’s something powerful about returning to a place that holds an earlier version of you.
Not in a nostalgic sense—but in a reflective one.
Campuses have a way of freezing time. The buildings are the same. The pathways are familiar. But you’re not the same person who once walked them. And that contrast creates perspective.
I’m looking forward to reconnecting—not just with people, but with the version of myself that began there. The ambitions, the uncertainties, the early formation of identity. It’s easy to forget how much growth happens between those moments and now.
Returning isn’t about going backward.
It’s about recognizing how far forward you’ve come.
The Strange Economics of Ideas
At the same time, I’ve been spending energy navigating the world of publishing again—and I’ll be honest, it’s been… illuminating.
There’s a strange paradox in traditional publishing.
Publishers want ideas that are proven.
Audiences want ideas that are meaningful.
And yet, the infrastructure meant to bring those ideas forward often feels disconnected from both.
One of the biggest surprises?
Many publishers don’t actually market books in the way most people assume. The expectation often falls back on the author—to build the audience, to create the demand, to carry the message.
Which leads to a very real question:
If the author is responsible for building the platform,
why not own the work entirely?
That realization is part of what led me to publish my first book independently. Not as a rejection of traditional systems—but as an acknowledgment of reality.
If you believe in the work, sometimes you have to carry it yourself.
And maybe that’s not a limitation.
Maybe that’s freedom.
What Grounds It All
Through all of this—new roles, travel, writing, building—I keep coming back to what actually sustains me.
Love.
My partner.
The presence of strong, grounded feminine energy in my life.
The balance, perspective, and depth that comes from those relationships.
There’s a steadiness there that no professional milestone can replicate.
And alongside that, the routines that shape my days:
- Taking care of my body
- Protecting my mental clarity
- Creating space for reflection
- Staying disciplined in small, consistent ways
These are the things that don’t get posted.
But they are the things that make everything else possible.
The Through Line, Again
If I step back and look at all of it—the new job, the return to Tennessee, the writing, the questioning of systems, the grounding in relationships—it all points back to something simple:
Build a life that is aligned enough to hold complexity.
Not perfect.
Not optimized.
But honest.
Because in the end, it’s not the titles, the trips, or even the ideas that define the work.
It’s the way you live while carrying them.
And right now, I feel grateful—for the work, for the questions, and most of all, for the people who make it all worth doing.
— The Social Capitalist
The Official Author Page of Dr. Rick L. Mask (The Social Capitalist) and the Home of Social Capital 2.0 