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….

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.

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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.