London Business School I know what I want, I have a goal, an opinion. If God lets me live, I shall not remain insignificant, I shall work in the world and for mankind! And now I know that first and foremost I shall require courage and cheerfulness! -Anne Frank, April 11, 1944 My first-ever academic conference, when I was a naive doctoral student from the Netherlands, com-pletely oblivious about the (American) academic system, was a meeting of the Academy of Interna-tional Business in Banff (Canada) in 1996. Betoken-ing my ignorance of this system, I found myself participating in a junior faculty consortium (not knowing exactly what "faculty" meant, or what a "consortium" was). As you can imagine, the con-versation quickly turned to tenure and how to get it. Some time later, well into the second day of the consortium, during yet another one of those discus-sions, a fellow participant (a German lecturer and one of the few other non-Americans in the room) leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, "Do you know what that is? That thing they keep talking about, called 'tenure'?" I have to admit, as I did to her, that I had no idea. those days with fondness. I had al-ready chosen to be an academic, while my friends went off to have well-paid jobs in banking, consult-ing, and industry. I was going to be a poor yet noble academic, not driven by money, job status, or secu-rity, but dedicated to a quest for knowledge and understanding that would enable me to help others understand and improve the workings of their organizations. I think many management scholars start out with this feeling. Over time, however, the system and culture in which we are placed starts to turn us toward thoughts of getting a job, getting tenure, getting a chair, getting recognition from others in the field, and so on (Deci, 1971; Deci, Koestner, & Ryan, 1999). Over time, our research ideas may not be framed anymore in terms of organizational prob-lems and a question that we want to understand and answer. Instead, we have learned that the legitimate way to frame our academic identity is in terms of a theoretical tradition and a stream of research. And there is nothing wrong with that, unless these goals have completely replaced our desire and quest for true knowledge and understanding. Yet, over the years, many people within our field have lamented the fact that much of our research seems to have little relevance to reality (e.g., Rynes, Bartunek, & Daft, 2001; Staw, 1995; Vermeulen, 2005). It has been argued that our academic system needs to change, journals need to change, deans and colleagues need to change, and with all these things needing to change, we might be better off not bothering at all. Notwithstanding all of this, in this essay, I reflect on what I believe an individual, working within the system, might be able to do, to gain a little bit of relevance. Most of us, in our research and writing, have a first, closed "loop" of communication (Hambrick, 1994): we read the work of other academics, and write in academic journals to reach that same audience. I argue here that each academic researcher in the field of man-agement would do well to add a "second loop"; one that engages practitioners directly, as a source of insight to inform research at its inception, but also as a group of recipients of the research when it is completed.