And the Winner Is… Not Me
A few years into my first Director role, I thought I was unstoppable.
I had taken one of the worst-performing operations in the network and turned it into one of the best — in less than a year.
Our metrics were up. Our service was solid. Our costs were finally under control.
I was proud. Maybe too proud.
I was thirty years old, running one of the largest e-commerce distribution centers in North America — second only to Amazon — and I felt like I’d cracked the code.
Then came the annual leadership conference.
The VP stepped up to the podium and announced a new award — an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii for the best-performing Director in the network.
My heart started racing.
He began describing the winning operation:
Last year, the building fell short of its budget by $2 million.
This year, it met its targets and turned a profit.
Quality has dramatically improved.
Service levels are now meeting expectations.
It was obvious. He was talking about my building.
I could already picture my wife’s face when I told her we were finally going to Hawaii — the late nights, the weekends, the missed dinners, all justified in one shining moment.
I sat up a little taller. My peers looked my way.
And then he said it:
“But this award isn’t for meeting expectations. It’s for exceeding them.”
The applause that followed wasn’t for me.
I didn’t win.
The prize — the validation — went somewhere else.
And just like that, the recognition I’d built up in my mind dissolved.
No mention of my team. No mention of our turnaround.
Nothing.
I wish I could tell you I came back hungry, determined to win the next year. But there was no next year. The award never returned.
For a while, I was bitter.
But eventually, I realized something that’s stayed with me ever since:
Recognition is rented.
Character is owned.
The applause will fade, the awards will stop, but who you become while chasing them — that’s the part you get to keep.
