Charmain Bogue on Why Awards Are Markers, Not Destinations

Every plaque on my wall represents a moment I'd already moved past by the time it arrived.

I've received a number of awards over the years. Presidential Rank Award. Federal 100. Recognition from various organizations for leadership and service. I'm grateful for every one of them.

But I want to be honest about something: not a single award ever changed what I did next.

By the time you receive an award, the work it recognizes is already behind you. You've already moved on to the next challenge, the next problem, the next role. The plaque arrives and you find a spot on the wall and you go back to your desk. It's a nice moment. It is not a turning point.

Charmain Bogue writing about awards might sound like false modesty or a humble brag. It's neither. I'm writing about this because I've watched people, especially women, treat recognition as something to chase instead of something that happens along the way. And that misplaced focus can actually slow you down.

Here's what I mean. I've mentored women who were terrified of applying for a promotion because they didn't think they'd "earned" it yet. When I asked what earning it looked like, they'd describe a list of accomplishments that sounded a lot like an awards criteria sheet. As if there's some objective threshold of achievement that, once crossed, gives you permission to want more.

Men, in my experience, don't wait for that threshold. They apply for the promotion because they want it. The validation comes after, if it comes at all. And they're fine either way.

Awards can become a trap if you're not careful. They can make you feel like you need to keep performing at a level that earns external recognition, rather than doing work that actually interests you or serves the people you care about. I've seen leaders make career decisions based on what would look good on a nomination form rather than what would make them good at their job. That's backwards.

The most important work I've done, the mentoring conversations, the late nights helping a startup founder rethink her business model, the quiet support I've offered women going through career transitions, none of that has ever been recognized with an award. It won't be. And that's fine, because the measure of that work isn't a plaque. It's a phone call six months later from someone who says, "I did the thing we talked about."

I also think the awards system itself has blind spots. It tends to recognize visible, quantifiable work. Led a team of X people. Managed a budget of Y dollars. Delivered Z outcomes. But some of the most important leadership is invisible. It's the conflict you de-escalated before it became a crisis. It's the employee you coached through a rough patch who went on to do great things. It's the meeting where you said nothing because someone else needed the room to be heard.

None of that shows up in a nomination packet.

What I tell the women I mentor is: do the work. Do it well. Do it for reasons that matter to you, not because someone might notice. If awards come, accept them graciously and then keep moving. If they don't come, that tells you nothing about the quality of what you've done.

I keep my awards because they remind me of specific seasons of my life. Each one is tied to a team, a challenge, a period of growth. They're markers on a timeline, like mile markers on a hiking trail. You glance at them, you note how far you've come, and then you keep walking.

The destination was never the marker. The destination is wherever you're headed next.

I still hike, by the way. And on a long trail, you learn something useful: the summit is great, but most of your time is spent on the path getting there. If you only care about the top, you'll miss the whole experience.

Same goes for careers. Same goes for life.