Trophy Rooms and Plaques on the Wall. Do We Need Hardware to Remember What We Accomplished?

Everyone loves recognition. Whether it is a simple pat on the back, acknowledgment for a job well done, a plaque for your office wall, or even a little extra cash in your pocket. But does the value (and source) of that recognition change as we progress through our careers?

In between a summer-long binge of Suits on Netflix, I am about four episodes into The Quarterback, the latest sports documentary also on Netflix. Cameras followed three NFL quarterbacks (Mahomes, Mariota, and Cousins) on and off the field for the entirety of the 2022 season.

As a lifelong Buffalo Bills fan, it is challenging (actually painful!) to watch Patrick Mahomes in all his glory, but I do grudgingly have to acknowledge and appreciate his talent (and there is always the fast-forward button).

I empathize with Marcus Mariota for continually getting knocked down and finding the strength and dedication to get back up and keep pushing forward. I never played a single minute of organized football, but I do understand the strength and perseverance it takes for Marcus to remain focused on his career despite the obstacles in front of him.

And then there is Kirk Cousins. Thanks to this series, I am now a fan (except when he plays the Bills). And there is a moment in Episode 2 that serves as the inspiration for today’s blog post.

Cousins has a trophy room (he calls it a “Memory Room”) hidden away from view in his Michigan home. He keeps the room behind a secret door for two reasons. First, the room is just for him. A collection of his career memories. Second, he is concerned about coming across as being too “self-promotional” to family and visitors.

That trophy room got me thinking about all the recognition, awards, and plaques I accumulated over a 25+ year career in sales. They weren’t game balls, dirt-covered jerseys, or helmets from a hard-fought NFL game. But they meant something to me (or at least I thought they did).

The crystal vase for Sales Rep of the Year. The various Chairman’s Club plaques and recognition. No one would bid on eBay for these items (signed or not). But while I was still working, they meant something to me and covered my office walls and shelves.

I used to sit nervously at the national sales meetings, fingers crossed, waiting to hear my name announced and for a chance to walk across the stage and grab the recognition.

Excited when it went my way. Disappointed when the award went to another individual. And then I retired, and it all changed. Or maybe faded into the mist. In no time, these “trophies” went from sources of pride and motivation to dust collectors.

We “downsized” our home and the plaques and crystal went to Waste Management and Goodwill. Somewhere in Upstate NY, there is a family of four wearing Nuance polo shirts and quarter-zip pullovers.

I no longer need a home office, just a desk in one of the guest bedrooms. And I most certainly do not have a trophy room. The only recognition I want on the wall are photos of my family (and of course Rigby).

Does that mean Kirk Cousins is wrong? I don’t think so.

Football is, at its core, a transactional business. Results are measured game to game (even play-by-play). Players are temporary assets. Valuable until a better version comes in the draft, via trade, or free agency. Beyond the income (lots of it!), those game balls are the memory markers along the NFL career journey.

It took retirement, and the loss of a dedicated home office, to help me realize that the trophies didn’t mean what I thought they did when I was in the thick of my career.

My career, a sales career, was about relationships. The awards and the recognition were a direct outcome of the relationships I built year after year. I can’t hang those relationships on a wall or display them in a trophy room, but I still hold onto them. These relationships are the memory markers of my career, and over time, many have matured into lifelong friendships.

To share a quote from my book on this same topic: “Tell me that I have to go to a desert island and take only one thing from my career with me. Hands down, I am taking the friendships established over the years. Time will take away the money, titles, and recognition. Perhaps the slow degeneration of brain cells may take away the learning. But nothing will ever replace the relationships you can build over your career.”

I will not hold my breath waiting for “The Sales Rep” as the next Netflix documentary. But if there ever were one featuring me as the aging old-time sales rep, there wouldn’t be a scene from my trophy room.

Instead, there would be a scene featuring me and all my friends around a bonfire at the lake house. Beer, a little bourbon, and lots of stories and laughter. That would work for me.

Dan Troup is The Sunny Side of 57. He loves to reflect and write about life, family, career, and retirement. Check out more of his reflections on his blog site. Also, consider subscribing to The Sunny Side of 57. When not playing pickleball or hiking with Sue and Rigby, he writes a new post about twice a month.