Winning is Nothing

I and several of my colleagues together won an award for work we have been doing to bring accessible literature and the arts to our isolated, rural community. It was great to know that we had been recognized for our work. I had always seen pictures at conferences and in professional publications of people who have won awards and thought, What does it take to get an award like that? How do people "win" something like that? Now I know. You don't set out to do it at all. In fact, that's not even at all what you think about. The award isn't won, it's given, out of recognition, out of admiration, out of appreciation, for something you just do.

The work we did was work we all wanted to see happen because we care - about our craft and about our community. We wanted to see poetry readings, we wanted to see a literary-art publication, we wanted to be a part of it. We had a desire and a passion that drove us, and our own needs to be fulfilled in the process, so in some ways, it is also selfish, but ultimately benefits others. Selfish in the sense that, well, sitting on work committees, while (supposedly) benefiting others, certainly feeds no desire or passion of mine. Chances are, nowadays, if I'm on a committee, it's because I got wrangled into one somehow: Enrollment Management, Curriculum, PR... Really, I've no burning desires to be fulfilled in those areas. Others may, and that's great for them. But I'd rather be working on a poetry reading or a lit mag. There's my desire. There's my passion.

So, we "win" an award for innovative leadership. And I drive for 2 1/2 hours with my husband downstate to receive the award, thinking all about how it will be. People at their tables, applauding us as we walk forward. We're asked to say a few words, we're handed our awards, another round of applause, pictures, we return to our seats, my husband beaming with pride, and we glow in the aftermath of recognition.

Reality check. It's a tense ride down, we're late getting on the road (another story for another day), but we do get there in time. It's lunch, but I'm so stressed from the ride down, I can't eat. The room is packed, people are not polite when we ask if chairs are available, but finally we get two together and squeeze in next to a woman who's none too pleased we have taken up a few inches of her elbow room. That's okay, I think jokingly to myself, she doesn't know I'm famous yet...

I look around the room and see all the people I have known for many years - academics, scholars, rhetoricians, researchers - and suddenly, I'm feeling very small and very stupid. I have never felt in a league with others in my field whom I consider more "intellectual" than me. The room begins to clear out as people finish their lunches - the audience size dwindling - and in a way, I'm grateful for this. The speaker gets up and begins with a few announcements. My stomach is flip-flopping. My colleague says to me, "If they ask us to speak, will you do it?" I nod, hesitantly at first, but secretly knowing I have been running through a speech in my head the whole way down.

We wait through more announcements, then a raffle. Then another raffle. Then yet another raffle. More people are leaving the room until just a skeletal crew of the too-lazy-to-walk-after-lunch is left. Finally, they come around to the awards. We're asked to stand, so we do, then just keep standing there. The woman speaking isn't sure where the awards are, or what to do next. I push my colleague forward and we walk to the stage amid a smattering of applause. We step up as she finds the awards, shakes his hand, gives him the plaques. She shows them to the audience and describes them. She looks again at my colleague (not at me once) and says she doesn't know what she's doing, shakes his hand again. I hold out my hand, and for the first time, I think she realizes I am there. She shakes it quickly, we step down from the stage and are stopped for a picture.

I walk back to my seat accompanied by a few gratuitous claps. My husband looks bored at best, and is most likely wondering how he got talked into losing a whole day's work to be there, and says nothing as we sit down. Others congratulate us briefly, and the rest continue to lilt away as the second award is presented.

That was it. No grand ceremony. No great speeches. No beaming admiration.

We left, got back in the car and made the return trip in as much silence as the trip down.

And, so I've learned from this (of course, there has to be a what have you learned from this part, right?) - winning is nothing, it's the having done and continuing to do that matters; maintain a humble appreciation for others' recognition; never go to award ceremonies expecting anything other than the company of others (polite or otherwise); and if you want beaming admiration, invite your parents. Once they're dead, see if you can bring your dog along, but remember to put a few biscuits in your pocket.