Think, Laugh, Cry Issue #26
A ceramic mug, a styrofoam cup...and the hidden truth about respect, titles, and what endures when the applause fades. Which one are you holding?
THINK
Simon Sinek, the bestselling author and leadership expert known for his insights on motivation and organizational behavior, tells a story that should make every successful leader squirm.
He’s talking about a former Undersecretary of Defense, and the lesson that the man learned about power, respect, and humility.
The Undersecretary, while in office, traveled like the world itself needed to honor him.
First-class flights, seats that feel more like thrones than chairs, a black car waiting outside the terminal with the engine idling as if it knew it existed solely to serve him.
He enters the hotel lobby and is greeted like royalty, each gesture calculated to signal importance: the polished floors, the quiet efficiency of the staff, the subtle nods of recognition.
And then the coffee…not a flimsy paper cup, not a disposable thing tossed into a sleeve, but a ceramic mug.
Heavy. Solid. Respectful. Even before he lifts it, it whispers, you matter. You deserve this.
Sinek recounts this scene slowly, deliberately, letting it hang in the air. He pauses, giving the audience a chance to absorb the lesson: the perks, the attention, the deference — none of it was ever truly for the Undersecretary.
They were for the office, for the title, for the position itself.
Almost no one wants to admit the sting of that truth.
Much of the world’s applause, its nods, its courtesy, are transactional. Strip away the role, the office, the authority, and suddenly the veneer disappears, leaving only reality.
A year passes. The same conference, the same audience, the same man, but now stripped of office and title. Economy flight, middle seat, cramped legroom, a rental car that struggles with the GPS, a standard hotel room indistinguishable from any other.
And the coffee — served in a styrofoam cup.
Limp, disposable, almost insulting in its simplicity.
He steps onstage and feels the weight of reality descend like a hammer. The ceramic mug was never for him.
It was for the office he once held.
The applause, the nods, the attention, were never his to keep.
Sinek’s lesson is sharp, almost cruel: leadership is not about the perks. Respect is not permanent. Step down, retire, or get replaced, and the world will show you what it truly thinks of you.
But pause. There is a tension in the story that Sinek leaves implicit, because it is complicated.
The Undersecretary did not stumble into that role. He worked for it. Decades of study, sleepless nights, decisions so difficult they would break most people, sacrifices invisible to the world.
Discipline, mastery, courage.
I would argue the mug, in some ways, was his. He had fought for the right to occupy that office, to make those calls, to carry that weight. The deference wasn’t entirely a lie; it was at least partially earned.
So, which is it? Is the mug a lie? Or is it deserved?
Or perhaps it is both, tangled together, inseparable, impossible to fully untangle?
History is littered with these moments. Lincoln quietly voting after leaving office, no fanfare, no recognition. Churchill fading into obscurity after decades of leadership. Innovators stepping down, realizing the applause belongs to the product, not the person who shepherded it.
In all cases, achievement matters. Battle matters. The path to the role matters. And yet, so much of the world’s response is fleeting, tied to position, title, and perception rather than the person behind the work.
Now, turn the lens inward.
The corner office you occupy. The project you lead. The nods at the party. Invitations that feel like acknowledgment. The perks you cling to, the privileges you accept.
Which of these are your ceramic mugs? Which are your styrofoam cups? Are you mistaking privilege for respect? Are you ignoring the skill, the effort, the sacrifice that earned you that spot in the first place?
When the title disappears, when the applause stops, when the world hands you the styrofoam cup, what remains?
Yes, the ceramic mug is a lie. But denying your own worth is also a lie.
True leadership, and the test of character for anyone who achieves, lives in that tension. It requires humility enough to serve the office, enough boldness to own the path that brought you there, and wisdom enough to survive the moment the mug is gone.
Because the mug comes and goes. The audience shifts. The perks vanish.
Only one thing endures: the respect people have for the person you are when nothing is owed to you.
Walk through your own life. Examine it unflinchingly. The corner office, the applause, the invitations that feel like recognition. Which are mugs? Which are styrofoam? Do you know the difference before the world shows you?
Because the mug is coming. Always.
And when it arrives, the only thing that matters is what you built beyond it. The work, the skill, the effort, the impact that outlasts the title, the office, the ceremonial coffee.
Respect for the position is fleeting. Respect for the person — when it is real — is permanent.
The ceramic mug teaches the first lesson. The styrofoam cup tests the second.
Maybe, just maybe, if you survive it, if you earn it honestly, if you understand it fully, then perhaps the world isn’t handing you a mug or a cup at all.
Perhaps it is handing you the truth: who you are when nothing is owed to you.