People often say, 'I don't need recognition,' and the truth is

Host: The office was half-dark — that liminal hour between quitting time and the city’s second awakening. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a skyline bleeding gold into gray. The hum of the air conditioner mingled with the muffled sound of traffic far below.

On the long conference table, two untouched paper cups of coffee sat cooling beside a pile of reports. The faint smell of printer ink and exhaustion filled the air.

Jack leaned against the window, his grey eyes reflecting the lights of a world still running on ambition. Across from him, Jeeny sat at the table, her brown eyes warm but weary, scrolling through her phone. On the screen, an email notification flashed — a company-wide announcement celebrating a colleague’s promotion.

Jeeny read aloud, almost absently:
“People often say, ‘I don’t need recognition,’ and the truth is they are right. We don’t need it. But like healthy food and exercise, life is a whole lot better with it.” — Mark Goulston

Host: The words hung in the air like the aftertaste of truth — gentle, practical, but somehow stinging.

Jack: (snorting) “Recognition. The most expensive cheap drug there is.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “You sound like you’ve been overdosed.”

Jack: “No. Just sober.”

Jeeny: (setting her phone down) “Come on, Jack. Even cynics like you need it. Everyone wants to be seen — even if they pretend they don’t.”

Jack: “Wanting it doesn’t make it noble. Recognition’s like applause — it feels good, but it fades faster than the echo.”

Host: The light flickered across his face, catching the sharp lines of someone who had once been noticed — and then forgotten.

Jeeny: (softly) “So you’d rather no one noticed at all?”

Jack: “Better to work for purpose than approval.”

Jeeny: “They’re not enemies, you know. Purpose feeds your soul; recognition just reminds you you’re not invisible.”

Host: She leaned back, fingers tapping the rim of her coffee cup. The room’s silence was gentle, but not empty. It carried the hum of tired hearts learning to be honest.

Jeeny: “You know, Goulston wasn’t wrong. We don’t need recognition. But it’s like sunlight — you can survive in the dark, sure. But eventually, something in you stops growing.”

Jack: (sighing) “You think validation makes people better? I’ve seen it ruin them. One compliment and they start chasing the echo instead of the work.”

Jeeny: “Then that’s not recognition. That’s addiction.”

Jack: “What’s the difference?”

Jeeny: “The difference is intent. Recognition is a mirror. Addiction is a spotlight.”

Host: Her words landed softly but stuck like a pin in the skin. Jack’s reflection in the window flickered, half-real, half-ghost.

Jack: (after a pause) “You ever notice how the people who say they don’t need recognition are the ones who’ve stopped getting it?”

Jeeny: “Or the ones who got it for the wrong reasons.”

Host: A train rumbled in the distance — that low, steady vibration of movement that always sounded like time leaving without you.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I worked for this editor who never said ‘good job.’ Not once. He used to tell me, ‘You’re paid to do good work, not praised for it.’”

Jeeny: “And did it make you better?”

Jack: (quietly) “It made me harder. Not better.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: Her voice softened, but her conviction deepened — that warmth she carried when truth became personal.

Jeeny: “People don’t crumble because of failure, Jack. They crumble because no one noticed when they tried.”

Jack: (turning toward her) “You think a pat on the back fixes that?”

Jeeny: “No. But it tells you your effort meant something. That you weren’t screaming into a void.”

Host: The silence stretched, not heavy, but thoughtful — the quiet kind that only comes when two people are slowly undressing their armor.

Jeeny: (gently) “You don’t have to crave applause to need acknowledgment. They’re not the same thing.”

Jack: “Then what are they?”

Jeeny: “Applause is noise. Acknowledgment is language.”

Host: A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth — rare, unguarded. He sank into a chair opposite her, his shoulders lowering, the tension slipping like a confession he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Jack: “You ever wonder why we care so much about being seen?”

Jeeny: “Because we’re built to connect. Recognition is proof that connection happened.”

Jack: “Even if it’s fleeting?”

Jeeny: “Especially then. Fleeting things remind us to appreciate the moment before it’s gone.”

Host: The rain began to patter against the window, faint and rhythmic. Outside, the city pulsed on — indifferent but alive. Inside, the small glow of the desk lamp wrapped them in a kind of human warmth that no policy, no system, could legislate.

Jack: “So, let me guess. You think managers should hand out gold stars now?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Not gold stars. Just honest words. A simple ‘I saw what you did, and it mattered.’”

Jack: “You’d be surprised how hard those words are for people to say.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes them worth hearing.”

Host: Jack’s expression softened completely now. He picked up the cooling cup of coffee, staring into it like it might offer an answer.

Jack: (quietly) “You ever think maybe we’re just children who never outgrew wanting to make someone proud?”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s not childish. Maybe that’s what keeps us trying.”

Host: The rain softened, the window glass trembling with the faint vibration of the storm passing. Jeeny glanced down at the quote again, the words glowing faintly on her phone screen — wise, simple, true.

Jeeny: “You know, recognition doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just a look. A nod. A thank you.”

Jack: “And sometimes it’s just knowing someone noticed.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Outside, the city lights flickered in the puddles, like reflections of unspoken gratitude.

They gathered their things in silence — not awkward, but peaceful.

Jack paused by the door, his hand resting on the frame.

Jack: (softly) “Hey… you did good today. The presentation. You handled it perfectly.”

Jeeny: (looking up, surprised) “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Guess I’m trying this whole ‘recognition’ thing.”

Jeeny: “Feels better than cynicism, doesn’t it?”

Jack: “Yeah. But don’t tell anyone.”

Host: They laughed — small, real, warm.

The camera pulled back, the two silhouettes leaving the office behind, the city sprawling beyond them — vast, bright, anonymous.

And yet, for one brief, human moment, they weren’t anonymous at all.

Because someone had noticed.

And Mark Goulston’s words lingered softly in the air:

People often say, ‘I don’t need recognition,’ and the truth is they are right.
We don’t need it.
But like healthy food and exercise, life is a whole lot better with it.

Host: Because being seen isn’t vanity —
it’s nutrition for the soul.
And sometimes the simplest act of recognition
is the smallest proof
that we still matter to each other —
quietly, beautifully, enough.