This fall, I was awarded a Fellowship by the Institution of Civil Engineers (ICE). As honoured as I am, I still have to ask myself—was I chasing a bit of self-validation?
What have you pursued purely for your own ego?
Today in London, a new cohort will be formally admitted as Institution of Civil Engineers. A ceremony I was invited to attend, but my schedule doesn’t allow for. The younger version of me—who spent decades striving for this moment—would be dumbfounded.
While I have been a Member of ICE for nearly two decades (that credential opened doors when I immigrated to Canada) MICE didn’t feel like enough of an acronym. I’ve always thought FICE had a much better ring to it.
Founded in 1818 in the UK, Fellow of the Institution of Civil Engineers is the highest professional recognition in our field. It’s awarded to individuals who have spent years leading complex projects and contributing to the profession’s growth. For many of us, it’s first and foremost a reflection of the responsibilities we’ve carried and the trust of our peers—but yes, I admit, there’s some status wrapped up in it too.
The application process itself was humbling. I applied, was rejected, and had to reapply. As I filled out forms and gathered references the second time, I kept wondering, “Why am I even doing this?” Suddenly, decades into my career, I needed to convince people (most that I’ll never meet) and myself that I belonged. And after the initial rejection, I found myself wondering whether I truly did. A lifetime of carrying the narrative that I’m not enough—and an academic record that includes flunking out of high school twice—has conditioned that to be my first reaction.
Why did I need to pursue something that would inevitably bring up these feelings of inadequacy?
Afterall, the Fellowship adds little in my current context. It’s another letter after my name and a nod from a UK institution, but it doesn’t alter my job. I was pursuing it mostly because it existed—and because my ego wanted the completion. To say, okay that box is permanently checked and to the highest standard.
I’m not someone who usually chases status—or at least that’s what I tell myself. Though, I took up kiteboarding for the quiet satisfaction of having a hobby that feels a little unique and gets a bit of recognition. The same way others run marathons for the medal I guess.
The fellowship, however, tapped into a different part of me—the part that hates leaving things unfinished, the part of me who feels like an imposter. Pursuing it forced me to confront the difference between excellence and ego. Ego pushes us to collect titles and accolades for their own sake. When I pursued the fellowship, I was feeding my pride and proving to myself that I am deserving of the accolates—despite being rejected by 22 companies at the start of my career.
Despite everything I have accomplished, duping Oxford and all, I needed to see the application through so I could confidently say “I belong.” When the Fellowship acceptance email finally came I must admit, I was proud.
There’s irony in the FICE process itself: to apply, you need to demonstrate that you’re already a leader. You don’t need extra qualifications; you need experience and responsibility. In the UK, the fellowship can open doors, connect you with policy networks and provide lifelong learning opportunities. In Canada, it’s largely symbolic. Regardless, my inner child needed the post‑nominals as proof; the more logical side of my brain understands the value I bring to the industry is defined by the projects and people I lead.
I’m grateful I was rejected for the Fellowship the first time—it forced me to interrogate my motivations. It reminded me that sometimes we do things for ego, to heal an old wound or to feel included. That awareness allows me to choose future pursuits more wisely (or at least that’s the hope).
So I leave you with the same question that started my journey: What have you pursued purely for your own ego?
Was it a certification, a medal, a luxury item? Did it serve a deeper purpose or simply soothe an insecurity? Reflecting on these questions helps us distinguish between striving for genuine growth and chasing accolades for their own sake.
At the very least, the next time we email, you’ll know the story behind the small letter change in my signature.