Jocko Underground: Accept That The People Around You May Not Want To Do Their Best

What do you do when your team is mostly coasting and you refuse to?

There’s a tension that hums through every workplace: the single person who treats improvement like oxygen while much of the rest of the room treats it like optional background noise. That friction was front and center in a candid exchange about leadership, expectation, and the quiet work of influence. Honest, blunt, and occasionally funny, the conversation offers a simple framework for anyone who’s tired of yelling uphill.

The unavoidable bell curve

Reality is messier than ideals. People naturally sort across a performance bell curve: a visible top 10 percent, a broad middle, and a bottom 10 percent. That image landed like a slap and a relief at once. It frees you to stop pretending everyone can be converted into a top performer overnight, while also forcing a practical strategy: stop chasing fantasies and direct effort where it actually returns growth.

What struck me was how matter-of-fact the speakers were about it. No moralizing. No grand promises of transformation. Instead, they proposed a triage of energy that felt refreshingly pragmatic.

Three pragmatic moves for leaders

• Invest heavily in the top performers. Double down on people already moving forward. Help them grow and they’ll compound effectiveness for the whole organization.
• Support the middle into progress. Small nudges, training, and clearer expectations can lift many into the high performers group.
• Manage—not martyr—for the bottom 10 percent. Check in occasionally, offer low-investment opportunities, but don’t burn energy trying to force a conversion that may never come.

That last point felt almost radical when said aloud: it’s okay to accept that some people will collect a paycheck and nothing more. The alternative—exhaustion, resentment, and trying to micromanage souls into compliance—is a fast track to burnout.

Build relationships before you build expectations

Cold directives rarely change hearts. The louder and more insistent you become, the more likely you are to push people away. Instead, the recommended approach centers on simple conversations and real curiosity. Ask earnest questions about long-term goals. Offer small opportunities to grow that don’t feel like punishment. Check in periodically rather than becoming a relentless critic.

There’s a notable emotional intelligence woven through that advice. Influence flows from trust. Trust grows from consistent, respectful interaction. It’s not rocket science, but the session reminded me how often leaders skip these basics while searching for a quick fix.

When enthusiasm isn’t contagious

One of the most human moments came when the speakers admitted how easy it is to misread others’ priorities. Not everyone values the same things you do. Your jiu-jitsu black belt might be an irrelevance to a colleague who loves woodworking. That mismatch isn’t an insult. It’s a difference in currency.

My reaction? Relief. It reduces the pressure to evangelize. Enthusiasm should be shared, not enforced. When you attempt to pull people into your lane, you often create unnecessary friction. A calmer posture—be fired-up but nonjudgmental—creates room for different kinds of contribution.

Practical situations and scripts

Concrete examples made the ideas feel usable. Instead of vague exhortations, listeners hear phrases and tactics: invite someone to run a small project, offer quarterly check-ins, suggest incremental education paths, and respect genuine disinterest. That sort of script removes the paralysis many leaders feel when they want to do the right thing but worry about wasting time.

There’s also an implied patience baked into the approach. People can shift slowly—three years later they might take on responsibilities you once offered. Influence is a long game, not a sprint. That perspective is humbling and oddly comforting.

Personal reaction: why this landed

I came away less idealistic and more strategic. The bluntness about the bell curve felt like someone finally giving you permission: you can be relentlessly excellent without turning everyone else into an enemy. I appreciated the blend of rigor and humility—push hard where it counts, accept human variance, and invest in relationship first.

There’s also a humane core to the message. Leaders aren’t asked to be emotionless machines; they’re asked to steward people intelligently. That subtle shift—from trying to fix everyone to creating conditions for growth—makes the work sustainable.

A final thought

The real leadership test isn’t whether you can make everyone better. It’s whether you can keep getting better while holding space for those who travel at their own pace. That balance feels like maturity—a steady commitment to excellence without the illusion that everyone must follow the same path.

Insights repeated in the conversation: invest in top talent, lift the middle, manage the bottom with low energy, build trust before pressure, and accept human diversity without judgment.

What if the best leaders are those who can be both uncompromising in their own standards and forgiving in their expectations of others?