23. Choosing Great: The Courage to Trade Good for Great

What happens when good becomes the thing holding you back?

In this episode, we explore John D. Rockefeller’s quote, “Don’t be afraid to give up the good to go for the great,” and unpack why comfort can quietly limit growth.

Through personal stories about leadership, launching a podcast, and training for a half marathon, we explore courage, comfort zones, and how to recognize when it’s time to pursue something greater.

If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re capable of more—this conversation is for you.

 🌐 Learn more at ashverdeck.com
📩 Subscribe to the newsletter for weekly inspiration.
📱 Join the conversation on Instagram (@ash.verdeck) & LinkedIn (Ash Verdeck). 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:10

Hey everyone, welcome back to the Epiphany Effect. I'm your host Ash. This is the podcast where we explore how the words of the wise can spark insights and inspire meaningful action in our lives. Have you ever held on to something that was good? Not amazing, not life-changing, just good. Good enough. A job that pays the bills, a routine that works, a comfortable rhythm where nothing is terribly wrong. But deep down, something feels unfinished. That tension is captured in a powerful quote from oil magnate and philanthropist John D. Rockefeller. Don't be afraid to give up the good to go for the great. At first glance, that sounds inspiring, motivational, the kind of quote that looks great on a poster. But when you really sit with it, the quote becomes a little uncomfortable. Because giving up something bad is easy. Giving up something that's good, that's hard. Good is safe. Good is predictable. Good is comfortable. And let's be honest, comfort is persuasive. Comfort tells us why risk it? Why disrupt things? Why rock the boat? But comfort rarely leads to greatness. Today we're going to explore what that really means to trade good for great. We'll talk about why good is often the biggest obstacle to greatness, the psychology behind staying comfortable, real stories of people who made bold trade-offs, and practical ways you can evaluate where good might be holding you back. Because sometimes the biggest breakthroughs in life happen when we stop asking, is this good enough? And start asking, is this the best I'm capable of becoming. One of the most fascinating things about human behavior is that we're incredibly good at adapting. Give us a challenge, we'll adapt. Give us a change, we'll adapt. But here's the catch. Give us comfort, and we'll adapt to that too. We begin to treat good as if it's the destination. But in many cases, good is just a stopping point. Think about it. A bad situation creates urgency. A bad job pushes you to look elsewhere. A failing system forces improvement. A broken process demands change. But a good situation removes the urgency. Good doesn't scream for change. Good whispers, this is enough. And that's where people can stay stuck for years. Not because they lack opportunity, but because good is comfortable enough to stay. And comfort can quietly become a cage. Not every moment that changes your life is loud. Some of them are almost invisible. No big failure, no dramatic turning point, no moment where everything falls apart. Sometimes everything is good. And that's exactly where I found myself. Work was good, home was good, I was doing meaningful work, supporting teams, solving problems, building relationships. On paper, and honestly, even in reality, there wasn't anything to complain about. But there was this quiet feeling that started to show up. Not all at once, just in small moments. Moments where I'd stepped back and noticed something I couldn't unsee. Across different locations, different teams, different challenges, the problems started to feel familiar. They looked a little different on the surface, different processes, different people, different environments. But when you peeled it back, they often came down to the same root cause, the same pattern, the same opportunities. And I started to realize something that was a little unsettling. I was solving problems, but I wasn't always solving them at the level they actually existed. Because in this line of work, the problems that get the most attention are the ones that are the easiest to define. The tactical ones, the ones where you can say, here's the issue, here's the solution, here's the measurable impact. And those matter, they absolutely matter. But there's another layer, the deeper patterns, the mindset shifts, the way people think about problems in the first place. And those don't always fit neatly onto a spreadsheet. They don't always show immediate results. And because of that, they don't always get the same level of attention. And I started to feel this tension because I knew I could help. I knew I had insights, experiences, patterns that I was seeing across locations. But I also knew I couldn't always dedicate the time to go as deep as I wanted with every team. And around the same time, I started noticing something else. People outside of my company, different industries, different roles were facing very similar challenges, different context, same core issues. And that's when the question started to form. Not loudly, but consistently. What if there was a way to reach more people? What if I could share these ideas beyond one conversation, one team, one location at a time? And the interesting part, that question didn't come from frustration. It came from possibility. But possibility can be uncomfortable too. Because again, once you see it, you can't unsee it. And now you're faced with a choice: stay in what's working, or explore what might be possible. And for a while, I stayed where I was, because again, everything was good. And good is really easy to justify. You can always say, this is enough, this is fine, this is working. But that quiet voice didn't go away. It kept nudging, not with pressure, but with curiosity. What could this become? And eventually, that's what led me to start the podcast. Not because something was broken, but because something felt incomplete. I didn't start it because I had everything figured out. I didn't start it because I suddenly had more time. If anything, the timing wasn't ideal. But I started it because I realized something important. If I stayed in what was comfortable, I might miss the opportunity to create something meaningful at a different scale. And that's the thing about these quiet turning points. They don't force you to change. They invite you to. And you can ignore the invitation for a long time. But at some point you have to decide, am I going to stay in what's good? Or am I going to explore what could be great? If moving towards greatness is so powerful, why don't more people do it? Because our brains are wired for safety, not for greatness. Psychologists call this loss aversion. The idea is simple. We feel the pain of losing something more strongly than the pleasure of gaining something new. So even if greatness is possible, our brain keeps focusing on what we might lose: security, predictability, control. And our inner voice starts negotiating with us. It says things like, maybe next year, or the classic, now's just not the right time. Let me translate that for you. Now's just not the right time is usually code for I'm scared to leave what I know. And if we're honest, fear isn't always irrational. Greatness often requires uncertainty, new paths, new challenges, new levels of responsibility, and occasionally new mistakes. But here's the paradox: the longer we stay comfortable, the harder it becomes to move. Human beings are incredibly creative when it comes to avoiding change. We'll research a decision for six months, make spreadsheets, read books, listen to podcasts, maybe even color code the spreadsheet because nothing says serious decision making like a well-organized Excel file. And after all that analysis, we decide to give it a little more time. Meanwhile, greatness is sitting there thinking, are you coming or are we scheduling another meeting about it? I remember a time when I signed up for something thinking I would just participate. You know the kind of situation. Show up, engage, take a few notes, meet a few people, and walk away with some good ideas. Low risk, low pressure, comfortably, good. It was a two-day in-person event with about 100 people attending, and my original plan was simple. Blend in just enough to contribute, but not enough to be on the spot. But somewhere between finding out about the event and actually attending it, I had this thought that wouldn't quite leave me alone. What if I did more than just participate? And almost immediately my brain followed that thought with, let's not get too carried away here. Because participating felt safe. Facilitating? That felt visible. And visibility comes with a whole new set of questions. What if it doesn't land? What if the group isn't engaged? What if I'm not prepared enough? You know, the greatest hits. But the thought kept coming back, not in a loud, dramatic way, more like just a quiet nudge. What if this is a chance to grow and help others grow along the way? So I did something that felt small in the moment, but turned out to be pretty significant for me. I reached out to the organizer and volunteered to facilitate a team-building exercise for the group. And as soon as I hit send, I had that immediate, very human reaction. Why did I just do that? There's always that moment, right? That split second where your growth mindset makes a decision and your comfort zone immediately files a complaint. But the opportunity was there. And now so was the commitment. Fast forward to the day of the event, I'm standing in front of a room of about 100 people. And let's just paint the picture. This is the exact moment where my brain becomes incredibly helpful. It starts with all kinds of useful reminders like, you could still pretend you're just a participant. Someone else could probably do this. Are we really sure this was necessary? But also, there's a quieter voice. Quieter, but steadier. You chose this. Step into it. And so I did. Here's what surprised me. It wasn't perfect. There were moments where I was adjusting on the fly, moments where I had to read the room and pivot, moments where I thought, okay, that didn't land exactly how I pictured it. But there were also moments where the room came alive. People engaged, conversations deepened, energy shifted, and I realized something in real time. Growth doesn't come from executing something flawlessly. It comes from being willing to step in before you feel fully ready. By the end of that session, I wasn't thinking about whether I did everything perfectly. I was thinking about how much I had stretched, how much I had learned, and how different the experience would have been if I had just stayed in my original plan, just participating. Because participating would have been good. But stepping forward, that's where the growth happened. And here's the part that stuck with me the most. Nothing about my capability changed overnight. The only thing that changed was my willingness to step into a bigger role. And that's the trade-off. It's not that we're missing ability, it's that we're hesitating at the edge of visibility. And on the other side of that hesitation, that's where growth lives. Often the shift happens when we realize something important. The risk of staying the same becomes greater than the risk of changing. That's the tipping point. When comfort stops feeling comfortable. History is filled with people who chose greatness over comfort. Take Steve Jobs. Before revolutionizing technology, he made decisions that looked risky, dropping out of college, leaving comfortable paths, pursuing ideas that many people thought were impractical. But greatness rarely begins with consensus. Or consider Oprah Winfrey. Her career began in local news, where she struggled within a format that didn't fit her strengths. She could have stayed there. It was stable, it was respectable. But moving into a different type of media platform allowed her authentic voice to emerge and ultimately transformed her career. Greatness often appears on the other side of misalignment, when what you're doing no longer reflects what you're capable of becoming. Staying in good situations too long can create quiet regret. Not dramatic regret, but subtle regret. The kind that whispers questions like, What if I had tried? What if I had taken the chance? What if I had trusted myself? And those questions tend to show up years later when the opportunity has already passed, which is why Rockefeller's quote is so powerful. It reminds us that greatness isn't only about achievement. Sometimes it's about courage, the courage to move before you feel completely ready. There's a different kind of growth that doesn't come from a single decision. It comes from showing up over and over again when you're not entirely sure it's working. For me, that's what this current half marathon journey has been. And what makes this one different is I've done this before. I've run half marathons before. So I knew what it should feel like. I knew what I used to be capable of. But this time, I signed up when I couldn't even run a mile straight. Not even close. There were days where running for a minute felt incredibly hard. And that's a humbling place to start, especially when you have a past version of yourself whispering, you used to be better than this. And let me tell you, that voice is not helpful because it tries to compare your current starting point to your previous peak. And that is a quick way to feel discouraged. But here's what I realized early on. This journey wasn't about getting back to where I used to be. It was about becoming someone new through the process. So I started where I was, run walk intervals, nothing fancy, no dramatic breakthroughs, just small, consistent effort. Run for a minute, walk for a bit, then do it again. And if I'm being honest, there's nothing glamorous about that. No one's watching, no one's applauding your one-minute run intervals. There's no finish line in sight yet. Just you and the decision to keep going. But over time, something started to shift. Not overnight, not even week by week, but gradually. That one minute of running turned into a little more, and then a little more. And now I'm still doing intervals, but I'm pushing to run longer during each one. And the interesting part, the physical progress matters. But that's not the most meaningful change. The real transformation is happening in how I think. Because every time I push myself a little longer, every time I choose to keep running when it would be way easier to walk, I'm reinforcing something deeper. That I can do hard things, even when they feel uncomfortable, even when they feel slow, even when the progress isn't obvious. And that's the part that translates far beyond running. Because this is what growth through uncertainty looks like. It's not a big defining moment, it's a series of small decisions that don't feel significant on their own, but compound over time. And if I had waited until I felt ready, or until I could run a mile comfortably again, I never would have started. I would have stayed in what felt good, remembering what I used to be capable of instead of building towards what I could become next. And that's the tension, isn't it? Sometimes good looks like holding on to the past, but greatness, greatness requires you to start again, even when it's messy, even when it's slow, even when it doesn't look impressive yet. Because greatness isn't built in the moments where everything clicks. It's built in the moments where you choose to keep going, without any guarantee of how quickly you'll get there. And maybe that's the most important reminder in all of this. You don't have to be at your best to begin. You just have to be willing to take the next step and trust that who you're becoming is worth the effort. Often, when we pursue greatness, the result isn't just external success. It's internal transformation. We become more confident, more resilient, more capable than we ever imagined. So, how do we know when something good is holding us back from something great? Here are a few questions to ask yourself. One, am I growing or just maintaining? Growth involves discomfort. If everything feels easy all the time, you might not be stretching your potential. Two, am I energized or just comfortable? Comfort feels calm. Greatness often feels energizing, even when it's challenging. Three, would I choose this path again today? If the honest answer is no, it may be time to reevaluate. Sometimes naming the fear reduces its power. Now, a quick note of balance. This quote isn't about constantly chasing bigger, faster, or more impressive things. Greatness isn't always louder. Sometimes greatness is depth, meaning, impact. It's not about abandoning stability recklessly. It's about becoming honest with yourself about whether something still aligns with who you are becoming. Because the goal isn't to reject good things. The goal is to recognize when your potential is calling you somewhere else. So let's come back to Rockefeller's words. Don't be afraid to give up the good to go for great. For me, the real insight in this quote isn't about ambition. It's about courage. The courage to step beyond comfort. The courage to trust that growth often requires change. And the courage to believe that the best chapters of your life might still be ahead of you. Because sometimes the path to greatness doesn't begin with a grand plan. Sometimes it begins with a simple realization, this is good, but I think I'm capable of something greater. Thanks for listening to the Epiphany Effect. If today's episode gave you something to think about, share it with someone who might be ready for their next step. Because sometimes the most powerful decisions we make aren't about letting go of what's wrong. They're about having the courage to release what's good so we can discover what's great. Until next time, keep reflecting, keep learning, and keep having the courage to reach for what's greater.