But more often the real shock of growth is that over time you’ll bring on people who are just okay. Relative to the amazing people you brought in early, they’ll seem unimpressive. Mostly fine, good team players, get the job done.

And that’s not the end of the world. As the company expands, you need all kinds of people at all kinds of levels.

You can’t wait for the perfect A+ candidate to appear for every single empty slot. You need to hire. The best of the best don’t always want to join a big team, or they’re tied up in another job, or you can’t afford them or give them the titles or responsibilities they want.

And sometimes the people you don’t expect to be amazing—the ones you thought were Bs and B+s—turn out to completely rock your world. They hold your team together by being dependable and flexible and great mentors and teammates. They’re modest and kind and just quietly do good work. They’re a different type of “rock star.”

By far the hardest part of growth is finding the best people—in all their different incarnations—trusting your team to hire them, then making sure they’re happy and thriving.

In truth, hiring was hard before we got the culture of the restaurant fully dialed in. When we had an opening, I’d find someone good to join the team—not necessarily impeccably trained, but energetic and enthusiastic about the mission. But even if that person was all charged up when they got hired, the residual negativity of some of their colleagues would eventually infect them. The fine-dining crew was still being snooty, and some of the remaining members of the old guard weren’t ever going to get on board. Three or four times, I hired someone I thought showed promise. But they’d last only a month before the flame of their enthusiasm dimmed and died, and then they’d quit. So the next time a position opened up, I didn’t race to fill it. Instead, I waited until another position came open, and then another, and then hired three great people, all at the same time. Instead of one new person cupping their hands, trying to protect the tiny flame of their enthusiasm, that little crew brought a bonfire no one could put out.

In short, the average employee is drowning in complexity. And the outstanding employee, the one who has a chance of keeping up, is a much scarcer resource than many managers are willing to acknowledge. We're designing jobs for superhumans, and it turns out our people are flesh and blood.

First, not all of your employees are superheroes. Most companies have a continuum on the payroll, from the exceptionally talented to the should-definitely-be-doing-something-else- with-their-lives. This isn't easy to acknowledge. Any number of things can get in the way of doing so, from the role you played in hiring someone to good, old-fashioned conflict aversion. Here's a safe assumption: unless you have the resources and capacity to systematically attract, reward, and unleash the very best in your industry, some of the people now reporting to you cannot be objectively characterized as outstanding. Second, you're probably making your employees' job harder. The hunt for new sources of revenue within organizations often leads to an increase in operational complexity. New products and services — or even new variations on old ones — lead to new processes, policies, and regulations; new organizational structures and technologies; new customers with new needs being channeled toward new touch points. In one quick-service restaurant we studied, the menu had grown from twenty-five items to more than a hundred in just a few years.

In short, the average employee is drowning in complexity. And the outstanding employee, the one who has a chance of keeping up, is a much scarcer resource than many managers are willing to acknowledge. We're designing jobs for superhumans, and it turns out our people are flesh and blood.