When it comes to brains or athlethicism or creativity, we all admire the prodigy. The precocious. The talented. Talent is what it’s all about.
Now, it’s obvious that some people have talent. A shitload of it. Even when they were children, they excelled at their chosen activity. Some of them became obsessed with it. They practiced for hours. They immersed themselves fully. And they had the right parents or teachers or coaches, and their talent, combined with relentless practice and a good portion of serendipity, took them to the pinnacle of their careers.
And then there are those who started out just as talented if not more so. The ones who left their peers in the dust. The ones who were praised for their talent (or, in the same insidious way, for their smarts or their beauty). They breezed through their classes and went on to the best schools in their field. And then they fizzled. Because all of a sudden, coasting on talent alone was no longer enough. And as soon as the praise stopped, as soon as they were no longer the best in their corner of the world, they no longer knew who they were, because their identity was so wrapped up in the certainty of their talent. When that certainty was shaken, their self-image crumbled. The most resilient of them rallied and found their groove, but there are plenty of child prodigies who ended up disillusioned, bitter adults.
And then, finally, there are the ones who never were particularly talented. They weren’t too bad at writing, drawing, sports, music, or any other activity that’s closely associated with the notion of talent, but they were by no means exceptional. What they brought to the table, though, was the unshakable certainty that they could improve. They were willing to work harder, and often smarter, than the merely talented folks, and sooner or later they started surpassing them – at least those who relied on talent alone.
The Relationship of Talent and Work
Western culture tends to have a schizophrenic relationship with work. Our puritanical roots demand that we worship at the altar of hard work. Witness the cult-like status some of the 80-plus-hour-workweek crowd garner. As soon as they burn out, though, that admiration turns to scorn. They obviously “didn’t have what it takes”. And what it takes, of course, is the ability to make superhuman feats look easy. In a word: Talent.
What this view of talent really does is to protect our fragile egos. Sure, we could be just as successful as the celebrated artist if only we had the talent. Alas, we don’t, so why even try? This view of talent also lets us off the hook. If we don’t have the talent, all the hard work in the world isn’t going to help. So we can lean back, guilt-free, and snipe on social media at those who actually put their work out there.
So Is Talent Just a Sham Then?
I’m hugely simplifying and exaggerating, of course. It’s not nearly as clear-cut as I’m making it out to be. Talent is real. It’s our physical, mental, and emotional make-up that gives us an aptitude for a particular activity. And it’s an affinity for that activity; an enjoyment of the activity for its own sake that lets us put up with the frustration that’s inevitable whenever we strive to get better at anything. The rest is grit and resilience and steady practice. And those are only the factors that we control. Outward success depends on a whole smorgasbord of factors that we can at best influence but never control.
Still, the idea that talent is not everything and that we can make up for a certain lack of it with practice and dedication is a liberating and very hopeful notion. It’s also a notion that puts the responsibility for our creative output squarely on our own shoulders.