Behind the Talent
Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work. — Stephen King
Years ago, when my son was in elementary, his school would hold a talent show. The kids would go up to dance, sing, tell jokes, play the piano. It was nice, cute at the very least. One year, a young girl came up on stage and began to sing and at that moment everyone and everything was connected; we were entranced by her touching song and melodious voice. The youngest sat still, pausing just for a moment their childish twiddle as they succumbed to the spell that was cast by the magician on the stage.
When she finished, everyone stood to applaud with many chattering amongst themselves about how talented she was, how beautiful her gift, how lucky she was to be born with such an ability to sing.
This girl is actually a friend of my family who wasn’t a student at the school. She was there because her younger brother, a student, was also performing. She saw an opportunity to stand on a stage, in front of a crowd to practice her craft and she took it. Like she did at her church, at her community center, with her friends, by herself, everywhere and all the time.
If she was born with anything, it’s a burning aspiration to work, practice, fail, course correct and try again, all with a determination that true success demands.
That’s not what we embrace though, is it? We have a culture of talent where we like to dream of quick reward, where people from seemingly nowhere appear already a success. We place their gift on a pedestal that lines them closer to a deity than to us.
There’s a big, but subtle, problem with this — it can shut the door on what it means to be great at something. It gives us an excuse to quit too early. It allows us to be a little less determined. It asks us to compare ourselves with greatness rather than the effort it took to get there.
I’d like to clarify that I’m not denying that talent exists and that it can be a game changer. What I am saying is that perhaps we, as a culture, place too much emphasis on genius and not enough on the deliberate practice that gives rise to success and allows talent to flourish. We almost always talk about the talent and rarely about the effort.
I understood the significance of tying my newly-earned black belt around my waist when I received it years ago. It spoke to the hours I was left exhausted, in tears, on the floor, contemplating how far I still had to go. It symbolized the number of times that I picked myself up, went home feeling that I couldn’t go further, just to go back the next day to try again. It indicated the thousands of hours of coaching that helped me unlock the potential within myself that only surfaced through purposeful hard work and constant correction.
If I have any talent in Kenpo it sure didn’t show itself until my dues were paid and looking back, I’m okay with that.
I believe the ancients understood this pretty well early on. Take the word Kung-Fu, it’s something we associate with martial arts but actually refers to success in any discipline which is achieved by hard work and practice over a period of time.
In his book “Mastery”, George Leonard states it succinctly. “I’ve seen so many talented athletes with God-given ability who just didn’t want to work hard. They faded away.”
Don’t let our misguided ideas of success, which seems to speak mainly to the talent of our artists, athletes, and developers be the source of your fading away. Know that with determination, patience, an open mind, and a little know-how, that mastery is within reach.
I’ll leave you with the Dutch province of Zeeland motto that I feel is very fitting for this series — “luctor et emergo” which translates to, I struggle and emerge. See you next time friends.
Update: Behind the Talent: Yosem Sweet
