Did I get your attention?
I used to think that it was really important to be talented if you wanted to be good at something. I'm sure that one of the reasons I thought this was because when I was a young musician, people often described me as talented. I love the feeling that comes from being considered talented. People look at you like you're special. They tell you that you have 'it.' It feels like, no matter how hard anyone else works, you will always have something they do not.
Then I went to college.
There is no need to recap here the predictable emotional response necessitated by big-fish-small-pond-syndrome. It's bad even when you know it's coming. Suffice to say that being one of the very best French horn players in northwestern Montana doesn't get you much when you're going to school at the largest music conservatory in the world (Indiana University). I was a wreck. I was no longer 'talented.' I stood in awe of the other players my age and younger, who in my own mind had so obviously been bestowed with more of that thing that was necessary than myself. I did this for three years.
In my senior year I began dating a woman who happened to live with the girlfriend of the best horn player in my class and as I result I got to know him a little better. This was a guy that I could listen to all day. He made the horn sound easy and fun. He had gorgeous tone quality and perfect technique. I used to get jealous when I heard other people my age play well. I would pick them apart in my head and try and figure out what I did that was better than them, but not him. It was too good.
I wanted to believe that he must have something I did not. That he had more money for equipment or more training as a child or just more innate ability. However, after several months of seeing him on a more regular basis, the reason for his success became glaringly apparent. He practiced four hours a day. He had been practicing four hours a day for years.
In his book, "Outliers" Malcolm Gladwell posits the idea that people who are wildly successful become that way due to a variety of circumstances that are largely outside of their own control. Hockey players in Canada are more successful if they're born in January, the wealthiest Americans to have ever lived were making their fortunes in the late 1800's due to the unique circumstances in the United States at that time. The premise seems to be that what we call 'talent' is really just a conglomeration of ideal circumstances. It's an interesting and well written book, but as I was reading it something didn't seem quite right. I wasn't able to put my finger on what that was until reading this rather damning book review in the New York Times. In short, Gladwell's research isn't exactly comprehensive.
So what is talent anyway? Are some people born with abilities that the rest of us have to work to find, or did they simply have access to the right tools at the right time in their upbringing? Is it nature or nurture?
Actually, I have a better question: What difference does it make?
In learning to skate and play roller derby it's easy to find reasons that other people are better than me. She has natural balance. She skated a lot when she was a kid. She's a natural athlete. She's not clumsy. There is no point to this. I could take the mindset that I will succeed in spite of my 'natural disadvantages.' Instead, every time I see a skater having an easier time with a skill than me, the only thing I allow myself to think is, "that bitch is working harder than me!" Whether or not I have the talent to succeed is immaterial because there's nothing I can do about it. What I can control is my attitude and my work ethic. Talent may as well be a myth
<originally posted on 1.22.12>
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