The Problem With Talent, Part 2

As we discussed in our previous post, choosing to believe in “talent” has a large impact on our ability to improve at our craft. We saw that if we do believe that talent is real, then it becomes very easy to believe that we don’t have it, and then much easier to give up on our goals whenever the going gets tough (and the going will get tough, many times).

There is another way in which believing in talent is problematic — something that hit very close to home for me when I first learned about it. When we believe that talent exists — and that it is something that we’re either born with or not — then we become invested in proving that we do indeed have it. We want to prove it to others, and we want to prove it to ourselves. Take a moment to appreciate the stakes here: if we don’t have it, then we’ll never be able to get it (since we can only be born with it), and so it would be devastating to find out that it’s missing.

Now take a guess at what a talent-believer will do when trying to prove to the world (and to him/herself) that they do have it. They’ll do their absolute best to avoid

• making mistakes while practicing

• making mistakes in front of others

• being around people who are better than them at their craft.

All of these things would be taken as signs (for a talent-believer) that talent is indeed lacking — a crippling realization to have.

The Problem

The problem with this state of affairs is that those three bullet points are three of the absolute best and most efficient ways of getting better at a craft (and we will address all of them in greater detail in the future). Making mistakes while practicing is the most surefire way to identify opportunities for improvement. Making mistakes in front of others gives room for critique from fresh sets of eyes/ears/backgrounds — an essential ingredient on the way towards mastery. And being around people who are better than you is great for motivation (seeing what’s possible), inspiration (finding a muse to learn from), and competition (having a fire lit under your ass is rarely a bad thing).

Finally, when mistakes are to be avoided at all costs (so as not to expose a lack of talent), the talent-believer will gravitate towards easier tasks. Easier pieces to play, performances in front of less-savvy audiences, and/or less-strict teachers to learn from. Improvement, however, comes only when one stretches themselves, pushing past what is easy.

No one would bicep-curl 5-pound weights their whole life just to give themselves an illusion of having powerful muscles, and that’s because we know that the ability to curl 50 pounders is not something anyone is born with (I at least hope not). However, when it comes to other crafts, we often fail to push ourselves as hard as we could because struggling makes us consider (subconsciously or very-consciously) the possibility that we weren’t born with “it”.

It’s the talent-atheists who are constantly struggling with pieces that are just outside their current skill level, constantly searching for eyes and ears who can tell them what they can do better, constantly hanging around and/or learning from people better than them, and consequently making the biggest improvements. Once you stop believing in talent, you free yourself from the shackles of having to prove that you have something that doesn’t exist, and you can simply get back to work. It’s much more fun that way.