“Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.” — Stephen King
But he’s so talented! What does he know?
“You’re so talented!”
It’s lovely when someone says that you, isn’t it? Makes you feel special. Gives the ego a little boost.
But is it really a compliment? I’ve been on both ends of that phrase. I’ve said it to others, I’ve had it said to me—and I think it’s a dubious statement. I know it’s meant well, but I don’t think it’s doing anybody any good.
By definition, talent is a natural aptitude or skill. Natural, as in you were born with it. It’s innate, like the shape of your nose, or the colour of your eyes—something that was doled out at birth. What if I don’t have it—or don’t think I do? Do I give up, or not even try?
Thinking about talent
I started thinking more critically about talent in connection with music. I studied piano as a kid, quit as a teenager, and came back to it in my 30s. I could read music, but my technique was limited. If I played for others I got very nervous, made mistakes, sometimes to the point of falling apart completely. I had good experiences too, but they were fraught and exhausting.
I kept working at the piano. I practiced. I got wonderful advice from professional musicians and teachers. I got smarter about how I practiced (which made it more fun). I worked at it almost daily over many years. My playing improved and I could play for others without feeling nauseous. I could share my love of music and touch people.
Then it happened. One day I was talking to a less experienced pianist. She could play beautifully, but she wasn’t steady. Her practicing was haphazard and she got extremely nervous when she played for others. I offered some suggestions around practicing and her response to me was, “But, it’s not like this for you. You’re so talented!”
I have not turned myself into a concert level pianist or anything crazy. I’ve become a decent amateur—I’ve played at some family events like weddings and funerals. In order to do that and feel secure, I have to practice a lot, and I still get very nervous. But I am WAY better than I was 20 years ago—both technically and expressively.
Her words landed like a blow between my eyes, because I had said those exact words in that exact situation to one of my teachers. I had dismissed his hours and hours of work as a kid, his diligent and rigorous practicing, his education and his work as an educator—and let myself off the hook. I used it as both an excuse and a barrier—“Why bother, I’ll never be like him.”
Get to work
Why do we do this? I wish I knew. I find it much more exciting to think about all the work people do to develop skills and experience, rather than thinking they’re born that way. But I still do it. I look at wonderful paintings or drawings on Instagram and think, “Wow, she’s so talented!” And then I feel bad, because I’m not that talented. When instead, I could think “Wow, what incredible skill she’s developed! I wonder what I’ll create if I work that hard?”
I think there are a lot of things at play here—devaluing creative work, laziness, wishful thinking, our weird tendency to negativity—parsing them all out is probably beyond me. But I’d urge you to examine your beliefs around talent, then chuck ‘em and get to work.
photograph © Jorge Royan / http://www.royan.com.ar / CC BY-SA 3.0
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I’ve often deflected people saying I’ve got talent by asserting, “it’s not talent, it’s practice”, and I believe that. And yet, we all say it at some point, some sort of reflexive compliment perhaps. Thanks for making me think about that a bit more.
My pleasure. It’s been interesting to think about for me. I have pages and pages of writing I didn’t publish, and a few stories I didn’t tell. It all got rather complicated very quickly. Another big topic. I shall have to try something simpler next time.
Hi Lindsay, thank you for your very interesting post! I’ve been grappling with this one for decades too.
To this idea of talent, I would also ad the idea that creative people (particularly ones who are making a successful career in their field) were “born to do this”. This idea is at the basis of so many films and informs so many articles and books about creative people! It’s the same idea you’re talking about, but described even more forcefully as destiny.
I used to study opera singing and piano, so your post particularly resonated with me. As a young woman this idea that some people had talent and therefore were destined to become professionals (i.e. “true” artists, “true” musicians etc.) was so harmful. Although I’ve come a long way in dealing with my creative process over the years, these inspiration-dampening, courage squashing-ideas can rear their ugly heads at times.
For a decade I decided to think of my creativity like those elegant 19th century ladies who played the piano and sang in their living rooms, painted in their garden and wrote … just for the pleasure of it. Having no aspiration to become a professional kept the “talent gremlins” at bay. But now I’m seeking more of a balance: striving to be a pro while doing it for the joy of it at the same time.
Stephen Fry said (quoting Oscar Wilde) we are not nouns (a writer, an actor, a pianist), but verbs (people who write, act, play the piano…). And this idea seems so much lighter and helpful. Reminds me of your “do the work” approach.
Anyway… you’re right it’s such a layered and complicated topic. So thank you for your helpful insights!
All the best,
Diletta
Hi Diletta,
Thanks for your thoughtful reply. Stephen Fry’s idea really resonates with me. Even as a kid, I didn’t like the use of nouns in that context—so I particularly appreciate you sharing his words.
Lindsay