Why “Natural Talent” Is a Convenient Lie
We love the idea of natural talent.
It’s clean. It’s romantic. And most importantly, it lets us off the hook. If someone is gifted, then our lack of progress isn’t a failure of effort or method.
It’s just biology. Fate. Timing.
But technology--quietly, ruthlessly--exposes this lie.
Behind the scenes, I’ve been writing since I was 10, making music since I was 19, and coding for over 3 years. It’s funny. I’m a much better writer and singer-songwriter/producer than I am a software developer.
The reason?
I’ve had a lot more time to write and produce music than I’ve had to code.
But something that limits people, and that most don’t see, is the guise that is talent.
What Tech Teaches You About “Talent”
In software, you work alongside people who look impossibly sharp.
They see bugs instantly. They navigate massive codebases with ease. They make decisions that feel obvious.
From the outside, it looks like talent.
From the inside, it’s almost always familiarity.
They’ve:
Seen the same bugs a hundred times
Broken systems in predictable ways
Rewritten the same logic across different projects
Their speed isn’t magic. It’s recognition. The brain is doing pattern matching at scale. And that’s when the illusion begins.
When I first started coding, I got into it to land a 6-figure job.
I was sold on the idea that a few weeks of work would land me a life-changing role.
However, the deeper I got, the more I realized software development isn’t just about coding.
It’s about algorithms, data structures, design patterns, understanding distributed systems, architecture, development operations (DevOps), and so much more.
The ability to create great software isn’t about talent.
It’s about the time spent in the trenches that nobody sees.
Writers Aren’t Gifted. They’re Saturated.
The same myth exists in literature.
We call it voice.
We talk about it as if it’s something buried inside you waiting to be discovered, like a hidden organ.
But great writers aren’t writing constantly.
They’re reading obsessively.
They absorb:
Sentence rhythm
Narrative pacing
Structural moves
Emotional timing
Voice isn’t found. It’s trained through exposure. The writer who sounds “natural” has simply internalized enough patterns that choice becomes instinct.
I spent a large proportion of my early years trying to find my voice.
I can’t tell you how many books I went through, hoping that it would somehow fall into my lap. What I didn’t realize until I started writing online is that your voice is within you.
You don’t find it. You refine it by writing regularly and reading ravenously--in and outside your genre.
Music Makes the Lie Obvious
Music is even less forgiving.
People say someone “has feel.” As if groove descended from the heavens and chose them. But musicians know the truth.
Feel comes from:
Repetition
Muscle memory
Failing in time, then correcting
Playing badly long enough to stop thinking
Groove lives in the body because it’s been rehearsed into the nervous system. What looks effortless is actually deeply embodied practice.
I haven’t written a song in quite a while, but as I’m getting back into it, I realize there is much to learn and hundreds of decisions to make for one song.
I know now, after my hiatus, that to be the musician I’ve always wanted to be, I have to put in the reps. Such as composing underlicks more regularly.
Sure, I was gifted with a decent singing voice, but what I lack in technical skills, I can make up for with more reps. Allowing my body to acquire that feel when programming drums, or wrestling with a chord progression that doesn’t feel right.
It’s all in the process.
The Paradox of Talent
Here’s the paradox:
Talent is just practice that happened early enough to look effortless.
That’s it.
Early exposure creates compression. Compression creates speed. Speed gets mistaken for talent. By the time you see the result, you’ve missed the hours that made it inevitable.
Why This Matters (More Than You Think)
Believing in natural talent doesn’t just discourage you.
It misdirects you.
You start asking:
“Do I have it?”
Instead of:
“Am I putting in the right kind of reps?”
You wait for confidence instead of building familiarity.
You chase inspiration instead of repetition. And worst of all, you quit right before the patterns start sticking.
The Quiet Advantage
Here’s the upside no one talks about:
If talent is familiarity, then time is on your side.
Every rep counts. Every exposure compounds. Every awkward attempt is training your intuition. You don’t need permission. You don’t need proof.
You just need enough repetition for effort to turn into instinct.
And when it does? People will call you talented.
They always do.
If talent is just hidden practice, what skill are you committing to train this year?
Hit reply and tell me.
I’ve always admired people with “feel” and pretended I didn’t notice how many hours they’d put in to earn it. Coming back to songwriting after some time away, I can literally feel where the reps are missing… timing, choices and confidence. So that’s my commitment: more unfinished songs, more trial-and-error, more letting my hands learn before my head gets involved. Really appreciate the honesty here Idris Elijah!
This felt deeply familiar. I’ve caught myself looking at other artists and assuming they’re just wired differently, when really they’ve logged thousands more hours seeing, failing, adjusting. The idea that “talent” is just early familiarity reframed a lot for me. I’m committing to more studio time this year. Not to make masterpieces, but to build instinct. That reminder alone was worth reading. Thank you Idris Elijah and have a great weekend!