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 definitely blamed “talent” at times when what I was actually missing was sustained reps in one direction. Working on an ebook feels like the right next vehicle for that. Not because I suddenly feel more confident but because I’m ready to build familiarity through showing up consistently. Less waiting to feel ready, more letting the work train my instincts. Thanks for the nudge Idris. This landed exactly when it needed to! Happy Friday to you!
I know I’ve said that maybe I just don’t have talent as a quiet escape hatch instead of looking at my actual habits. The part about your voice being trained through saturation really landed. I can feel how much sharper my instincts get when I’m reading every day, not just writing when inspiration shows up. This year I’m committing to reps: daily pages and deliberate reading, even when it feels boring or unglamorous. Thank you Idris Elijah for stripping the myth away without killing the magic!