When we see someone doing something well, speaking clearly, writing with ease, making sense of complicated ideas, we often make an assumption: they must just be naturally good at this.
It’s a strange leap when you stop and think about it. We see the outcome and invent the origin story. Competence becomes talent, fluency transforms into instinct. And in that version of the story, the work disappears.
I’m not an anthropologist, so I’m not going to try to unpack the cultural reasons behind this. But I do think it’s worth pausing on the assumption itself.
How do we know?
How do we know this is something a person was simply born good at, rather than something they struggled through, practiced, failed at, and slowly got better at over time?
Because those two paths look identical once you reach a certain point. Polished delivery doesn’t carry a label explaining how many awkward drafts came before it. Clear thinking doesn’t show the hours were spent confused and lost. Ease, from the outside, hides the friction that may have produced it.
Even when someone does have some raw talent or natural affinity for something, that still isn’t the whole story. There’s a meaningful difference between raw talent and developed skill. Between a flash of ability and something that has been shaped, refined, and made reliable through practice.
Raw instinct, on its own, is fragile. It shows up inconsistently. It doesn’t hold under pressure. It doesn’t compound. Talent only becomes impressive when it’s worked on long enough to mature.
The idea that someone could simply arrive fully formed, out-compose experienced musicians, or consistently outplay expert chess players without years of effort is far rarer than we tend to believe. Those people exist (maybe), but they are the exception, not the model. Most of us, even those with genuine aptitude, still have to put in the time. We have to practice. We have to refine. We have to stick with it long after the initial spark fades.
I think it’s perfectly fine to tell someone they’re good at something. We should probably do that more, not less.
What’s strange is how often we stop there and decide in our minds that this must have come easily to them. That it’s instinct, or talent, or some natural advantage we don’t have access to.
In many cases, the truth is much less romantic and much more impressive. Someone cared enough to work at it. To be bad for a while. To stay with the discomfort long enough that what once felt effortful now reads as ease.
When we assume skill is natural, we erase that effort. And we also let ourselves off the hook, as if improvement were reserved for a different kind of person.
Being good at something doesn’t mean you were inherently born with that skill at that level. Often, it just means you stayed with it longer than most people do.
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