People love the myth of talent. It's tidy: some are born with it, most aren't. That story quietly excuses us from trying. I don't buy it. Dedication beats talent—not because talent isn't real, but because dedication is the only part we control.
All you have to do is be curious first, then find ways to learn, and then start applying—messily, without worrying. That's the engine. Curiosity opens the door, learning gives you tools, and messy application turns tools into skill.
Talent is a head start. Dedication is finishing the race.
When I look at anything I've improved at—coding, writing, fitness—it wasn't a lightning-bolt gift. It was unglamorous repetition: showing up tired, fixing the same bug three different ways, rewriting a paragraph until it finally says what I mean. Those sessions don't feel epic. They feel boring. And that's the point. Progress hides in boring.
Talent peaks early if it isn't trained. Dedication compounds. Ten steady minutes a day beats three heroic hours once a month because consistency rewires you. When the hype fades (and it always does), rhythm keeps you moving.