TES column 25 July 2014<\/p>\n
“We all have a talent – it is just a matter of finding yours”, was a popular mantra among the teachers who tried to guide my education. Certainly at school, some pupils excelled – effortlessly, it seemed \u2013 at maths, english and sports. I was top quartile in most subjects, but getting into the top ten percent took real effort.<\/p>\n
To my shame, anything that could not be achieved by native wit was, generally, too much work. \u00a0Once my ‘talent’ revealed itself, I reasoned, areas of patchier scholarship would be unimportant. Try as I might, though, I never alighted on the sphere where I felt a clear, natural advantage.<\/span><\/p>\n In fact, it was not until my early 40s that I recognised an ability that set me apart. \u00a0By then, I had been to an awful lot of meetings \u2013 students unions, trades unions, political parties, company general meetings and, of course, school governors meetings. \u00a0As a journalist, I had observed public\u00a0<\/span>meetings, council meetings, party conferences, Parliament, EU summits and even the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland.<\/p>\n It took a colleague – himself a cerebral writer who by dint of his activism is among my heroes – to identify my ‘talent’. \u00a0“At any meeting that requires motions to be framed, debates entered and daft initiatives beating down, you are in a different league to the rest of us”, he told me. \u00a0“You see things happening and can anticipate reactions in a way that I simply cannot”.<\/span><\/p>\n I laughed off the compliment, with a blush. \u00a0But on reflection, I realised that – despite feeling immodest to say so out loud – he was right. I’m not the best, I know, but in this narrow field, I am, at last, \u00a0effortlessly ‘top ten per cent’.<\/span><\/p>\n Fans of writer Malcolm Gladwell may already have spotted a possible explanation. \u00a0Gladwell posits a ‘10,000 hour’ rule – the amount of practice required to really master any discipline. \u00a0If Gladwell is right, then my apparently intuitive ‘meeting skills’ are actually the result of having attended many more formal gatherings than most normal people. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n My hunch, though, is that while witnessing the completion of so many agendas might be necessary to acquire such an ability, it is not sufficient. \u00a0The real difference is that, for reasons I can’t explain, I really care about the decisions that meetings reach – no matter how arcane their consequences appear. I have never ‘sat through’ a meeting in my life. \u00a0I always watch and listen intently, trying to work out how to shape debate to achieve whatever I consider is the best end. <\/span><\/p>\n Whatever skills I possess have been honed through sustained focus over a long period.<\/span><\/p>\n The reverse is true of Gin Rummy, a game I once played endlessly with a teenage girlfriend. \u00a0I didn’t mind that she mostly won – her company was my prize. \u00a0She on the other hand became adept at memorising long strings of cards, such was her will to win.<\/span><\/p>\n The lesson I draw is that whatever skill or talent you wish to develop, caring passionately about the end results is the key to achieving the focus required to benefit from your hours invested.<\/span><\/p>\n How that determination can be instilled in youthful learners, I don’t know. \u00a0My strong suspicion, however, is that really wanting to improve an ability, and believing that improvement is possible, are more useful attributes by far than possession of a mere ‘talent’.<\/span><\/p>\n Photograph \u00a9 Tim Dawson<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" TES column 25 July 2014 “We all have a talent – it is just a matter of finding yours”, was a popular mantra among the teachers who tried to guide my education. Certainly at school, some pupils excelled – effortlessly, …<\/p>\n