Resilience in the Face of Brilliance

Photo credit: Callum Jack

It was promised that the internet would bring us closer together. Though in a sense this has been spectactularly true, it is obvious now that the consequences of this are not always good. One of the aspects of modern interconnectedness that I often struggle with is the sheer availability of, and subsequent normalisation of, the exceptional. I like to think I am a motivated person; at any point in time, I am usually trying to do the best that I can possibly do. You might think then that the opportunities afforded by the internet are a gold mine.

And guess what? They are. There are a million and one high quality tutorials on just about any topic, most of them completely free of charge. You can learn directly from any number of truly talented individuals, some of whom are of a calibre that historially most people couldn’t even dream of interacting with. And yet, I find there is a darker side to this, at least for me.

When you spend untold hours working to improve at something - and you do improve - it feels exhilirating. You start to believe, maybe I can be competitive - maybe I can be exceptional. That is, until you stumble upon the soul-crushing brilliance of a GitHub profile of someone far more talented (and increasingly younger). It gets me thinking: how do you maintain passion, drive, and competitiveness when you know there is a large chance that you will not even be remotely close to the best?

Resilience is defined as the ability to recover from failure. But what about when you haven’t failed, only just came fourth? I used to, and still do, play competitive tennis. When I was a junior, the coaches printed out and stuck up a poster around the courts with the platitudinous

Hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.

This has always struck me as unhelpful, since as far as I could see the truly talented people usually did work hard. Therefore, as someone of surpassed tennis talent, it seemed to imply to me that there was little point in trying. I struggled not to see the world in the black and white of “if I’m not the best, what is the point?”. It was this inflexible thinking that eventually led me to quit tennis. I couldn’t deal with the fact that I wasn’t going to shoot comfortably to the top. And so, I gave up rather than fighting to improve.

What I didn’t realise at the time was that I still could have done so many cool things if only I had just kept up the struggle. Sure, I never would have made a top-flight professional, but I could have played and perhaps even won some matches in ITF Futures¹. I know this because my peers, my friends who were of comparable skill, went on to do exactly this. I often now catch myself with similar feelings for my chosen profession, software engineering. I am sure that most engineers know the disheartening feeling that comes from stalking the GitHub profile of a true prodigy. I refuse to let myself fall into this same trap, so I want to share some pieces of wisdom that I think help me when I feel like this.

The first is to make your world smaller, primarily by limiting your use of social media. It is not relevant, nor helpful, to consume content or stalk profiles that make you feel this way. Particularly when, depending on the platform, you can’t even be sure it is real.

Second, life is not winner takes all. You do not have to be a billionaire to be wealthy. You do not have to be a billionaire to be healthy. You do not have to be a billionaire to be loved. You can contribute more back to the world, and be an overall greater force for good, as an also-ran than as the champion who never troubles to bestir themself. Ask yourself, what is even the point of being good at something? Are you allowing excellence for its own sake to become a hollow, ego-driven pursuit?

Finally, as an excellent engineer once said to me: it’s a marathon not a sprint. From the anecdotally large amount of burned-out engineers, I think this is sage advice.

I believe I have come to terms with the fact that I will probably not be world-class at anything. But I think I have also realised that as long as I am passionate about what I am doing, and trying to improve a small amount each day, that is enough.

In the words of Dylan Thomas:

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.