One thing I’ve come to realize—is that it is incredibly rare to come across a chess player who willingly labels themselves as ‘talented’.
I certainly don’t think of myself as particularly talented.
But, yet again—neither does Sam Shankland—who in many ways is the poster boy of someone who had no ‘talent’, yet still made it to an elite level.
For the majority of players, though, such statements are rather confronting.
If Sam Shankland isn’t talented, does that just mean the reason I’m not 2700, is out of pure laziness?
My Thoughts on Sam Shankland
First of all, I find it rather amusing that someone of Sam’s calibre claims that he has no talent.
I believe that he is genuine when he says that, however.
When it comes to the discussion of talent; none of us are going to go looking for evidence of someone who works just as hard as we, yet is not as strong—serving as contradictory evidence to our own precious narratives.
But, we will certainly go looking for someone who is stronger, and “know for a fact” is not as dedicated as us.
For Sam, when he says he has no talent—he’s not looking at you and I.
He’s looking at guys like Magnus, Fabi, Hikaru etc; or at the very least, other players his level, who did not have to work as hard as he did.
And yeah, he’s probably not as talented as them.
But, does this mean he has ‘no talent’?
I (and probably most) would argue no.
Am I Talented?
Similar to Sam, I don’t view myself as talented.
I very much like to view myself as an ‘underdog’ who far outperformed any expectations there may have been of myself.
In September of 2015, I got my first Classical ACF Rating of 865, at the age of 12.
I had already been playing chess for 3 years at this point, and probably was not what many would have described as ‘talented’.
To further put things into perspective—there were at least a handful or two of local juniors my age, who outrated myself by 1000+ points.
Things took a pretty quick turn, though.
By February of 2017, I was virtually unrecognizable as a player, and hit a new FIDE peak of 2080, aged 14.
I took extra pride in that I for the most part had no coach, and was now higher rated than almost all of my “rivals” who I had found rather intimidating, not too long ago.
An Honest Self-Assessment
Looking at this objectively, and emotionally detaching any personal feelings, however—this level of progress within such a short time frame is quite rare, even for juniors.
Yes, I had been playing chess for 3 years prior, but was I really trying to improve in that period?
Not really, if I’m being brutally honest.
Don’t get me wrong though, once I got a sniff of the potential I might have had—I was working hard (at the very least, for a 13 year old), and became obsessed.
In a relatively short time frame, chess went from being part of my life—to becoming my life.
But, can I attribute all this progress to pure grit and hard work?
Probably not.
Likely, a more accurate assessment is that I had an above-average (not extraordinary) level of talent, and had taken chess seriously for the first time in my life—resulting in a rather substantial improvement burst.
Fighting the ‘Doomer’ Mentality
So, with all that being said, what are the practical implications of this discussion?
Is our chess strength just some preordained quality that we have little-to-no control over?
I personally refuse to believe so.
There are no shortage of individuals on the internet who have their sob stories about how they can’t improve their chess because they’re not talented, or because of reason x and y—often implying that you should just give up and not bother as well.
Don’t get me wrong; I have sympathy for these individuals.
Usually, if you dig a bit deeper though, it’s an issue of more than just talent.
Although Shankland might not be completely accurate in assessing his own personal talent—I really like the following take of his:
“We all have a ceiling, but most of us will never get remotely close to it”.
In other words—have you been relentlessly attacking your game, from every possible angle, consistently for the last decade?
(I certainly have not.)
If not, it likely would be rather premature to draw any conclusions about your potential as player, and a good time to get back to the drawing board.
On that note, however, I believe there are two main things that talent does dictate:
Your Ceiling
Your Degree of ‘Newbie Gains’
(‘Newbie Gains’ is typically used in the context of the gym, where trainees typically gain the most amount of muscle in their first year or so of proper training. Afterwards, it slows down. I believe the same phenomenon can be observed in one’s chess progress. A more talented individual may experience a larger degree of ‘newbie gains’, and over a longer time period (i.e. 2-3 years, instead of 1).)
Aside from that, however—everything else is your fault/responsibility.
If a year passes and I am not improving, I see it as an issue of a lack of training volume—not a lack of talent.
Some would call this a growth mindset (vs a fixed mindset). That also works.
Redefining Talent
Before wrapping up, however, I think it’s also worth defining (or redefining) what talent even is.
Typically, it’s seen as this mystique power that is posessed by the dozen or so kids in your local area, who have a bad habit of stealing your precious rating points.
However, reflecting upon this more recently, I’m not quite sure that’s what talent really is.
This supposed ‘superpower’ can give one a head start; but in of itself is not a sustainable means of improvement.
Rather, I think that true talent is one’s ability to endure through doing the dirty work of chess improvement—that feels very uncomfortable, by virtue of it’s difficult nature.
Or to take things one step further—to not only be able to endure the hard work (that most hate), but to literally derive pleasure from the struggle.
Concluding Thoughts
We all have aptitudes for different things.
For myself, it was a clear from a young age that I was gifted when it came to anything that involved the use of logic.
However, was pretty mediocre when it came to more physical pursuits, and certainly below-average when it came to anything involving art.
But again, ‘lack of aptitude’ ≠ ‘cannot improve’.
You might very well have a lower starting point, and/or a lower ceiling for potential.
That is out of your hands.
Everything else, though—you 100% can control.
Nice post, Sam! I like your thoughts on talent—as a junior, when it's easier to improve from the sheer volume of playing a lot and spending hours on chess every day, talent seemed to be how quickly you could improve—inspiration, the ability to grasp things quickly. Until you start plateauing long-term at a certain level—that's when you might realise that first notion of talent can only take you to that point. From there, 'talent' may very well be the capacity for hard work, grounded in a more process-driven mindset away from results, the hunger to fulfil one's potential even if it means years of struggling.
Another important point is the quality of your effort. If you start of by playing hyperbullet on berserk mode, there might be a reason you aren't improving. If you don't think about how you think and find your minor ceilings (e.g. calculation, openings, tactics, and later specific areas within these), you won't get the chance to even approach you major ceiling (i.e. you peak performance, ability and rating).
In short, you should direct your effort to finding the sub-disciplines that are holding you back and improving on those.