When Alysa Liu skated at the Winter
Olympics, we saw this remarkably composed young woman with exquisite technical
precision. What we didn’t see on our TV screens was her
relationship with skating. The long hours she spent practicing a skill she both enjoyed and steadily mastered. That
combination, liking something, getting better at it, and using it to meet
challenge, is a powerful engine of human motivation.
This idea surfaced recently when
Reese Witherspoon reflected publicly on the importance of discovering one’s
talents. Her point was not about celebrity or success, but about something more
ordinary and more consequential: people thrive when they find an activity that
feels like a natural fit. Psychologists call this working from one’s strengths.
Research in positive psychology
suggests that a true strength has three features. It is something a person
enjoys. It is something they do well or improve at with practice. And it is
something that provides energy rather than draining it, especially under
stress. When these elements come together, they often produce what Mihaly
Csikszentmihalyi famously described as “flow” — a state of deep absorption in
which effort feels purposeful, and time seems to pass unnoticed.
Elite athletes are obvious
examples, but the principle is far broader. A teenager who loves building
things and becomes skilled at it may lose herself in design projects. Another
who enjoys listening and advising friends may gravitate toward mentoring roles.
A student who finds pleasure in solving puzzles may lean into mathematics not
because it is easy, but because it is satisfying.
For our teens, understanding this matters more
than we realise. Yes, teenagers need to experience struggle - to learn how to
tolerate frustration and manage strong emotions. But struggle alone isn’t enough. They also
need spaces where they can use their strengths: activities they genuinely
enjoy, skills they can grow with practice, and challenges that energise rather
than drain them. These experiences tap into what psychologist Ellen Winner has
called the “rage to master” — the intense, intrinsically driven desire
to understand and improve in a particular area. When our teens are working from
their strengths, they discover that effort doesn’t have to be punishing, it can
be engaging, motivating, and even joyful.
Yet many of our teens do not
encounter these experiences in school. Classrooms are built around standardised
skills and shared curricula. For some teens, this structure aligns neatly with
their strengths. For others, it does not. A teenager whose gifts lie in
performance, mechanics, or leadership may pass years without seeing those
capacities reflected or rewarded. The result is not only boredom, but a quieter
erosion of confidence: a sense that learning itself is the problem.
This gap is hard on us as well.
We watch our kids slog through material that does not seem to fit them and
wonder when, or whether, they will find the place where effort feels
worthwhile.
The lesson is not that every teenager needs a passion by age
sixteen. It is that they need to understand that development is uneven and often delayed. Many adults trace their sense of competence and purpose to experiences found only after
formal schooling ended: in work, in relationships, or in unexpected interests.
What our teens need in the
meantime is reassurance that struggle in the wrong setting does not define
them.
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