Elder L. Tom Perry wrote a wonderful book entitled Living with Enthusiasm. The following is a quote from the introductory chapters. It’s especially good for someone that struggles with the feeling that they’re not as talented as everyone else.
In my early years, I developed something of an inferiority complex. After all, I was part of a family in which my brothers and sisters all had great abilities. My older sister had remarkable artistic talent. She was always writing a story or poem that was used in church or in other community gatherings. I determined that since I was her brother, I must possess some artistic talent too. So I analyzed myself and determined that I since I had a strong voice I could become a great singer. I launched a childhood singing career only to discover that although my voice was strong, my range was very limited. In fact, I was a monotone, and the supply of music written in one note is extremely limited. I had to give up my singing career.
My next sister had great athletic ability. She could run faster, hit the ball farther, and catch better than any of the other children on our block. Surely I must have some of her ability, I reasoned. So I stood in front of the mirror and analyzed myself to determine what sport would be most suited to my special athletic abilities. It was obvious. I was taller than most and had average speed. I would become a great basketball player. Once again, I launched a new career. Unfortunately, it was nearly as brief as my singing career. After being hit in the head several times by passes from my teammates, I discovered that my reflexes were too slow to excel at basketball.
My next sister and my brother who was just younger than I were blessed with great minds. They both skipped grades in school, and they still managed to be ranked number one in all their classes. I used to wonder what might happen if they were ever forced to take a class together. Of course, I made no effort to compete with them.
It is interesting to read what my father wrote in his life’s history about each of his children. He wrote an entire page about each one of them, reporting their many accomplishments—that is, everyone except me. About me, the only thing my father wrote was “Tom surprised us.” That is all the good he could say about me.
Before you feel sorry for me, you should realize that in spite of my lack of talent, I was enthusiastic. I learned from a very early age what an asset my enthusiasm could be. At the dinner table, I complimented my mother so enthusiastically that she consistently gave me the biggest piece of pie. At school, I would raise my hand enthusiastically before my teacher even finished asking a question; fortunately, she would never call on me. As with Joseph, my enthusiasm often helped me turn disadvantages into advantages.
The true test of my enthusiasm came during the years I was an Explorer Scout. The Explorers in our ward had developed quite a reputation for playing volleyball. The year before I became an Explorer, they had gone to the all-Church tournament and placed second.
The year I became eligible to play volleyball, we had another good team. I went to the tryouts and did poorly. My heart was broken, but much to my surprise they selected me for the team anyway. I learned the reason some time later. You see, my father was the bishop of our ward, and the team needed new uniforms. They decided that with the bishop’s son on the team, they stood a better chance of receiving new uniforms.
As I sat on the bench that year, I fine-tuned my one talent. I had more enthusiasm than anybody else on the team. I could fire up the players and the crowd while just sitting on the bench. We went all the way to the Church finals and came in second again.
The next year my enthusiasm increased. I even played a little bit. Again, our team went to the all-Church finals, and for the third year in a row we came in second. The fourth year, my final year of playing with the Explorer Scouts, I had the great honor of being elected the team captain. We had lost all of our talented players, and there was not much of a nucleus left. We lost most of our preseason games. The members of the ward who had given the team such solid support began to stop coming to our games. As the season progressed, however, we began to improve. First we won the stake tournament. Then we won the regional tournament. We surprised our entire ward when we won the area tournament and, for the fourth year in a row, found ourselves in the all-Church finals.
In the first game of the all-Church finals double elimination tournament, surprisingly, we won the consolation championship, which allowed us to come back and compete in the championship bracket. Once again we made it to the final round to play for the Church championship.
We lost the first game 15 to 4. Our coach called me aside between the first and the second games. He reminded me that we didn’t have a great deal of talent, but it wasn’t talent that won tournaments—it was enthusiasm. He told me to go out on the court and use my enthusiasm to convince my teammates that we could win. My enthusiasm must have helped. We won the second game 15 to 10.
The third game was played very evenly, 1 to 1, 2 to 2, all the way up to 10 to 10. Then one of our players discovered the middle man on the back row couldn’t handle his serve, and the score went 11 to 10, 12 to 10, 13 to 10, 14 to 10. We were just one point away from ending a string of second-place finishes and becoming the all-Church champions.
I called time-out and huddled with my teammates. I instructed our server to hit the same spot and we would be Church champions. This time, however, the player on the other team handled the ball. He made an excellent setup to their best player, who pounded a vicious spike over the net. Fortunately, the ball hit one of our players in the chest and bounded off him. I could see the ball was rising to the perfect place and at the perfect angle for my spike. With a short run and a jump, I struck the ball with my fist with all the power I could muster. The ball hit the floor on the other side of the net, and we were the all-Church champions. Enthusiasm had carried us through.
I have never forgotten the lesson of enthusiasm that we learned in winning the all-Church volleyball championship. Someone has written that “enthusiasm is a telescope that advances the misty, distant future into the radiant, tangible present.” I believe it. I have found throughout life that my only real talent, the talent of living enthusiastically, has enabled me to accomplish much more than my modest talents would have led anyone to expect. I surprised even my father.
