JUSTIN LANGER: Reuben De Melo, Damien Martyn and a reminder about that talent that may be hidden inside

I love talent.

Talent is heard, seen, and can be deeply felt.

Talent is a curious alchemy of gifts, both inherited and earned. But talent is also a tease — a whisper of what could be, not a guarantee of what will be.

A few years ago, I walked into one of Perth’s hotels to perform a keynote speech. Greeting me on that night was the most magical singing voice. It stopped me. Stood me motionless, staring and listening. The voice was mesmerizing.

At the end of the event, I couldn’t help myself. Wandering over to the young singer, I told him I loved his voice, was in awe of his talent and hoped his future was bright. Graciously he smiled, introduced himself as Reuben, and thanked me for my encouragement.

When I arrived home that night, I told my family about Reuben. Nodding and smiling, my daughter’s boyfriend Richard, another insanely talented musician, told me he was friends with Reuben and agreed with my assessment of his ability.

Richie shared Reuben’s phone number, and I texted him a day or so later to reaffirm his impact on me. We have intermittently stayed in contact ever since.

Last Sunday night, that same soul-inspiring artist, won Channel 7’s The Voice.

The Reuben I met back then was Reuben De Melo, a 32-year-old FIFO worker from Perth. A father of three beautiful children, Reuben, is one of the humblest people I have met, and now, after years of toil, his life is about to change.

In the finale of The Voice, the unpretentious soloist, captivated the audience with his heartfelt performance of his rendition of House of the Rising Sun.

For a long time Reuben brushed off the encouragement of friends and colleagues who urged him to take his singing talent more seriously. Much as he loves music, he knew he had to put food on the table for his young family.

Between FIFO life, he would taste fleeting moments of musical glory, while dreaming of it becoming his profession. He knew, and still knows, the music industry can be brutal. Few make it to the top. This applies to most careers.

It takes enormous courage to have a crack at something, knowing the odds of fame or fortune are elusive.

Sometimes encouragement, a turn of fate and a degree of luck play a role. In Reuben’s case, his wife Olivia entered him into The Voice. She knew of his potential and dreams better than most, and her courage and support for her husband, shouldn’t go untold.

With Olivia, Reuben’s victory proves it was more than a personal triumph; it was a win for his community and everyone who supported him along the way. His win represents a shared success, one that resonates far beyond the world of music.

The prize money and recording development package he earned will allow him to focus on music full-time, a change that means he can step back from the demands of FIFO life and spend more time with his family.

The new Voice champion is another example of a “20-year overnight sensation”.

Most champions have a similar tale to tell. This diamond in the rough, rose organically from the spaces between long shifts, where the hum of mining machinery often competed with the tunes in his head.

His creative spirit rooted in resilience, gratitude, and an unwavering commitment to family, were his motivations to help him overcome any doubts.

I am certain that anyone who has tasted success, will have their own story to tell about the trials and tribulations of their earned accomplishments, and how their path is rarely a fluke, or gift of good fortune.

The most fascinating thing about talent is how it hides in unexpected places. It might disguise itself as the ability to read a room’s emotional temperature, or the knack for finding patterns in chaos, or even the gift of making strangers feel like old friends. Sport is generally identified with the word talent, as are most artistic pursuits.

In cricket Damien Martyn was in the top five most talented batsmen I have ever seen from my era.

He, Sachin Tendulkar, Brian Lara, Ricky Ponting and Adam Gilchrist were the other four. What “Marto” could do with a cricket bat, frankly, made me jealous as a younger player. He could do things, no one else could do.

We grew up together and I just couldn’t understand how easy he made it look. He was always described as the genius who didn’t have to work hard, while I was the one with little talent, but a great work ethic.

Through both of our journeys I have learned that natural talent — however that is defined — may be a head start in life’s race, but it’s more like a compass pointing us toward possibility.

Like an uncarved block of marble, the possibilities can be infinite. But the fruition of talent, demands the chisel of dedication and hard work to reveal its true form.

By the end of our careers, Marto and I could say we enjoyed successful careers, statistics will prove that. But we both learned talent isn’t just what we’re born with, but what we dare to discover about ourselves.

After both hitting low ebbs at various times in our careers, the recipe of success came more from passion, hunger, sacrifice, support, patience the seasoning of experience.

These more than our genes, helped us both discover that remarkable things can be achieved, if you choose to honour the God-given gifts from your parents.

Parents, myself included, often say: “My child is so talented. You should see them strum a guitar and sing a tune. Their results at school are remarkable, or they hit a ball a mile, run like the wind, or catch and throw like a superstar.”

That’s all great and heart-warming, but at the end of the day, talent might get them to the door, but it is the constant banging on the door that will take them into new rooms of hope and possibility.

When my daughters were young, they swung on monkey bars and performed backflips and handstands that seemed unfathomable. They all did gymnastics and loved it. But guess what, none of them became gymnasts, because the sacrifice, dedication and time required weren’t what they or we wanted.

Those last three commitments far outweighed their dream of taking gymnastics or any of their sports more seriously than a healthy pastime with their friends.

What’s important is that talent is still talent. Whether we reach the top or not, talent still makes us feel emotions that hit us at the core.

When my youngest daughter sang in her Year 6 musical, I cried. I didn’t know she could sing like she sang that night. I still smile whenever my mother-in-law plays the piano or her piano accordion.

My kids doing cartwheels didn’t take them to the Olympics, but it happily reminded me of the freedom of youth. My third daughter’s cooking is one of the best parts of my day. She is an accomplished cook and barista. Talent.

Watching kids surfing or flicking their skateboards up and down the skatepark is incredible, as is admiring those who can dance, act, and play an instrument. There’s something wonderful about watching others ply their art.

When I first heard Reuben sing, I was spell-bounded, and he wasn’t the star he is today due to The Voice. As a 15-year-old prodigy, Martyn gave me as much pleasure as he did years later, wearing a representative cap. Neither had to be on the television to make me feel happy.

Talent is to be applauded, encouraged, and harnessed.

I love it.