On Comfort Zones

Vanessa Williams is one of my favorite singers. Her album Comfort Zone plays intermittently in my mind. I appreciate her talent because her road to singing was a pick-myself-up-and-keep-going endeavor after the Miss America scandal. Proof that one moment does not define us.

I think about her a lot when I practice singing because the learning forces me out of my comfort zone. I am most comfortable when I feel like I know principles. When I started reading to learn about Black British literature, I started with history. It helped to have the contours of the worlds Black Brits were/are living in. I followed with literary history because the broad strokes of literary history helps me contextualize whatever fiction and poetry I’ll read. This helps me feel settled, calm.

Singing does not allow me to start with such principles. Much of singing is taught in an embodied fashion: where do you feel the note? Where is the resonance in your body? How deep is your breath? You must actually produce sound before you understand the major Western scale: do re mi fa so la ti do. This is where I stumble. I am unsure of the scale and how it works, the relationship between notes. Also, this particular scale does not feel like the basis of music I listen to. So, I find myself feeling lost and unsure. I keep seeking out books and courses that start at this basic level. At the same time, I also let my curiosity win out because I seek to learn about other scales and modes. I told a friend that I wish I had chosen something less punishing like watercolors and they wryly responded, “If you had chosen watercolors, we’d be talking about color theory.”

Apparently, I oscillate between my comfort zone and the danger zone. Skating on that razor’s edge feels like curiosity at its full height. I understand that others may not be so inclined. So, I’ll tell you what I get from moving between the two.

Inside the comfort zone feels like depth. It is a pool where I know the water. And, I feel comfortable diving into the deep end. Here, I grow my existing skill sets. More important, I grow my confidence in my capacity for depth, my knowing of what I know, and my knowing how I learn. Outside the comfort zone, that foundation acts a tether. It is the string needed to ground me while I slay whatever Minotaur awaits. I find that outside the comfort zone, I am leaning new information: often helpful for deepening my knowledge in areas with which I am familiar as well as providing new intellectual or personal spaces to slake my curiosity.

An example: Singing is way out of my comfort zone. But, it deepens my understanding of breath, voice, and sound. All of these are helpful for how I think about the poetic line and the turn of a poem. These lessons helped me write longer poems rather than staying sonnet adjacent. There is an interplay there. As I am learning more about scales and modes, I am also learning about mood and how lyrics and sound create a scene: useful for essay writing.

I can’t expect that everyone enjoys this roller coaster. I can’t say it is comfortable. But, it is useful, at least. It is worth the experimentation.