The Comfort Zone and what it means to me
May. 17th, 2009 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerWe used to sing hymns at school when I were a nipper, and one that I remember went like this:
Father, hear the prayer we offer.
Not for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not for ever in green pastures
Would we ask our way to be;
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not for ever by still waters
Would we idly rest and stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way.
There was more, much more, and even as I lisped along in my childish treble I clearly remember thinking "Well, actually..." I wasn't too sure of my abilities as a living-fountain-smiter, and the green pastures and still waters sounded like a much better bet if they were available. I couldn't escape the idea that we were shooting ourselves in the foot a bit here. Later, when I got a bit more sophisticated, I wondered if the idea was that God would then pat us on the head and say "Well done. You show the right spirit. Just for that, I'll let you off the hard bits." And then I wondered if thinking that (because God knew what I was thinking) had jinxed it, and off we went on the old recursive merry-go-round. I had a lifetime season ticket for that ride. If God was watching what I was thinking, he must have got quite dizzy on occasion.
But it's interesting to note that Christianity, as so often, was, if not the only source, certainly one of the sources of an idea that pervades our modern and increasingly secularised society, viz., that comfort is for the weak and sickly. If the road isn't rocky, if the task isn't difficult, if the supplies aren't running out and the wolves on your heels, then you're being a wimp. "Forward!" is the cry, and if there are people already there then you're going the wrong way.
I said on the website and elsewhere recently, as a result of certain discussions I've observed and tried not to take part in, that I intended to stay within my comfort zone as a writer, and continue writing within the cultural mindset with which I was (a) most familiar, (b) most capable, and (c) most at ease. I felt, and still feel, that there are interesting and entertaining things to be written from within that frame of reference, and that I can best exercise my vital powers by doing that. Nobody called me on it. Nobody actually said "wimp" to my face, though I imagined people thinking it. What I wasn't prepared for was that the idea embodied in that childish hymn had so permeated my own mind that, all of a sudden, I wasn't comfortable in my comfort zone any more.
I'm kind of not happy about that.
As a reaction, I have set out to write a series of stories in which the settings and some of the characters are well outside the comfort zone for me, and to do it honestly and respectfully and truthfully. I expected that to be hard, and it is, and I don't know how well I'm succeeding. I'm not enjoying it particularly, but then I didn't expect to.
What I didn't expect (again) was that the other project, the one that is, or should be, well inside my comfort zone, would then become almost as hard as the first one.
I'm definitely not happy about that.
Writing's always been something I enjoy, something I do for pleasure. It's been the green pasture and the still water that I retreat to when (as now) the living fountains aren't smiting so well and the steep and rugged pathway is hurting my feet, with the added bonus that I'm not just gawping at the telly or playing a stupid game, but actually making something that someone somewhere might like to read. If I can't find that place again...if writing has to be as hard as real life is...
I don't know. Maybe in a couple of days, if some kind person answers my question and enables me to get the second story past that first sentence, things may start flowing more easily again and I may be fine. And there is always the strong probability that I am a wimp, and the world outside my flist could do just splendidly without my wibblings.
Anyway, it's my own fault for not sticking to my stated intentions. So there we go.
Father, hear the prayer we offer.
Not for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not for ever in green pastures
Would we ask our way to be;
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not for ever by still waters
Would we idly rest and stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way.
There was more, much more, and even as I lisped along in my childish treble I clearly remember thinking "Well, actually..." I wasn't too sure of my abilities as a living-fountain-smiter, and the green pastures and still waters sounded like a much better bet if they were available. I couldn't escape the idea that we were shooting ourselves in the foot a bit here. Later, when I got a bit more sophisticated, I wondered if the idea was that God would then pat us on the head and say "Well done. You show the right spirit. Just for that, I'll let you off the hard bits." And then I wondered if thinking that (because God knew what I was thinking) had jinxed it, and off we went on the old recursive merry-go-round. I had a lifetime season ticket for that ride. If God was watching what I was thinking, he must have got quite dizzy on occasion.
But it's interesting to note that Christianity, as so often, was, if not the only source, certainly one of the sources of an idea that pervades our modern and increasingly secularised society, viz., that comfort is for the weak and sickly. If the road isn't rocky, if the task isn't difficult, if the supplies aren't running out and the wolves on your heels, then you're being a wimp. "Forward!" is the cry, and if there are people already there then you're going the wrong way.
I said on the website and elsewhere recently, as a result of certain discussions I've observed and tried not to take part in, that I intended to stay within my comfort zone as a writer, and continue writing within the cultural mindset with which I was (a) most familiar, (b) most capable, and (c) most at ease. I felt, and still feel, that there are interesting and entertaining things to be written from within that frame of reference, and that I can best exercise my vital powers by doing that. Nobody called me on it. Nobody actually said "wimp" to my face, though I imagined people thinking it. What I wasn't prepared for was that the idea embodied in that childish hymn had so permeated my own mind that, all of a sudden, I wasn't comfortable in my comfort zone any more.
I'm kind of not happy about that.
As a reaction, I have set out to write a series of stories in which the settings and some of the characters are well outside the comfort zone for me, and to do it honestly and respectfully and truthfully. I expected that to be hard, and it is, and I don't know how well I'm succeeding. I'm not enjoying it particularly, but then I didn't expect to.
What I didn't expect (again) was that the other project, the one that is, or should be, well inside my comfort zone, would then become almost as hard as the first one.
I'm definitely not happy about that.
Writing's always been something I enjoy, something I do for pleasure. It's been the green pasture and the still water that I retreat to when (as now) the living fountains aren't smiting so well and the steep and rugged pathway is hurting my feet, with the added bonus that I'm not just gawping at the telly or playing a stupid game, but actually making something that someone somewhere might like to read. If I can't find that place again...if writing has to be as hard as real life is...
I don't know. Maybe in a couple of days, if some kind person answers my question and enables me to get the second story past that first sentence, things may start flowing more easily again and I may be fine. And there is always the strong probability that I am a wimp, and the world outside my flist could do just splendidly without my wibblings.
Anyway, it's my own fault for not sticking to my stated intentions. So there we go.