Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. While I was introduced to it in childhood, my formal training in Hindustani classical music began when I was in the sixth standard. I approached learning with sincerity. I attended classes, practiced regularly, built my understanding of theory and prepared for examinations. By the time I reached tenth standard, I had completed several music examinations and accumulated years of training.
From the outside, everything seemed to be progressing well. Yet I often felt that something was missing, though I couldn’t quite articulate what it was. There was no obvious reason to question my journey. I enjoyed music, I was learning consistently and I was achieving the milestones expected of me. Why then, did it not feel like progress?
When we hear the phrase “comfort zone“, we often imagine avoiding challenges or refusing to learn. My experience was quite different. I was learning. In fact, I was putting in quite a lot of effort, but only within a familiar framework. I had unwittingly slipped away from what psychologists and thinkers call “The Learning Zone” and had become comfortable with what I already knew. Because it was all I had experienced, I had no reason to question it.
Sometimes, the hardest comfort zones to identify are the ones that feel completely normal. Noel Burch’s famous 1970 Conscious Competence Model is referred to frequently in learning programmes. He refers to four levels of learning – 1) Unconscious incompetence (you don’t know what you don’t know); 2) Conscious incompetence (you know what you don’t know and are grappling with it); 3) Conscious competence (where you have started applying your learning, but it takes effort); and 4) Unconscious competence – a zone of mastery where the learning becomes part of your regular repertoire.
I know this concept from my work in the learning space. But looking back, I can actually see myself making that journey in my exploration of music. Here is how it came about.
After a break during the COVID years, I resumed my training under a new guru. What followed was not simply a change in teaching style; it was a shift in perspective.
One of my earliest realizations came through something as basic as scale. For years, I had been comfortable singing in G#. It suited my voice and so I assumed that was simply where I was meant to sing. I had never really considered that vocal range could be developed or that singers actively work to expand their range over time. What I learnt from my new teacher was that vocal range could be stretched with practice and patience.
Another realization came through rhythm. I could sing compositions in taal and stay in rhythm, but I had never truly understood how the taal was structured or how to count it consciously. I was following it, but I wasn’t fully aware of it. As I began paying attention to these details, I started appreciating how many seemingly small elements contribute to the overall quality of a performance. The difference wasn’t always dramatic, but each detail added depth and precision.
One moment, in particular, has stayed with me.
I remember being asked why a specific phrase in a raag moved the way it did. I didn’t have an answer. I could sing the phrase correctly, but I couldn’t explain it. I remember feeling slightly embarrassed. After years of training, I had assumed I understood what I was singing. Yet in that moment, I realized that much of my learning had been based on repetition rather than understanding.
For years, I had become skilled at reproducing what I was taught. I could memorize, practice, and perform. Yet somewhere along the way, I had become more focused on getting things right than understanding why they worked the way they did. As the years went by, I found myself increasingly turning to YouTube videos, articles, and recordings to answer questions I couldn’t resolve elsewhere. While I continued learning, I had gradually begun relying more on my own research than on guidance. Without realizing it, I had stopped expecting a teacher to open new doors for me.
Looking back, one of the most significant shifts during this phase of my journey was not musical, but psychological. Moving from Unconscious incompetence to Unconscious competence is not just about effort or persistence (although that is important). The key to beginning this journey is to develop the quality of reflection. The ability to observe yourself, as if from a bird’s view, and ask yourself questions that matter.
From this vantage point, I began trusting the learning process again.
Over time, I had unknowingly shifted from being guided to being curious. I looked for answers on my own and stopped expecting anyone to expand the boundaries of my understanding. Rebuilding trust was about becoming open again to the possibility that there were questions I hadn’t thought to ask and perspectives I hadn’t considered.
My biggest lesson from music has not been about mastering raags, scales or taal. It has been about recognizing how easily we settle into what feels familiar and stop exploring what lies beyond it. Whether in music, leadership, or life, we do not always remain within our comfort zones because we lack ability. Sometimes we remain within them because we do not know they exist.
