Student Blogger: Making Room to Rest

December puts performing artists in a strange place. Audition season is close enough to shape your thinking, but not close enough to act on yet. The schedule loosens. People leave town. There’s space where there usually isn’t. And instead of feeling like relief, that space can feel uncomfortable. It’s the kind of discomfort that’s subtle but persistent, the kind you notice more when everything else slows down. 

For artists who are used to constant motion, rest rarely feels neutral. Without rehearsals, deadlines, or rooms to prepare for, time becomes harder to measure. Days can blur together. You can be doing less without doing anything wrong, but it doesn’t always register that way internally. There’s often an underlying sense that you should be using this time better, even if you can’t quite define what “better” means. 

This discomfort isn’t about motivation. It’s about orientation. Much of a performer’s sense of progress comes from external structure. Callbacks, class schedules, and rehearsal hours. When that structure falls away, it can feel like momentum has disappeared, even if it hasn’t. Without markers, effort becomes invisible, and invisible effort is easy to dismiss. December sits right in that gap. 

For many performing artists who are also students, that gap is felt on multiple levels at once. The semester ends, routines shift, and many people leave campus and go home, sometimes out of state. You’re stepping away not just from classes, but from the daily rhythm that supports your training and focus. The pace changes, and so does the way your time is framed. You’re not in audition mode yet, but you’re no longer moving at the pace the semester required. There’s no immediate next step, only a general awareness of what’s coming. That ambiguity can take over your thinking. You might catch yourself staying slightly tense, as if holding that tension will keep you prepared. For some people, this shows up as restlessness. For others, it shows up as guilt for enjoying the slower pace. And for some, it’s a mix of both. There’s comfort in being busy, even when it’s exhausting. Busyness gives shape to the day. When it’s gone, you’re left with more internal noise.  

It’s often in this space that people start filling their calendars. Making plans. Taking on commitments. Not because the work is urgent, but because activity creates structure. It reassures you that time is still being used, even if there’s nothing specific you need to prepare for yet. I know I tend to fall into that pattern because I like to stay occupied. This season, I’m choosing to stay active in ways that feel supportive rather than forced. I’m still training at the gym and taking virtual dance classes, not to stay “ahead,” but to keep my body moving and familiar with itself. I’m also spending time on creative projects that keep ideas flowing, without needing them to lead anywhere right now. The difference is that none of it feels like pressure, and that distinction matters. At the same time, I’m letting myself be present in a different environment. Being home changes the pace, and I’m allowing that to be part of the experience. I’m spending time with family, eating more without turning it into something to manage, and letting my days look different than they do during the semester. That shift doesn’t feel like a setback so much as another way of staying grounded. 

Readiness doesn’t come from staying braced. Audition season doesn’t ask you to arrive sharpened by anxiety. It asks for clarity, adaptability, and presence. Those qualities rely on having room internally. When that room is filled with constant self-monitoring, everything narrows. You might still be capable, still trained, still technically prepared, but less open.  Less anchored in your own instincts. Fatigue doesn’t always appear as exhaustion. Often it shows up as mental friction. Overthinking choices that don’t need thinking, holding your body tighter than necessary without realizing it, and feeling slightly removed from your own sense of timing or impulse. These are subtle signs, easy to overlook, especially in a culture that praises endurance. 

Rest, in this moment, isn’t about disengaging from the work. It’s about changing how you relate to it for a brief stretch. Letting your body move without correction and letting your attention settle instead of staying on alert. Not because you’re falling behind, but because you’re allowing yourself to return to a baseline. This kind of rest restores your ability to trust your responses again, which matters far more than being constantly prepared. When you’re always adjusting, always assessing, it becomes harder to recognize what actually feels right. Space makes it easier to trust your instincts again. For artists who are always running, this can feel unfamiliar. Productivity has been reliable. Stillness hasn’t. Stillness doesn’t offer immediate feedback or validation. It’s another way of showing up, one that protects your capacity instead of exhausting it early.

Audition season will arrive soon enough. When it does, what matters isn’t how much you pushed yourself beforehand, but whether you arrive with enough steadiness to respond rather than react. If this stretch feels uneasy or undefined, that doesn’t mean you’re off track. It usually means you’re between phases, which is a place every working artist passes through, even if it rarely gets acknowledged. You’re exactly where this moment places you, whether you know what to do with it yet or not.