Why I'm Anti-Rest! And Why That's Bad!

A Humorous and Poignant Journey into the World of Habit Formation for Artists

As the sun peeks over the horizon, signaling the start of another day, I begrudgingly drag myself out of bed. With the unyielding determination of a marathon runner and the caffeine dependency of a college student during finals week, I embark on my meticulously crafted morning routine.

Waking up? Check.

Meditation? Check.

Working out? Check.

Vocal warmups? Check.

Dance classes? A few days a week. Check.

Free writing? Check.

Hindi and Telugu practice? Also, a few days a week. Check (which my parents should be happy about because my speaking ability has gotten…rough).

All before noon? Check, check, and checkmate.

And then from there, the day is spent job hunting, auditions (when they pop up), contemplating whether I should try to become a TikTok star (the answer is no), and miscellaneous things that a founder of a production company must do.

I feel this need to accomplish EVERYTHING in 12 hours and when I don’t…I feel like a failure. Lunacy, right?

This routine, born out of a desire to perpetually improve as an artist, has become my daily ritual—a testament to my unwavering commitment to self-improvement and, let's be honest, a touch of masochism.

But guess what?

I’m getting older. And in my 20s, I actively rebelled against resting.

But now…my 30-something-year-old body is forcing me to slow down and…I hate it.

This brings me to habits, why we have them, and why some habits need to be reshaped as life progresses.

So let’s start with habits…

Ah, the allure of habit formation—the promise of transformation, the allure of productivity, the siren call of a better version of oneself. Armed with advice from self-help gurus and motivational speakers, I set out on a quest to conquer my habits, one tiny behavior at a time. "Start small," they said. "Make tiny changes," they said.

Little did I know, these tiny changes would snowball into a mountain of exhaustion and existential dread faster than you can say "brush your teeth."

But wait, let's rewind a bit. What exactly are habits, and why are they so f*cking hard to form? According to the gospel of behavioral psychology, habits consist of three basic components: the cue or trigger, the action, and the reward.

Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong.

Like a Rubik's cube wrapped in a riddle shrouded in mystery, the enigma of habit formation eludes even the most seasoned artists - like myself. We're left scratching our heads, wondering why our brains refuse to cooperate, why our actions remain stubbornly resistant to change, and why our reward system seems hell-bent on sabotaging our best-laid plans.

Enter Charles Duhigg, a prophet of habit formation, who preaches the gospel of tiny behaviors and well-placed rewards. According to Duhigg, the key to unlocking the mysteries of habit formation lies in planting the right seed in the right spot—an analogy that's as confounding as it is illuminating.

In other words, if you want to adopt a new habit, start small, sequence it right, and for the love of all that is holy, don't rely on motivation to do the heavy lifting.

Easier said than done, Barbara.

Now, let's talk about rest—or rather, the lack thereof. As artists, we wear our exhaustion like a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming our commitment to the grind and our disdain for idle hands. Rest? Who the hell is that?

Who has time for such frivolities when there are masterpieces to create, dreams to chase, and existential crises to wrestle with? Bleh. I’m over that starving artist sentiment. It’s not helpful…for me at least. For me, I’m beginning to want rest and stability, as it allows me to create my best work.

We convince ourselves that rest is for the weak, that sleep is for the dead, and that burnout is just a myth perpetuated by the faint of heart. Little do we realize, that the harder we push ourselves, the closer we inch toward the precipice of exhaustion, teetering on the edge of our sanity.

And I’m there. I’m exhausted. And I’m happy to admit it.

As an actor, committing to habits often feels like an uphill battle, especially when tangible results seem elusive. The craft demands relentless dedication to honing my skills, yet the journey often appears as a series of small victories overshadowed by the absence of grand triumphs.

It's easy to lose sight of the progress made when the spotlight fails to shine on the incremental improvements.

As I’ve said many times and even above, my path is riddled with auditions, rejections, and fleeting moments of validation. In such a volatile landscape, maintaining consistency in habits becomes a daunting task. The temptation to abandon routine in favor of instant gratification looms large, fueled by the gnawing doubt that perhaps my efforts are in vain.

Yet, therein lies the paradox: the very habits that seem fruitless at the moment are the building blocks of success in the long run. It is in my steadfast commitment to the craft, and the relentless pursuit of excellence, that true transformation occurs. Every audition, every rehearsal, every vocal warm-up is a step forward, even when the destination remains shrouded in uncertainty.

Perseverance is the greatest virtue. Embracing the discomfort of uncertainty, and finding solace in the process itself, is the key to navigating the turbulent waters of the industry. For in my relentless pursuit of mastery, the seeds of success are sown, patiently awaiting their time to bloom.

And yet. This is easier said than done.

I’m human.

Not a robot.

So you’re probably asking — why? Why do we cling to our workhorse mentality like a drowning man clutching at straws? Blame it on the guilt culture—the insidious beast that lurks beneath the surface of South Asian communities, whispering tales of duty, obligation, and familial expectations. As Sarah Ahmed, the sage of South Asian psychology, so aptly put it, our culture emphasizes family loyalty, self-sacrifice, and obedience towards elders, leaving us trapped in a web of guilt and obligation. The mere thought of disappointing our loved ones or straying from the path of tradition fills us with an existential dread so profound, that it would make Kafka blush.

And so, we soldier on, chasing an elusive ideal of success, productivity, and artistic fulfillment, all the while neglecting the most important habit of all: self-compassion.

*cue the Lifetime original movie music*

But hear me out.

We beat ourselves up for our perceived shortcomings, berate ourselves for our inability to meet impossible standards, and scoff at the very notion of rest as if it were a sign of weakness. But what if, just what if, we allowed ourselves to be kinder, gentler, and more forgiving? What if we embraced rest as a vital component of our creative process, rather than an indulgence reserved for the privileged few?

As I sit here, bleary-eyed and caffeine-deprived, I can't help but wonder: perhaps the secret to habit formation lies not in dogged determination or Herculean willpower but in the gentle art of self-compassion.

As I sit here writing this, it’s 1 AM. And my friend texts me out of the blue. I'm up because I fell asleep at 6 PM. Why? No idea.

Anyway, they asked me a normal question.

"How's it going?"

And what do I do? I launch into a monologue about work because apparently, that's all I know. I'm like a walking job description.

Then, they ask.

"Ever have unproductive days?"

It hits me like a ton of unread emails. Do I? Honestly, I don't even allow myself to think about it. Maybe I should schedule one, like a spa day for my brain.

So, instead of tackling my to-do list, here I am, rebelliously writing this ramble. Call it my mini-revolution against productivity, or just call it procrastination. Either way, it feels liberating to break free from the ideals of productivity and dive headfirst into the glorious abyss of unproductivity.

Cheers to that, I guess.

It just goes against everything I know. So this will be a journey of…balance.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the key to unlocking our full potential as a human or even as an artist lies not in the relentless pursuit of perfection, but in the quiet moments of rest and reflection. And so, with a weary smile and a heart full of hope, I bid adieu to my morning routine, embracing the messy, beautiful chaos of life as an artist—one tiny habit at a time.

In the end, I'm not a medical professional or a mental health advocate—I'm just a human, stumbling my way through the labyrinth of habit formation, one stumble at a time.

And you know what? That's more than enough.

I think.