Who Are You When Nobody Is Asking You to Act?

PART ONE — WHEN THE CREATIVE LIGHT GOES OUT

Let me ask you a question.

And I don't mean this as a career question.

I mean it as a human question.

What happens to you when nobody is asking you to act?

No audition.

No callback.

No rehearsal.

No performance.

Nobody needs a self-tape by Thursday.

Nobody has sent you sixteen pages at eleven o'clock at night and cheerfully written, "Should be fun!"

Nothing.

What happens to you?

Because I think something very interesting happens to actors during those quiet periods.

At first, maybe it's nice.

You have some time.

You catch up on things.

You clean the apartment.

You finally answer emails.

You discover vegetables again.

Maybe you even think:

"You know what? I needed this."

And then a week goes by.

Maybe two.

Maybe longer.

And something starts to change.

You're restless.

You're irritated.

You're scrolling more.

You're comparing yourself to other actors.

You start wondering whether your agent has forgotten your name.

You see somebody announce a booking online and suddenly you're conducting a complete forensic

investigation into their career.

"Interesting. Very interesting. They got THAT?"

And underneath all of this there may be a feeling that's difficult to identify.

We usually call it career frustration.

But I'm beginning to think that sometimes we're misdiagnosing it.

Because maybe you're not only frustrated because you're not working.

Maybe you're frustrated because you're not creating.

Those are two very different things.

And actors don't always separate them.

Creative people seem to have a very real need to express something.

A writer writes.

A painter paints.

A musician plays.

A dancer moves.

And actors?

Well...

Actors frequently wait for an email.

That's a strange arrangement when you think about it.

The writer doesn't have to wait for somebody to send permission to open Microsoft Word.

The painter doesn't receive a message saying:

"Congratulations! We'd like to invite you to use the blue paint."

A musician doesn't need a casting director to authorize the guitar.

But actors are trained, almost from the beginning, to associate creativity with being chosen.

You audition.

Someone decides.

You get the role.

Then you create.

And if you don't get the role?

You wait.

I think that creates one of the most difficult psychological conditions in the acting profession.

Because we've handed somebody else the switch to our creativity.

They get to turn us on.

And when the industry gets quiet, we can begin to feel quiet too.

I've watched actors experience this for years.

And what's interesting is that sometimes the actor doesn't even recognize what's happening.

They'll say:

"I don't know. I'm just feeling really discouraged."

Or:

"I'm starting to wonder whether I even want to do this anymore."

Or the famous:

"Maybe I'm just not good enough."

That's always a popular one.

Actors have a remarkable ability to turn almost any circumstance into evidence that they're not good enough.

Didn't get the callback?

Not good enough.

Didn't get an audition?

Not good enough.

Agent didn't answer the email?

Not good enough.

Coffee shop spelled your name incorrectly?

Probably the cheekbones.

But what if the emotional discomfort isn't actually evidence of failure?

What if you're simply creatively hungry?

I love that phrase.

Creative hunger.

Because hunger isn't a character flaw.

Hunger is information.

Your system is telling you something is missing.

And for an actor, what may be missing isn't necessarily another professional accomplishment.

It may simply be:

expression.

You haven't played.

You haven't imagined.

You haven't inhabited another person's circumstances.

You haven't collaborated.

You haven't told a story.

You haven't surprised yourself.

You haven't made something.

And if those experiences are important to who you are, their absence is going to be felt.

Think about what acting actually asks you to do.

You get to investigate human behavior.

You get to imagine circumstances that aren't your own.

You get to experience emotion through someone else's life.

You listen.

You respond.

You play.

You take risks.

You communicate.

You connect.

That's an enormous amount of psychological stimulation.

And then suddenly...

Nothing.

Of course you're going to notice.

The problem comes when you interpret that absence as:

"My career isn't working."

Because then we start trying to solve the wrong problem.

Here's something I want you to consider.

There are times when you don't need another audition.

You need another creative experience.

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

And if you can begin recognizing the difference, you may have considerably more control over your emotional

relationship with this profession.

Because auditions aren't always available.

Jobs certainly aren't always available.

But creativity?

Creativity is much more available than actors sometimes believe.

There is another piece of this.

And I think it's an important one.

Actors don't merely want to create.

Actors want to be seen creating.

Now that can sound dangerously close to:

"Well, of course. Actors want attention."

Yes.

Thank you, Uncle Frank.

Very sophisticated psychological analysis.

But I don't think it's that simple.

Acting is fundamentally relational.

We communicate to somebody.

Another actor.

A director.

A camera.

An audience.

The creative act travels outward.

So wanting somebody to witness your work isn't automatically narcissism.

It's part of the form.

There is an enormous difference between:

"Look at me."

and

"I have something I want to share with you."

One is attention seeking.

The other is communication.

And acting, at its best, is communication.

That's why rehearsing alone can be useful...

but it doesn't always completely scratch the itch.

You can work on a monologue in your bedroom for three weeks.

Eventually the lamp has seen enough.

At some point you want another human being involved.

You want the exchange.

You want the risk.

You want somebody to receive what you're doing.

And I think actors should stop feeling embarrassed about that.

You chose an art form built around human connection.

Of course connection matters.

But here's where things get complicated.

Because somewhere along the way, another idea gets attached to all of this.

Money.

Now creativity isn't enough.

An audience isn't enough.

Expression isn't enough.

Somewhere inside the actor's brain another equation appears:

If I'm being paid to act, I'm a real actor.

And its rather unpleasant companion:

If I'm not being paid to act...what exactly am I?

And that question can become much more dangerous than any quiet period in your career.

Because now we're no longer talking about employment.

We're talking about identity.

And that's where I want to go next.

PART TWO — WHEN CREATIVITY, MONEY AND

IDENTITY GET MIXED TOGETHER

Let's separate three things that actors frequently put into one very crowded suitcase.

Creative fulfillment.

Career fulfillment.

Financial fulfillment.

They're related.

But they're not the same.

And expecting acting to provide all three, all the time, is one of the quickest ways I know to become miserable.

Creative fulfillment says:

"I'm making something. I'm expressing something. I'm growing."

Career fulfillment says:

"I'm progressing professionally. I'm getting opportunities. I'm building relationships. I'm doing meaningful

work."

Financial fulfillment says:

"I can pay my bills."

Wouldn't it be lovely if every acting job provided all three?

Absolutely.

And while we're making requests, I'd also like excellent health, lower taxes and the metabolism I had when I

was twenty-seven.

But life doesn't always organize itself that conveniently.

You can make money doing something creatively unfulfilling.

You can have an extraordinary creative experience that pays almost nothing.

You can have a prestigious acting opportunity that makes you absolutely miserable.

You can have a tiny role that unexpectedly reminds you why you became an actor.

These things move independently.

But actors often bundle them together.

So when one isn't working, everything feels broken.

I see versions of this in casting all the time.

An actor comes into the room carrying much more than the audition.

They're carrying:

"I haven't worked in six months."

They're carrying:

"My agent hasn't been sending me out."

They're carrying:

"My friend just booked a series."

They're carrying:

"I need this financially."

They're carrying:

"I need to know I still belong here."

They're carrying:

"Please tell me I'm still an actor."

And now this little audition has quite a job.

It has to provide employment.

Income.

Validation.

Identity.

Creative expression.

Career momentum.

And preferably health insurance.

That's a lot to ask from three pages of dialogue.

No wonder the actor walks into the room with so much pressure.

And here's the irony.

The more psychological responsibility you place on the audition...

the harder it becomes to actually play in the audition.

Because play requires freedom.

Curiosity.

Experimentation.

Listening.

Availability.

But when you need the audition to prove something about your worth, you're not playing anymore.

You're protecting.

You're monitoring.

You're trying to get it right.

You're watching yourself.

And you're desperately hoping we approve.

That is a very different creative state.

So what happens if your creative life is already active before the audition arrives?

Something changes.

You don't need this one appointment to awaken the actor inside you.

You've already been using that part of yourself.

You've been creating.

Exploring.

Playing.

Maybe you've been writing.

Maybe you're making short scenes with friends.

Maybe you're taking photographs.

Maybe you're singing.

Maybe you're taking an improv class.

Maybe you're directing.

Maybe you're making ridiculous little films on your phone that seven people watch.

Fine.

Seven people is an audience.

And one of them may even be your mother.

We take the win.

The point isn't that every creative outlet has to advance your acting career.

That's another trap.

Actors can become extraordinarily transactional about creativity.

"Should I post this?"

"Will this help my reel?"

"Can I monetize this?"

"Will agents see it?"

"Should this be on IMDb?"

Maybe.

But could we occasionally make something because making it feels good?

Remember that?

Before everything became content?

This is where I think actors can learn something from children.

Children don't usually ask whether playing improves their professional positioning.

They just play.

They invent circumstances.

They become characters.

They create worlds.

They commit completely to ridiculous things.

A cardboard box is a spaceship.

A towel is a cape.

The dog is apparently the mayor.

Nobody asks whether the project has distribution.

And somewhere along the road toward becoming professional artists, we can lose that relationship with

creativity.

We begin evaluating everything.

Is it useful?

Is it impressive?

Will someone see it?

Will it lead somewhere?

Will I get paid?

And those aren't unreasonable questions in a career.

But they're terrible questions to ask every creative impulse you have.

This is where defeatist behavior can creep in.

The actor thinks:

"Why bother?"

Why work on something if nobody is going to see it?

Why make a scene if it isn't going to get me representation?

Why take a class if it doesn't lead to a job?

Why write something if I'm not a writer?

Why make a short film if I don't know how to make a short film?

And suddenly the professional actor has become creatively inactive.

Not because there aren't opportunities to create.

But because the actor has decided that creativity only counts when the industry validates it.

That's the bargain I want you to break.

Because here's the truth.

You do not need professional permission to exercise your creativity.

And exercising it may be one of the things that keeps you psychologically healthy during the inevitable periods

when the business isn't cooperating.

I don't mean that casually.

I think creative people need somewhere for that energy to go.

If it doesn't move outward, it often seems to move inward.

And when it moves inward, it can become rumination.

Comparison.

Self-criticism.

Restlessness.

Defeat.

Sometimes even resentment toward the very career you supposedly love.

So here's a practical exercise.

I want you to make three columns.

Not metaphorically.

Actually do this.

At the top of the first column write:

CAREER.

At the top of the second:

MONEY.

And at the top of the third:

CREATIVITY.

Now ask yourself:

What am I currently doing for my career?

Maybe you're submitting.

Networking.

Updating materials.

Taking meetings.

Auditioning.

Good.

What am I doing for money?

Maybe acting provides it.

Maybe something else does.

Again, no judgment.

And then:

What am I currently doing for creativity?

That's the column I'm interested in.

Because I suspect some actors will discover that it's empty.

Everything creative has been placed under career.

And that's a problem.

Your creativity deserves a life of its own.

Not because you're abandoning your career.

Exactly the opposite.

You're creating a healthier relationship with it.

You're saying:

The industry controls whether it hires me.

It does not control whether I create.

That's a major psychological shift.

And once you understand that, we can finally ask the practical question:

Okay.

If I'm not waiting for somebody else to activate me...

what exactly am I supposed to do?

PART THREE — BUILDING A CREATIVE LIFE THAT

DOESN'T REQUIRE PERMISSION

Let's make this practical.

Because I don't want you finishing this episode thinking:

"Excellent. Apparently I am creatively malnourished. Thank you, Jeff."

That's not especially helpful.

So let's build something.

I want you to think about creating what I'll call your creative ecosystem.

Not another career plan.

Not another five-year plan.

Not another spreadsheet explaining why you're behind.

A creative ecosystem.

Something that keeps the expressive part of you alive whether you're working professionally or not.

And the first rule is very simple:

It doesn't all have to be acting.

This may be difficult for actors to hear.

You are allowed to be creatively fulfilled by something other than the thing printed under "profession" on

your tax return.

You can write.

Paint.

Photograph.

Sing.

Dance.

Cook.

Design.

Build.

Tell stories.

Make videos.

Direct.

Teach.

Play music.

Make pottery.

Start a podcast.

Please don't start another podcast.

There are enough of us.

Actually, go ahead.

We'll work it out.

The important question is:

What activity makes you lose track of time?

That's often a useful clue.

What do you do where suddenly an hour disappears?

What activates curiosity?

What makes you feel playful?

What makes you think:

"Wait. I want to try something."

Follow that.

Not because it will become another career.

Please don't immediately turn everything you enjoy into another career.

Sometimes a hobby is allowed to survive without a business plan.

Second:

Create with other people.

Actors are collaborative creatures.

So if you're creatively stalled, isolation may be part of the problem.

Find two actors.

Pick a scene.

Work on it.

Film it.

Don't film it.

Invite three people over and read a play.

Start a monthly scene night.

Write five pages with somebody.

Make a two-minute film.

Do an improv evening.

Read something aloud.

The point isn't the product.

The point is activating the machinery.

Third:

Give yourself an audience.

Remember, audience doesn't mean five hundred people.

Audience means somebody receives what you created.

Share the photograph.

Perform the scene.

Post the little film.

Read the story to somebody.

Invite friends.

Put something online.

Let the work travel outward.

Because creative expression often becomes more satisfying when it completes that circuit.

You create.

Someone receives.

Connection happens.

And fourth—and this one matters—

Stop grading the result.

You don't have to be good at every creative thing you do.

Actors have enough evaluation in their lives already.

You don't need to take up watercolor painting and immediately wonder whether you need representation.

Be terrible at something.

It's remarkably liberating.

Take a dance class and be in the back.

Write something nobody would publish.

Sing badly.

Draw badly.

Make something stupid.

Creativity without evaluation can remind you what creativity felt like before it became attached to your

livelihood.

And I want to be clear about something.

None of this means you stop wanting professional acting work.

Of course you want the job.

Of course you want to be paid.

Of course you want opportunities.

Of course you want an audience.

Ambition isn't the enemy.

The problem begins when professional success becomes the only doorway through which you're allowed to

experience yourself as an artist.

That's too much power to hand the business.

I've spent enough time around actors and casting to know that the business will occasionally go quiet.

Sometimes for perfectly understandable reasons.

Sometimes for reasons nobody understands.

There will be stretches when you audition constantly.

There will be stretches when you don't.

There will be roles you think you're perfect for that disappear.

There will be jobs you almost get.

There will be jobs you get and wish you hadn't.

There will be Tuesday afternoons when your inbox contains absolutely nothing except an offer for twenty

percent off patio furniture.

That's the career.

But your creative life doesn't have to follow the same schedule.

And here's where I think this connects to something much larger.

If you build a life in which creativity is already happening...

you may walk into auditions differently.

You're not arriving starving.

You're not asking the room:

"Please feed me."

You're bringing something.

You're bringing curiosity.

You're bringing play.

You're bringing an active imagination.

You're bringing a creative life that existed before you walked through the door and will continue after you

leave.

That changes the energy.

From the casting side of the table, we can feel when somebody is trying desperately to make an audition

work.

And we can also feel when an actor is genuinely engaged in discovery.

One feels like:

"Please approve of this."

The other feels like:

"Here's what I found."

I'll take the second actor all day long.

Because that's collaboration.

That's an artist arriving with something to contribute.

And maybe this is ultimately the psychological shift.

Instead of asking:

"Am I working?"

occasionally ask:

"Am I creating?"

They're different questions.

You may not be working right now.

But you can still be creating.

You may not be earning money from acting right now.

But you can still be an artist.

You may not have an audience of thousands.

But you can find someone with whom to share what you've made.

And you may discover that the part of you that you thought was discouraged...

was actually hungry.

So here's your challenge this week.

Do one creative thing that has nothing to do with getting hired.

That's important.

No career objective.

No networking strategy.

No IMDb credit.

No agent bait.

No secret fantasy that Steven Spielberg somehow discovers your experimental pottery account.

Just create.

Something small.

Something playful.

Something unnecessary.

And notice what happens to you.

Notice your energy.

Notice your mood.

Notice whether you become curious again.

Notice whether you feel more like yourself.

Because maybe the answer to career frustration isn't always another career strategy.

Sometimes the artist simply needs somewhere to go.

And that brings me to this week's Reset.

If you're an actor, the industry will inevitably control certain things.

It can control whether you get the audition.

It can control whether you get the callback.

It can control whether you get the role.

It can control whether there's a paycheck waiting for you.

But there is one thing I don't think you should ever hand over.

The industry does not get to decide when you are allowed to be creative.

That's yours.

So when things get quiet—and they will—don't immediately assume something is wrong.

Ask yourself a different question.

Am I creatively hungry?

And if the answer is yes...

feed that part of yourself.

Make something.

Play something.

Write something.

Sing something.

Film something.

Share something.

Find somebody and create something together.

Because you don't have to wait for somebody to hire you before you're allowed to be an artist.

Your career may occasionally go quiet.

Your creativity doesn't have to.

I'm Jeff Dreisbach, and this is Casting Actors Cast.

I'll see you next time.

YouTube Description

What happens to an actor when nobody is asking them to act?

When the auditions slow down, the callbacks disappear, or the next job simply isn’t happening, actors often

assume the frustration they’re feeling is about their career. But what if something else is going on?

What if you’re creatively hungry?

In Episode #439 of Casting Actors Cast, casting director, teacher, author, and former actor Jeff Dreisbach

explores the psychology behind an actor’s need for creative self-expression—and why waiting for the industry

to provide that expression can become emotionally exhausting.

We’ll look at the complicated relationship between creativity, employment, money, identity, and the need

for an audience. Why does being paid sometimes feel like proof that you’re a “real” actor? Why can a lack of

performing leave you restless or discouraged? And how can you build a creative life that doesn’t depend

entirely upon someone else giving you permission to participate?

Most importantly, Jeff offers practical ways to recognize creative hunger and find outlets that keep your

imagination, curiosity, and sense of play alive—even during the quiet periods of an acting career.

Because there’s an important difference between asking:

“Am I working?”

and asking:

“Am I creating?”

The industry may decide when it hires you.

It does not get to decide when you are allowed to be creative.

?? Casting Actors Cast — practical insight, encouragement, and a casting director’s perspective on the

psychology, craft, and business of being an actor.

Episode Keywords

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outlets for actors, self expression, artistic fulfillment, acting industry, acting auditions, audition advice, casting

advice, actor confidence, career frustration, acting jobs, making a living as an actor, creative life, artist identity,

finding creative outlets, acting without auditions, staying creative, actor self worth, creativity and psychology,

audition confidence, Casting Actors Cast, Jeff Dreisbach, McCorkle Casting