The Theatre Resolutions I’m Actually Keeping This Year

by Chris Peterson

Every January, my feed fills up with the same kind of declarations. People vowing to read more, drink less, finally start that workout routine, or become the kind of person who owns matching Tupperware. I get it. There’s something comforting about a clean calendar page and the idea that we can simply decide to do better.

But if you’re a theatre person, New Year’s resolutions hit a little differently.

Because theatre already asks so much of us. It asks for time we don’t have, money we probably shouldn’t spend, and emotional energy that somehow still shows up even when we’re exhausted. So instead of promising to “do more,” maybe this is the year we make resolutions that actually help us stay in love with this art form.

Here’s mine.

This year, I’m resolving to see more theatre I wouldn’t normally choose. Not just the big titles, the safe bets, or the shows I already know I’ll like. I want to sit in the uncomfortable seats. The weird ones. The shows that make me argue with myself on the walk home. Theatre doesn’t grow when we only reward what feels familiar, and neither do we.

I’m also resolving to talk less during intermission. Or at least talk kinder. We all know the person who uses intermission as a live Yelp review, loudly ranking performances while the cast is probably ten feet away, trying to stay focused. I’ve been that person before. I don’t love admitting it, but it’s true. This year, I want to let a show finish being itself before I decide how I feel about it.

I’m resolving to support community theatre louder. Not as a charity case. Not with a “for what it is” qualifier. Just support it. Because community theatre is where people fall in love with this art form for the first time. It’s where retirees, teachers, accountants, teenagers, and exhausted parents all decide that standing under hot lights after a full workday is still worth it. That deserves respect. Full stop.

I’m resolving to stop pretending burnout is a badge of honor. Theatre culture has a bad habit of glorifying exhaustion. The late nights. The no days off. The idea that if you’re not completely fried, you must not care enough. This year, I want us to normalize rest. Not quitting. Not disengaging. Just breathing. Theatre needs people who last, not people who burn out beautifully.

I’m resolving to applaud bravery more than perfection. Missed notes happen. Lines get dropped. Sets wobble. What matters is the choice to step out there anyway. To risk something in front of strangers. That’s the magic. That’s the point. I want my reactions, my reviews, and my conversations to reflect that.

And finally, I’m resolving to remember why I showed up in the first place.

Not for the awards. Not for the social media posts. Not for the arguments about whether something “counts” as theatre. I showed up because, at some point, a story told live in a room changed me. It made me feel less alone. It made the world feel bigger and smaller at the same time.

If you want to make a theatre New Year’s resolution, maybe start there. Protect the thing that made you fall in love. Be curious instead of cynical. Generous instead of guarded. Present instead of performative.

Theatre doesn’t need us to be perfect this year. It just needs us to keep showing up.