2026 Theatre Resolutions: Why I’m Trying to Be a Braver Theatre Audience Member

by Chris Peterson

In my previous column, I mentioned New Year’s resolutions that have been quietly sticking with me. It was just a few lines, almost an aside, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like something worth sitting with longer.

I said,

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’ve realized how easy it is, even for people who love theatre deeply, to fall into habits that look a lot like fear dressed up as taste. We say we “just know what we like,” but what we often mean is that we don’t want to waste time, money, or emotional energy on something that might not work for us. We want to leave the theatre affirmed, not unsettled. We want the warm glow, not the itch.

There’s nothing wrong with joy. There’s nothing wrong with comfort. But if every ticket we buy is a guarantee, then what are we really supporting? We’re rewarding repetition. We’re teaching theatres, consciously or not, that risk is dangerous and familiarity is safer. Over time, that lesson hardens. Programming narrows. Voices soften. Surprise disappears.

Some of the most important nights I’ve ever spent in a theatre weren’t nights I loved the show. They were nights I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Nights where something didn’t quite land, or landed sideways, or challenged me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Nights where I left frustrated, confused, even annoyed, but awake. Those experiences shaped my taste far more than the shows that went down easy.

There’s also something deeply human about choosing a show you don’t immediately understand. It forces patience. It asks you to listen before judging. It reminds you that not every piece of theatre is meant to speak directly to you, and that maybe it doesn’t have to. Sometimes the work is speaking across generations, cultures, or experiences you haven’t lived yet. Sitting with that discomfort is part of the exchange.

I think we’ve forgotten how valuable that can be. We talk a lot about audience development and sustainability, but we don’t always talk about curiosity. About bravery. About letting ourselves feel a little lost in the dark without demanding instant clarity. Theatre was never meant to be frictionless.

So this year, I’m saying yes more often. Yes to the small shows in black boxes. Yes to titles I don’t recognize. Yes to playwrights whose names I’m still learning how to pronounce. Yes to productions that might fail right in front of me. Failure is not the enemy of good theatre. Indifference is.

I also want to be better about how I talk about the shows that don’t fully work for me. Not dismissive. Not cruel. Just honest, specific, and open to the idea that the problem might not be the piece, but my own expectations walking in. That, too, feels like part of growing alongside the art form.

I don’t expect to love everything. That’s not the goal. The goal is to stay porous. To stay curious. To remember that theatre isn’t only here to reassure us that we already know who we are. Sometimes it’s here to unsettle us, challenge us, or ask questions we don’t have answers for yet.

If we want theatre to be bold, audiences have to be bold too. That starts with a ticket. It starts with choosing the unknown. And it starts with trusting that even a difficult night at the theatre can be a meaningful one.