My Word of the Year for 2026

Vulnerability.

I don’t like this choice because it threatens me. I know the power of the word. I teach it often in my improv and storytelling classes. I ask students to say the first thing that comes to mind, to put their characters in peril, to raise the stakes by increasing vulnerability. But making it my word of the year? I don’t like it.

Which means I’ve got work to do.

A dear friend of mine, Diane, uses vulnerability alongside another word: visible. Visible and vulnerable. Not just open, but seen in that openness. That’s the hard part. Being seen means others might notice things about me I’d rather keep tucked away. In a culture that constantly rewards the appearance of success in relevance and worth, showing up as anything less than polished feels dangerous. Impostor syndrome thrives in that space.

And yet, the longer I sit with it, the more it makes sense. That’s how these words of the year tend to work. They don’t arrive because they’re easy or flattering. They show up because they’re necessary. You listen. You accept. Then you build.

There’s another layer to this. If most of the world is operating at the surface level, appearing as curated, careful, controlled, then authentic vulnerability becomes a differentiator. We crave real humanity. We recognize it instantly. When we encounter it, something inside us says, yes, that’s true - and I like it. Vulnerability doesn’t just connect us; it gives others permission to breathe, to feel less alone, to sit more honestly with themselves, whether or not they’re ready to step forward yet.

Last year, my word was awe. That was fun. Awe is expansive and joyful and…awesome. This year feels different. This year asks for more. It asks me to be uncomfortable. To connect differently. And connection, after all, is what we’re here for. Improvisation and storytelling don’t work without it. Neither do we.

So why is vulnerability so scary? Shame.

Brené Brown captures this perfectly in her TED Talk, The Power of Vulnerability, when she asks:“Is there something about me that, if other people know it or see it, that I won’t be worthy of connection?”

That question hits hard. It goes straight to the center of things.

Then comes the paradox—the hopeful and maddening part. Brown reminds us:“Shame is universal. We all have it. Those who do not have shame have no capacity for human empathy or connection. No one wants to talk about it. And the less you talk about it, the more you have it.”

Damn the paradox.

So yes, I’m declaring vulnerability as my word of the year and I want to be clear about how difficult it will be to carry. Acceptance doesn’t mean agreement. Vulnerability is my word of the year, and I don’t like it. Pardon me as I pout about that before I get on with the work. Hey, admitting pouting, that’s vulnerable!

Not long ago, I was forced into vulnerability in a very real, very high-stakes way. In early December 2025, a longtime supporter of Yes, And…eXercise! let me know they would no longer be financially supporting Jam for Joy, one of our flagship improvisation programs. The loss blew a hole in an already tight budget, and the familiar questions rushed in: Does this matter? Does anyone care? Is the work—or am I—actually valuable?

Ouch.

I was told the decision wasn’t about the program or me, just a shift in focus on their end. Our continued work in other areas in 2026 validates that. But that didn’t change the story I was telling myself. After getting honest about what the loss meant, I had to do the scariest thing: publicly admit that we were struggling and that we needed help.

This flies in the face of how we’re taught to present ourselves. “We’re fine” sounds strong. “Nothing but good stuff to see here” feels safe and even powerful. But it also closes the door. Saying “we need help - your help” felt exposed and risky. It meant trusting that people would care to see the full story, not just the highlight reel.

Something remarkable happened. It aligned perfectly with what I teach in storytelling: when you raise the stakes, things move. Not always neatly. Not always comfortably or the way you want. But always honestly. People can’t respond unless they understand what’s truly at stake.

That moment of vulnerability led to a new sponsor and a name we arrived at together: Community Bridge. It also opened the door to dozens of additional donations, conversations, and opportunities. The truth is simple and humbling: we built that bridge on vulnerability. On telling the whole story, not just the parts that make us look strong.

That’s the work. That’s the lesson.

Vulnerability doesn’t weaken the foundation. It is the foundation. Connection is what we do.

And connection requires truth.

So yes, vulnerability is my word of the year.

Challenge accepted.

Robert Cochrane, PhD

CEO and Founder, Yes, And...eXercise!

a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization

Ready to explore your story and the things that scare you in a safe, brave, and fun atmosphere? Join our drop-in style Jam for Joy improvisation classes on Tuesdays at 10a pacific and Thursdays at 4p pacific.

Or maybe you're ready to explore a little deeper? Our Cinema Therapy classes help people create Success Stories (tm). Studying films like Stand By Me, Rocky and Shawshank Redemption, our students discover, rewrite and transform their lives in just months.

Contact Robert: robert@yesandexercise.org