I Can Do Hard Things (But I Still Prefer a Latte in Bed).

Let’s be honest: I am not a tent girl.

I am a Fairmont girl. I’d be a Four Seasons girl if it fit my budget. I love hotels, proper mattresses and washrooms located about ten feet from where I sleep. I like hot water on demand, a sink where I can brush my teeth and the general reassurance that I will not need a flashlight or footwear to use the facilities in the middle of the night.

I have built a life around these small comforts and, whenever possible, a latte delivered to me while I’m still in bed. These aren’t character flaws. They are preferences—and, frankly, achievements.

So when I agreed to spend a weekend sleeping in a tent as part of a pilot program with our local dinosaur museum, I knew I was stepping well outside my usual habitat. We would be exploring local bonebeds, searching for fossils and footprints, and getting an up-close look at the prehistoric history of our region.

There would also be cots, cold weather and limited access to most of the conveniences I take for granted. It was September in Northwestern Alberta, which meant crisp, frosty mornings and evenings cold enough to make a person question several of her life choices.

And yet, I said yes.

Partly, it was in the spirit of doing my job. This was an opportunity to experience a developing tourism product as a guest and offer useful feedback before it launches publicly. It was also a privilege to see behind the scenes, learn from people who know far more about paleontology than I ever will and explore another part of the rugged region I now help promote.

But I also said yes because I knew it would push me.

Over the past 20-plus years, both personally and professionally, I have done more uncomfortable things than I can count. I have left things behind, started over, entered unfamiliar rooms and accepted opportunities that scared me. Now that I think about it, this has apparently become part of my personal brand—although I don’t remember approving that particular brand strategy.

Once upon a time, for example, I was a Canadian woman walking into an American television studio during a recession to discuss finances live on air. Nothing quite prepares you for that. At some point, the camera turns on, someone asks a question and you have to trust that you know enough to answer it without stumbling your way through live television.

Moments like that stay with you, not only because they were intimidating, but because you discover something about yourself by moving through them. You learn that nervousness doesn’t mean you aren’t ready, uncertainty doesn’t mean you shouldn’t proceed and discomfort is not proof that you have made the wrong decision.

For much of my life, discomfort arrived without an invitation. Circumstances changed, decisions had to be made and life redirected me without first checking whether the timing was convenient. I adapted because I had to, even when I felt scared, uncertain or completely unprepared. If you’ve been following this blog, you already know that.

What feels different now is that I am more willing to choose opportunities that stretch me. I have lived through enough uncertainty to trust myself on the other side of it. I know that saying yes to something unfamiliar might introduce me to people I would never otherwise meet, teach me something I couldn’t learn from a distance or lead me toward a version of my life I hadn’t considered.

When I look back at the things I have done despite being afraid or unsure, I can’t help but feel impressed with myself—and that isn’t something women say often enough.

We are quick to catalogue where we fell short, what we should have handled differently and all the ways we remain unfinished. We are much less comfortable looking at our own lives and admitting, That was hard, and I did it anyway. Look at me go.

The Fossil Frontier weekend wasn’t the first time my work required me to become a beginner again.

When I worked at 1-800-GOT-JUNK?, I spent a week riding on junk trucks with the drivers. I watched how they worked, how they interacted with customers and how the brand showed up when no one from the marketing department was standing nearby. If I wanted to understand the customer experience, I had to step out from behind the strategy and see the business from inside the truck.

At Browns Restaurant Group, I spent a month in one of the training restaurants, working in nearly every position: prep, line cook, hostess, expo, bartender and server. My discomfort had nothing to do with thinking I was above those jobs. Quite the opposite: I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know how to do them. But the experience showed me how a restaurant truly operates and left me with enormous respect for the people who keep one running.

There is a particular vulnerability in being an experienced, capable person and deliberately placing yourself in a situation where you are neither. You have to ask basic questions, risk getting something wrong and allow people who know more than you to teach you. That is not always easy when you are accustomed to being the person with the answers.

Yet those experiences taught me more than I could have learned from a report, presentation or boardroom conversation. They allowed me to see behind the curtain—not only how something was designed, but how it was delivered and, most importantly, how it felt to the person on the receiving end.

That was also the privilege of Fossil Frontier.

I wasn’t simply a marketer evaluating a tourism product from a safe distance. I was a guest sleeping in the tent, eating the meals, walking the bonebed and listening to the stories. I noticed the moments that made me curious, uncertain, cold, impressed or completely captivated because I was living it for myself.

Was every part of the weekend comfortable? Absolutely not. I remain firmly committed to indoor plumbing, quality bedding and central heating. But I also met wonderful people, learned things I never would have encountered otherwise and gained a much better appreciation for what tourism operators ask of themselves when they create something new. They aren’t simply planning activities; they are inviting people into an experience and hoping the details, stories and moments come together in a way that stays with them.

Fear has a habit of making predictions on our behalf. It tells us we won’t cope, won’t belong or won’t enjoy ourselves, often before we have enough information to know whether any of that is true. If we listen without questioning it, we can miss opportunities that might challenge what we believe about the world—and about ourselves.

Sometimes our hesitation is justified. Not every risk needs to be taken, and discomfort does not automatically make something worthwhile. But there are also times when the thing we resist is exactly what opens us to something we would have missed had we said no.

Over the last ten years, and especially during the past year and a half, I have probably grown more than at any other point in my life. The difference is not that I have become fearless. It is that fear no longer gets to make every decision.

I used to think strength was measured by how well I handled the difficult things life handed me. Now I understand there is another kind of strength in choosing something unfamiliar because I trust myself to navigate whatever happens next.

I can do hard things. Apparently, I can even sleep in a tent. But let’s not get carried away. I still want the latte.