The Resolution That Takes You Places: Lean into Discomfort, Travel, and Grow Together

What do New Year's resolutions and an airport have in common? You cannot “think” your way to the destination. Eventually, you have to board.

I am guessing that you are a lot like me; our New Year’s resolutions sound great in the safety of January. Drink more water. Lose 10 pounds. Walk more steps. Don’t get me wrong, those are good goals, but those resolutions that change you, really, really change you, are rarely comfortable.

That’s why travel has been added to my resolution list this year. Travel expands your mind because it interrupts our autopilot. It widens our view of the world because it lets us witness other ways of living, working, celebrating, and connecting. And it helps you grow because it gently trains us to adapt, to ask, to listen, and to keep moving forward even when we are not in control. Give yourself that gift. And if you are lucky enough to share it, give it to your grandkids, too.

In my younger days, I read about a place, watched videos, and even scrolled through photos for hours, dreaming. But what I learned is that nothing replaces the moment you step onto unfamiliar streets and realize your usual “rules” are not the only way to live. On my recent trip to Romania, that truth landed in a way I did not expect. Our guide shared his journey from a life shaped by communism that was rampant in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. He spoke about what it felt like to watch your words, to live with limits that were normal to him but hard for me to imagine, and to carry a quiet heaviness that came from not having the choices many of us take for granted. As he talked, I kept thinking about how, in our small part of the world, we were appreciating and enjoying freedoms without always realizing how rare and precious they are. In that moment, travel stopped being just a change of scenery and became a change of perspective, the kind that makes you more grateful, more aware, and more determined not to waste the opportunities you have.

I am here to say that discomfort gets a bad reputation. We treat it like a warning sign that something is wrong. But in many cases, discomfort is simply evidence that you are learning. It is the feeling of your brain trying to map new territory. It is the moment you realize you have to ask for help, adapt your plan, or stay curious instead of being in control. That is not a flaw. That is the point.

Travel creates gentle, manageable discomfort that strengthens you. In this recent trip, we were faced with signs in Serbian, talk about not knowing the language! Or you might need to navigate a train station requiring a different currency than you expected. Maybe you might order a meal without being fully sure what will arrive. None of these situations is an emergency, but they are invitations. They teach us to observe, to ask, to listen, to laugh at ourselves, and to keep going.

When you lean into discomfort, you build a skill set that follows you home. You become more patient with the unexpected. You become more flexible when plans change. You become more confident in your ability to figure things out. This is the kind of confidence that does not come from knowing everything. It comes from trusting yourself to learn as you go.

That shift is a gift, especially in a time when the world can feel loud, divided, and tense. Travel reminds us that most people are trying to do the same basic things: care for family, earn a living, find joy, make meaning, and feel safe. The details differ. The heartbeat is shared.

Now add grandchildren to this picture, and the impact multiplies.

If you want to give your grandkids something that lasts, give them experiences that shape how they think, not just what they own. When you travel with grandkids, you are not only making memories, you are teaching them how to meet the world. You are showing them that new places are not to be feared, but to be respected and explored. You are giving them a living lesson in curiosity.

Travel with grandkids does not have to be expensive or complicated to be transformative. A road trip to a small town with a museum. A weekend in a city where they hear a different language at the market. A ferry ride to an island. A national park where the night sky looks like a different planet. These moments become anchors. Years later, a grandchild might not remember every detail, but they will remember how it felt to discover something new with you by their side.

So how do you turn “lean into discomfort and travel” into a New Year’s resolution that actually happens?

Start small but start on purpose. Choose a trip that stretches you just enough. Maybe it is a destination where you cannot rely on your usual habits. Maybe it is traveling by train instead of a car. Maybe it is going somewhere you have always wanted to go but kept postponing because it felt inconvenient. Discomfort does not require danger. It requires intention.

Make a discomfort list before you make a packing list. Write down three things you usually avoid while traveling, then choose one to practice. Maybe you avoid asking strangers for help. Maybe you avoid unfamiliar food. Maybe you avoid itineraries without a backup plan. Pick one and treat it like the real goal of the trip.

Invite your grandkids into the process. Let them help choose one activity. Let them learn a few words in the local language if you are traveling internationally. Let them be the navigator for a portion of the day with a map. When kids feel ownership, they engage more deeply, and their confidence grows alongside yours.

A New Year is not only a chance to improve habits. It is a chance to enlarge your life. Travel does that. It expands your mind, widens your view, and strengthens your ability to grow through discomfort instead of avoiding it.

Join me and give this gift to yourself. Then, if you can, share it with your grandkids. The suitcase will eventually get unpacked. The souvenirs will fade into drawers. But the courage, curiosity, and connection you build on the road will stay with all of you long after the calendar turns again.

And I am not just writing this as advice. In my own commitment to leaning into discomfort, I will be heading to India this January, ready to learn, listen, and let the world stretch me in all the best ways.

New Year’s and airports have the same energy: big hopes, tight timelines, and that one moment where you wonder why you thought this was a good idea. When that moment shows up, do not treat it like a stop sign. Treat it like proof you are on the edge of something that will grow you. That is usually the exact second the real trip, and the real change, begins.