I’m the worst pickleball player. Who cares?

I know. I know. Some of you think it’s not even a real sport. Does it matter? I’m one of 48 million people in the U.S. trying to play it, and let me tell you...I’m really bad.

My serve is as likely to go into the rafters or on someone else’s court before it accidentally lands somewhere close to where it’s supposed to. The score? No clue. I constantly have to ask someone else. It’s probably because I don’t care what the score is. (My husband says this is ridiculous and also totally opposite of my competitive nature in all other things.) 

Am I taking lessons? Sure. I don’t know if they are really working. For those of you who are actually ranked pickleball players, don’t worry. It’s unlikely I will ever grace your court. I may never get beyond beginner.

Still, I love it. I love running around and just hitting something…hopefully the ball.

Two hours of frantic swings and misses, with an occasional brilliant swat, is about where I’m at.  Apologies to all who find themselves on a court with me, but, it just makes me happy.

I don’t have to worry about perfection. I don’t have to say I’m sorry (well, I just did anyway). I’m just playing. Something about this reminds me of four-square in the play yard when I was a kid. Another game I was bad at but loved to play anyway. 

There are so few things in life where we can truly play and not worry about the consequences (though if I don’t improve soon, I may have fewer people who will agree to be my partner. Yep, that might happen.)

I’m convinced that being willing to be bad at something or trying to learn something completely out of your wheelhouse is so mentally liberating and fun...well, fun for me! I’m, of course, familiar with all the studies on the value of doing new things: growth mindset, resilience, brain function, and getting outside your comfort zone. But I am definitely getting some endorphin and dopamine hits too because I know I’m running around the court with a silly smile on my face.  (So, you don’t want to play with me if you are really serious about “the sport.") 

My husband will ask me, sometimes, when I come home, “Did you win?” “Hahahahahaha. No. I did not win.”