Commentary: How pickleball taught me to stop saying sorry and learn to have fun
“Find some calm, Kate,” my pickleball coach, Roland, cajoled me from across the court a few months ago. He thwacked another neon-green ball in my direction. “Do less.”
“But I am not a calm person!” I shouted back, a complete understatement. I am a tightly wound, neurodivergent, people-pleasing extrovert who lives in fear of making mistakes. I’m stressed about work, my kids, family, finances — and sending packages back to Old Navy before the return window closes. I do not enjoy being bad at something,
