Rediscovering Joy in the Chaos: Why a Rookie Floorball Match Was My Best Therapy
There’s something profoundly liberating about doing something you’re terrible at—especially when you’re a grown-up. I recently experienced this firsthand during my first floorball match, a sport I’d only ever watched my daughter play. Floorball, for the uninitiated, is like hockey’s indoor cousin, played on a court surrounded by knee-high boards that turn the game into a chaotic pinball machine. It’s fast, it’s furious, and it’s utterly unforgiving for beginners. But here’s the kicker: it was exactly what I needed.
The Spark of Envy in the School Car Park
Watching my daughter’s matches, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Those 10-year-olds, with their brightly colored sticks and swishing ponytails, were having the time of their lives. Meanwhile, I was a working mother of three, trapped in a Sisyphean cycle of lunchboxes, laundry, and bedtime routines that felt endless. My days were a blur of Vegemite-stained trousers, work deadlines, and the occasional vomit-induced daycare pickup. Fun? I hadn’t had a genuine moment of it in years.
What struck me most was how easily we adults forget the value of play. We’re so busy accounting for every minute, optimizing productivity, and ticking off to-do lists that we lose sight of joy for joy’s sake. Floorball, with its apparent pointlessness, became my rebellion against this mindset.
Assembling a Team of Rookies
I decided to take matters into my own hands. I recruited fellow mothers in the school car park, cajoled colleagues during office teas, and even chased a friend off a bus after she mentioned playing hockey as a child. The result? A ragtag team of seven women, most of whom had never held a floorball stick in their lives.
Our debut match was a spectacle. We showed up at a local primary school in Perth, sticks in hand (barely), with pyjama-clad children in tow. The other team looked like seasoned athletes; we looked like we’d just rolled out of bed. But here’s the thing: we didn’t care. For the first time in years, I wasn’t worried about being perfect. I was just there to play.
The Beautiful Mess of Being a Beginner
The game itself was a disaster—and I mean that in the best possible way. We had no strategy, no ball-handling skills, and no clue what we were doing. We were like a pack of overeager labradors, tripping over our own feet and accidentally stealing the ball from our teammates. At one point, I swung so hard I missed the ball entirely. Another time, our goalie leapt over it and scored for the opposing team.
But amidst the chaos, something remarkable happened. I remembered I had a body. For 35 minutes, my mind was free from the constant hum of anxiety—no thoughts about climate change, interest rates, or microplastics. Just the burn in my legs, the ache in my arms, and the thudding of my heart. It was pure, unadulterated presence.
The Pointlessness of It All
We lost that match 16-1. The other team applauded when we scored our single goal. And yet, I’ve never felt more radiant. There’s a photo from that day where our faces are flushed, our hair is sweaty, and our smiles are impossibly wide. We looked like women who had remembered how to have fun.
This experience made me realize something profound: team sports aren’t about winning or losing. They’re about connection, release, and the joy of doing something simply because it feels good. In a world that constantly demands productivity, floorball became my act of defiance.
The Hidden Gift of Play
What many people don’t realize is that play isn’t just for kids. It’s a form of self-care, a way to reconnect with ourselves and others. As adults, we’re conditioned to believe that every activity must have a purpose, a goal, or a measurable outcome. But what if the pointlessness of an activity is what makes it so powerful?
Personally, I think we’ve lost touch with the art of doing things just for the hell of it. Floorball taught me that it’s okay—no, necessary—to carve out time for joy, even if it means looking like a fool in the process.
A New Kind of Productivity
Since that first match, our team has continued to play once a week. We’re still at the bottom of the ladder, and we rarely train together. But that’s not the point. Some evenings, I sneak outside to practice hitting the ball, and through the double-glazed windows, I see my children arguing in the kitchen. The crickets trill, the cockatoos screech, and for a moment, everything feels right.
If you take a step back and think about it, play isn’t the opposite of productivity—it’s a different kind of productivity. It’s the kind that nourishes your soul, not your to-do list. And in a world that’s constantly pulling us in a million directions, that might just be the most revolutionary act of all.
Final Thoughts
As I look back on that first match, I’m reminded of how much we gain when we let go of perfection and embrace the messiness of being human. Floorball didn’t just teach me how to play a new sport; it taught me how to live again. So, here’s my challenge to you: find your own version of floorball. Do something pointless, something silly, something that makes you feel alive. Because in the end, isn’t that what life’s all about?
