I have a confession to make: a few weeks ago, I played pickleball for the first time…and I liked it.

I didn’t arrive with a particularly generous attitude. I had quietly dismissed pickleball as “not really a sport”—something invented for people who still love competition but would rather not be diving across a court to prove it.

My first moments didn’t help. I walked up to a group of three, hoping to make it four, and introduced myself as a first-timer. They said no—and then, in the same breath, waved over someone else who had just walked in.

I’m competitive by nature, and I can usually hold my own in anything involving a racket. So that initial rebuff landed. Suddenly I wasn’t just there to try something new; I was there to prove that I belonged.

Fortunately, the next group needing a fourth was more welcoming. And here’s the thing: my determination to prove myself turned out to be unnecessary.

As luck would have it, my partner was a terrific teacher.

He explained a few basic rules before we started, coached my positioning in real time, and offered small corrections as the game unfolded—just enough guidance to keep me learning without feeling self-conscious. He played with me several more times, deepening his feedback as I improved.

As I rotated into other games, I met more people who were equally generous—quick with encouragement, honest with advice, and clearly invested in helping newcomers find their footing. By the end of the session, I could hang well enough with just about anyone there.

What surprised me most wasn’t that I enjoyed pickleball.

It was how good it felt to be a beginner again.

Somewhere along the way that day, I made a quiet decision to adopt a different mindset.

Instead of trying to perform my way into belonging, I let myself be taught. I leaned into inexperience. I accepted coaching from people I had—if I’m being honest—prejudged.

On the walk home, I found myself talking less about the games and more about the feeling: the relief of not needing to prove anything, and the simple pleasure of getting better because someone else was willing to help you.

It was a useful personal reminder of what lifelong learning actually looks like—not as an aspiration, but as a posture: curious, humble, and open to being shaped.

In schools, it can be easy to lose sight of this posture I recently re-discovered through pickleball.

In schools, students quickly learn that they are being evaluated—through grades, comments, and comparisons. Over time, that awareness can shift their focus from learning to performing. The question becomes less: What am I discovering? and more: How am I doing?

And when that happens, something essential is at risk.

Because real learning—the kind that lasts—requires a willingness to:

It requires, in other words, the willingness to be a beginner.

Curiosity as a starting point: As Albert Einstein once put it, “I have no special talents, I am just passionately curious.” Curiosity drives us to acquire new knowledge and skills. It sparks exploration and creativity, leading to innovation. It helps us connect with others and gain perspective.”

And yet, too often, schooling unintentionally suppresses this—through overemphasis on standardized outcomes or a one-size-fits-all approach to learning. If curiosity is what drives learning, then a teacher’s task is not simply to deliver content, but to nurture the desire to explore, question, and understand. 

In addition to encouraging our teachers to create discipline-specific environments where students don’t feel they need to prove themselves but rather demonstrate curiosity, openness, an acceptance that learning means making mistakes, and an interest in working collaboratively, we have put a lot of effort into our Arts Across the Curriculum program. 

We have done this in part because it reliably promotes this beginners mindset.  Every year, teachers of every subject have the opportunity to take their students through an art-focused experience. Examples have included Watershed Batiks in Grade 7 Science, Ink Making (from natural materials) in Grade 10 Chemistry, and Self-Portraits in Grade 8 English. What’s relevant here is that while a class may have been tracking fairly predictably with expected assignments and therefore expected outcomes for any particular student, throwing in an arts unit changes all dynamics and asks for everyone (even the teacher who often participates) to be a beginner in whatever the creative project entails.

Looking back, what stayed with me most from that afternoon of pickleball was not the game itself, but the reminders it offered.

Learning begins when we let go of the need to prove ourselves.

It deepens when we allow others to help us.

And it sustains itself when we remain curious—willing to ask questions, take risks, and begin again.