Back in July, I decided to break out of my usual routine—work, gym, bar, repeat—and sign up for a recreational adult kickball league. I didn’t know anyone, and the idea of showing up alone gave me serious middle-school-lunchroom flashbacks. But I did it anyway.
The field was just a five-minute walk from my place in Brooklyn, and that first day, I was buzzing with nerves. I walked up and was like, “Hi… I think I’m on this team?” But here’s the thing: most of the people there didn’t know anyone either. We were all free agents—just adults trying to make new friends and maybe relive a little playground glory.
And it was so fun. I forgot how good it feels to just run around in grass. Like, when’s the last time as an adult you’ve sprinted barefoot-ish, screamed “I got it!”, and cheered for strangers? Kickball became this little pocket of joy in my week. Yes, there were beers after games, but for once, the drinks weren’t the main event. Moving my body, laughing on the field, and being outside in the summer sun—that was the real win.
What surprised me most, though, were the friendships that came from it. I’ve been to birthday parties, group hangs, and late-night chats with people I never would’ve met otherwise. Some are younger than me, some are total opposites, but it just works. And it reminded me: not all community is built in bars, work, or college. Sometimes it starts with a goofy team name and a kickball schedule.
From kickball, I got roped into a recreational volleyball league in Long Island City. I’d never played a full game before and, let’s be clear, I was bad. Like, I-hope-the-ball-doesn’t-come-my-way bad. But I showed up anyway—an hour and a half commute, sand in my shoes, and all. The fun was in the trying. In stretching myself. In laughing with new people and getting out of my bubble, even when I wasn’t great at it.
And then there’s pool. My guy friends are total pool heads—league members, bar sharks, the whole thing. I never really played. But for Christmas, my mom bought me pool lessons at this cool venue in Williamsburg (yes, I’m a grown woman getting pool lessons for Christmas, and yes, it was perfect). I was terrible. The worst one there. Like, by a lot. And it sucked! I didn’t want to go back after the first class. But I did. And then again. And now? I’m playing all the time.
Just this past Thursday, I played for four hours with my guy friends. They’re super supportive—helping me line up shots, teaching me angles, hyping me up. We usually end up playing against strangers, and occasionally someone from the other team gets a little flirty. Sometimes it's harmless, sometimes it's eye-roll-y—but mostly it just reminds me how social these games can be. And while we wait for our turn, we chat—Where are you from? What do you do for work? It’s those little in-between moments that make you feel more connected, even in a city as big as this one.
What I’ve learned is this: putting yourself out there doesn’t always have to be about alcohol or the pressure of being “on.” It can be about playing. About sweating. About laughing. About trying something new and totally sucking at it—and showing up anyway.
Especially in a city like New York, where everyone’s busy and in their own world, activities like these are such underrated ways to connect. They take the edge off socializing. They give you a shared goal, a reason to show up, and space to surprise yourself.
I didn’t just join a kickball team. I joined a whole new version of myself—one that’s open, curious, and not afraid to look a little ridiculous.
