Most nights, when my son is at my house, we play between one to three “street pickleball” games before dinner. We live in a lovingly congested neighborhood where kids, pets, and adults still make space for one another.

We don’t set up a net; our equipment came from Dollar Tree, but we both get pretty into it. Zara likes to watch from the living room’s big picture window, and more than once, we’ve given neighbors, dog walkers, and other passer-byers a fairly decent show.

A few weeks ago, after Briggs started a pickleball unit in gym class, we asked the kids next door for a piece of chalk to outline an “official” court. They obliged, and Briggs and I confirmed the dimensions with old man Google, mapped them out with the appropriate number of steps, and put the chalk to the pavement.

Then we played.

I won that best-of-three series, but neither of us got our typical dopamine rush from going after long shot balls (which on an official court were 100% out) or sprinting after the tiniest pop of a return (which absolutely would not make it over a net).

On our way into the house, I told him:

“Even though I’ll take the W, I think I like it better when we just guess on the boundaries and don’t play on an actual court.”

He responded:

“I would rather take the W, but you’re not wrong.”

The next time we played, Briggs mentioned that he learned in gym class that scoring only happens when you serve, so we decided to apply that official rule and return to eyeballing the boundaries.

This time, the game time doubled (which we loved), and the dopamine rush returned (which we really loved).

By the end, we were both sweaty, happy, and satisfied—Briggs because he earned the W, and I was struck by the benefits of changing, bending, and even abandoning the rules.

At other times in my life, I can imagine myself experiencing this moment and taking it as a sign from the universe to break the chalk, eff the boundaries, and have more fun doing most (if not all) things the way I want.

I think time changes things, mainly how I think.

Because this time, the lesson felt far more specific:

Pay attention. Know when you’re playing street pickleball with the human you grew, and the goal is staying connected now that he’s out here living. Know when the rules don’t matter. Know when the game isn’t what you’re playing. And know when they do, and it is.

Also, have more fun.