I Threw Axes, Threw Pots, and Chased a Wiffle Ball Around a Court — All in One Weekend

Let me set the scene: it was a Friday night, my kids were at their dad's for the weekend, and I was standing in my kitchen holding a glass of wine and absolutely zero plans. I could have done laundry. I could have meal-prepped. Instead, I opened my Notes app and typed three words: axe. pottery. pickleball.

I don't know where the impulse came from. Maybe I'd been scrolling too many "things to do in [your city]" lists. Maybe I was just tired of spending my rare free weekends catching up on chores and calling it self-care. Either way, by Saturday morning I had three bookings, a full tank of gas, and the slightly unhinged energy of a woman on a mission.

This is what happened.

Stop One: Axe Throwing (Saturday Morning)

I'll be honest — I booked axe throwing first because it felt the most ridiculous, and I figured if I chickened out, I'd do it on the activity I was least attached to. Spoiler: I did not chicken out.

Most axe-throwing venues in the US operate as walk-in or reservation-based experiences where a coach walks you through everything before you ever pick up a blade. Mine was a place called Bad Axe Throwing (yes, that's a real chain, and yes, the name is perfect). The coach spent about fifteen minutes on form — stance, grip, release point — and then basically just let us loose on the targets.

Here's what surprised me: I was terrible, and I loved it. There's something genuinely freeing about an activity where failure is loud, physical, and completely harmless. The axe clangs off the target and falls to the floor with a satisfying thud. No one judges you. You just pick it up and try again.

What it taught me about myself: I have a death grip on things I'm trying to control, and it's the exact wrong instinct. The coach kept telling me to let go earlier — the axe needs to release at a specific point in the arc or it won't rotate correctly. The more I tried to steer it, the worse my throws got. When I finally loosened my grip and trusted the momentum, the axe stuck. I'm not going to make that into a whole metaphor about motherhood, but... I'm also not not going to make it into a metaphor about motherhood.

Beginner-friendliness rating: 9/10. Coaching is built in, the learning curve is fast, and you'll feel competent within an hour. Cost is typically $25–$40 per person for a 90-minute session.

Stop Two: Pottery (Saturday Afternoon)

After axes, I drove across town to a local ceramics studio that offered drop-in wheel-throwing classes. I'd always romanticized pottery — blame the Ghost scene, blame Instagram aesthetics, blame the general cultural obsession with cottagecore — but I had never actually touched a pottery wheel in my life.

Friends, the pottery wheel is humbling.

My first lump of clay looked like a deflated volcano. My second attempt produced something my instructor diplomatically called "organically shaped." By my third try, I had a lopsided little bowl that was technically a bowl in the same way a parking lot puddle is technically a lake.

But here's the thing: I was completely absorbed. For two straight hours, I did not think about my to-do list, my kids' school schedules, or the weird noise my car has been making. The clay demands your full attention — temperature, pressure, water, speed — and your brain has no bandwidth left for anything else. It's accidental mindfulness, and it hit different.

What it taught me about myself: I am way too results-focused. I kept comparing my bowl to the instructor's demo piece instead of just enjoying the process of making something with my hands. The moment I stopped caring what the finished product looked like, the whole experience opened up.

Beginner-friendliness rating: 7/10. It takes a little longer to feel competent, and the mess factor is real (wear clothes you don't love). Drop-in wheel classes typically run $35–$60 and usually include clay and firing fees.

Stop Three: Pickleball (Sunday Morning)

I saved pickleball for Sunday because I assumed it would be the most "normal" of the three — just a smaller tennis court, right? Except I hadn't accounted for the fact that I have never played tennis, either.

I joined a beginner open play session at my local rec center, which cost exactly $5 and required zero prior skill. The regulars were a cheerful mix of retirees, thirty-somethings, and one extremely competitive twelve-year-old who I lost to immediately and without mercy.

Pickleball is genuinely, surprisingly fun. The court is small enough that you're always in the action, the paddle is lighter than a tennis racket, and the wiffle ball moves slowly enough that even a total beginner can make contact. Within twenty minutes I was rallying. Within an hour I was trash-talking (affectionately) and making plans to come back next week.

What it taught me about myself: I need more play in my life — not exercise, not "wellness," but actual play with other humans who are also just goofing around. There's a social warmth to pickleball that I wasn't expecting, and it scratched an itch I didn't know I had.

Beginner-friendliness rating: 10/10. Hands-down the most accessible of the three. Equipment can be borrowed or bought cheap ($30 for a starter paddle set on Amazon), and most rec centers and YMCAs offer open play for a few dollars.

So, What Stuck?

Pickleball. I've gone back three times since that weekend, and I've dragged two other moms along with me. But honestly? That's almost beside the point.

The real takeaway wasn't which hobby "won." It was the feeling of spending a weekend being a complete beginner at multiple things and surviving — actually thriving — inside that discomfort. I remembered that I'm a person with curiosity and range, not just a mom with a calendar full of other people's needs.

How to Plan Your Own Hobby Weekend (Without Overthinking It)

Ready to try your own version? Here's how to keep it low-stakes and budget-friendly:

• Set a cap. Decide upfront how much you're willing to spend total — I kept mine under $100 for all three activities by choosing rec center options and group sessions over private lessons.
• Pick activities that are at least a little random. The whole point is surprise. Let yourself choose something you'd normally scroll past.
• Go solo or bring one friend. Groups can add social pressure. One friend or no friend keeps the vibe exploratory rather than performative.
• Book in advance but keep expectations loose. You're not there to master anything. You're there to show up and see what happens.
• Debrief yourself afterward. Even just five minutes of journaling about what each activity stirred up is worth it. The self-discovery is the souvenir.

You don't need a free weekend to pull this off, either — even a single Saturday afternoon with two back-to-back drop-in classes counts. The bar is just: try something new. Everything else is bonus.

Now go find your own deflated volcano bowl moment. I promise it's worth it.