Coaching Hockey Broke My Comfort Zone (and My Pen)
I had never thrown anything at a youth sporting event before, at least not until this season as the coach of a U10 House League hockey team.
That streak ended a few weeks ago when I shattered a pen in frustration behind the bench. I had words with the referee, who promptly told me to “knock it off” and that he’d “heard enough from me.”
For a brief moment, I thought I might actually get ejected from a U10 hockey game.
In my defence, the calls were one-sided, and we were in a tight semi-final game. One more penalty might’ve ended our season—and it nearly did. So no, I don’t regret smashing the pen.
I cared deeply in that moment. Still do. And probably will for a long time.
Zooming out for a moment…
We’ve got four kids, all active in community stuff—hockey, dance, soccer, football, camps. Because of that, I’ve always resisted getting too involved with any one team. The story I’ve told myself (and others) is that coaching or volunteering would be too much. But if I’m honest, that’s only part of it.
The other part is that sitting in the stands, coffee in hand, cheering them on, is my comfort zone.
I’ve always been a capable athlete, but never at an elite level. So the idea of coaching felt like something better left to others—people with more experience, and more confidence in how to develop a team. Not for me.
This year, however, the league needed coaches, and after a few nudges from the convenor, I reluctantly said yes.
I was matched with a couple of other parent coaches (thanks, Tom and Andrew), and we started figuring it out together.
Now that I was signed up, I decided I was going to do it. All in.
Andrew, Tom and I had a preseason meeting. I took the coaching courses. And I started to get excited… until our first 8 a.m. Sunday practice.
I stumbled through giving instructions and felt self-conscious about what the parents must be thinking in the stands. The kids didn’t listen and skated around the ice aimlessly. It wasn’t pretty.
If I’m honest, I was more intimidated by a group of 9-year-olds than I’ve ever been leading a team of adults at work.
But… week by week, things got better.
Slowly, we realized it wasn’t really about the right drills or the best pre-game pep talk. It was a lot more about the connection the players had with one another. When the kids knew each other’s names—when they felt like part of something—they played better. They tried harder. They had more fun. And so did we.
Personally, I stopped worrying about saying the right thing or planning the perfect practice, and I settled into my role as a coach. The dressing room got louder. Practices got smoother. The games got tighter. And bit by bit, we became a team. I started to care deeply about each player, their families, and what we were building together. And when someone tried to step in our way, I became defensive of that. Hence: the pen. Still don’t regret it.
We wound up having a great season. And on the way home from our last game, my son (who played on the team) looked at me and said,
“Dad... you’re not just my dad. You’re my coach. And that’s really cool. Because you’re the best coach I’ve ever had.”
Mic (or pen) drop.
That alone made the whole thing worth it.
A thoughtful thank you gift I received from the parents at the end of the season.
THE REAL LESSONS
This might sound like a hockey story, but it’s really about three lessons I wish I’d learned sooner:
1. Comfort zones can turn into autopilot.
There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable, but I’ve learned that I need to be careful when that becomes the default. It’s easy to coast through a week—or a hockey season—on autopilot, which is what being in a comfort zone can become.
2. Listen to that inner nudge.
I’ve felt this pull to coach for years, but I kept ignoring it. I’d tell myself I was too busy or couldn’t commit. But really, I was scared, and didn’t want to push myself out of my comfort zone. Now I wish I’d paid attention to that voice sooner.
3. Don’t half-ass the leap.
I've dabbled in volunteer experiences before with one foot in, one foot out. Those experiences never stick. This time, I showed up with intention—and had great people who were all in for those awkward and scary moments. There was some real pain as we figured out what coaching really meant, but we stuck with it, and we found our rhythm.
Becoming a coach turned out to be one of the most meaningful things I’ve done and that has nothing to do with how many games we won. It was because of the coaches, parents, and players I got to know, see grow, and connect with.
And because of the impact it had on my son—how he sees his dad, and how that might shape the kind of person he wants to be.
I almost missed all of that because I wanted to stay in my comfort zone. I’m glad I didn’t and I’ll be looking for the next opportunity to step outside it soon.
I hope you do too.
“Our aversion to risk which was once necessary, no longer is. Those same survival instincts that once kept us alive can be the very thing that actually keeps us from living!”