This morning I went surfing.

Now that wouldn't be such a big deal, except my hip has been so sore I haven't surfed since December, and I had a moment there where I thought I wouldn't surf again.

Am I in heaven?

I had recalibrated. Imagined my life without surfing. I'd been in the ocean every single day bar one all year, even post injection when I was meant to stay out. Surfers tend to ignore medical advice, or perhaps medical advice doesn't understand sometimes surfing is the cure not the problem. I saw an old boy paddle out yesterday with his cap on hiding the possible skin cancers he'd had cut out. 'Well, I'm gonna die anyway', he said. 'You don't care at 78'.

This year I've been counting my blessings so hard, and I haven't even had to try. I wasn't born in the Middle East. I wasn't born with a disability, or to abusive parents. I have never had an abusive relationship, a limb amputation, a cancer, or lose a ton of friends in a school shooting. I am so fucking lucky. Here I am living in a beautiful town that's safe (apart from an occasional shark, but even they leave us alone), in a solid marriage, with no debt, and I can swim in my beloved ocean all the time, and for the first time in my life, I've no desire to escape or run or move in a way that tries to fulfil some craving. I'm happy. Content, perhaps, is a better word. Content with a big smile on my face.

Last Saturday, I went surfing. I actually wanted to paddle out and just slide along on my gut, just to be out in the line up, the board underneath, the sting rays flying below. The water is deliciously warm right now so I've even been out just in bathers and a rash vest, not caring my middle age body is in full view, because look at my body, moving! How freaking great is that!

I got one 'slide' in and then I just popped up. The wave was fast enough to give me momentum to do so easily, and slow enough for me to take my time and think about how I moved my body. I was grinning like crazy. Jamie looked at me in utter suprise. He knows the journey I've been on, my lowest points, my struggle with pain.

Mid week swim - we've been swimming twice a day. It's proper addictive

And then again, last night, tiny waves, but oh so yummy, just floating, cruising, no one out but us, the occasional set coming through and again, the three waves.

This morning, the sun melting upward, the view through the rocks, the moon setting behind, bigger waves this time. The first two I kinda struggled to my feet - it was early, and maybe my hips were a little stiff. Two waves, and each time all the way through, so I had to get out and walk around, which was a miracle in itself, because I haven't been walking either. A good mate was out - she just turned 60, and has osteoarthritis and hashimotos, and she was hooting because she'd just got a ripper of a wave. I was a little bit down as I hadn't got a great wave yet, not one where I got up straight away and got all the way to the beach, but I told myelf that at least I was out there, and it didn't matter about performance - just that I was salty.

And then, a cracking wave, and I was up and flying, and I've got the Rolling Stones 'All Down the Line' in my head because I'm moving down the line of the wave, on the green face, grinning happily, Jamie grinning, my mate grinning.

Sensibly, I told myself I'd had enough - I hadn't, not really, but my body didn't need to be pushed - and got out on a high (sooo high!). Life is so, so good.

My local beach on a southerly - not surfable this day!

Sending some of this happiness out into the world, for people that need it, particularly to those caught up in this stupid fucking war. Funny how you can be happy and really sad at the same time. That's life I suppose.

I absolutely can't wait for sun up. I'm paddling out again, you bet. Baby, I'm baaaaaccck.