I’m going to let you in on something I haven’t told the missus. I had two surfs yesterday. First time in … shit … months, maybe half a year. And how was it? Fucking glorious. My nose wouldn’t stop dripping into my dinner afterwards and my mind and body were both absolutely rooted, but my soul felt good, and I can’t ask for more than that.

It’s funny, surfing twice a day is just something you do when you’re a grommet, without any thought as to what life would be like otherwise, but once you’re thrust headlong into adulthood, unless you’re a pro or someone who eschews all other pursuits in the name of surfing, then the two-sessions-in-one-day thing just slips away. Maybe not all at once, but with the gradual accumulation of responsibilities that comes with progress through life—work, a partner, a career, kids—you begin to realise it’s a struggle to fit in a few surfs a week, let alone two in one day. And that’s fine, you can live with that. Kids are great, money’s handy, love conquers all and at least you still get in the water, but the two surfs in one day days, aren’t they just the rarest and most precious commodity. Imagine, a whole day or the better part of it spent catching waves, achieving nothing, just smiling and talking shit with your fellow frolickers while on land the world continues its ceaseless whirring. Sounds like fiction. Sounds like something you might dream up in the eight hours of rest you get between being constantly busy.

And then somehow you find the time to do it and it’s fucking glorious. And afterwards, feeling exhausted and utterly satisfied, you ask yourself why don’t I do this more often? And, well, I guess that’s the whole point of this little meditation. Why don’t we do it more often? Maybe not so much that you start getting hauled into the office at work or your kids forget what you look like, but enough that when the waves are on and the opportunity presents itself you jump on it, not once but twice, and your soul feels better for it.

Just don’t tell the missus.