This summer I finally learned how to body surf. That feeling. The thrill of what your body can do, its latent power. Flying through fizzing water, skimming the hard, silky surface of the ocean, tumbled with salt up your nose and hair everywhere. That feeling of joy, when it’s just your body and the ocean and you’re kicking on the cusp of it and then you’re there, inside these big loving arms with a rush of endorphins like a train coming.
I’ve been listening to a lot of Beyoncé’s new album and that was summer: body surfing and Beyoncé and my injured knee recovering enough for me to run again. And this line: Goddamnit I’m comfortable in my skin. Because we’re not meant to be, billion dollar industries are built around us not being comfortable in our skin.
And then you’re sunburnt and salt slicked and walking back to the car in your bikini and you look in a mirrored window and your thighs are wobbling and it just doesn’t matter, because they deliver so much happiness, and they can slice through the ocean and they can run 10ks and ignore the lactic acid and the blisters. God knows the last thing I want to write is yet another body image story, because we all know that models are photoshopped and big is beautiful, because we’re all trying to love our bodies in world where self hate and insecurity are normalised.
But goddamnit, I do love my body. I love what it does and how it feels, and that day I loved they way my thighs wobbled and the way the warm wind through the window felt on my skin as we drove home, the way we sang at the the top of our lungs the whole way. Beyoncé, of course: