I went to Durban, on the Indian Ocean, for Easter break. I went for, among other reasons, surfing. I thought I wanted to simply be in the water but after a week of that I realized what I really wanted. I had to prove to myself that I could still surf well.
I began on a borrowed '80s Town and Country mini-thruster. It was bright pink. I deserved to be on a pink board at that point. But after about a week I felt graduated and the owner of the hostel I stayed at, Rudy, brought out a creased 5'10" Nev shortboard that a previous traveller had discarded. Together we fixed it up. I was ready for this manlier board, though appropriately it still had a few pink stars spray-painted on the bottom. I was being weened. Losing the pink slowly but surely. It was on this Nev that I finally did some things that proved my potential to myself.
First came the frontside floater. Next was a backside foam climb, and a near vertical one I might add. Then the turns: two decent backside snaps in steep beachbreak pockets. I finally felt like I was controlling my surfboard instead of the other way around. I also felt like I could catch any wave I wanted. My paddle arms were returning. I had done what hoped I could. I wasn't surfing well, but I knew inside at that point that I could if I wanted to, if I stayed for a few more weeks. That was all I needed.
And that was where my motivation to get into the water even on the blown out afternoons dwindled. I surfed only one more time after that session, before making my way back inland.
Note: I've always thought that surfers ruminating about surfing sounded silly. I still do. But I don't consider myself a surfer these days, and somehow I figure that gives me license to ponder the subject (without sounding silly, of course).