She was furious. Most people would have thought that she just sought the adventure, but the truth was that she was savage. She surfed over the waves with a rage that almost felt inhuman.
It began a few years ago when things got out of hands at work and frustration built up inside her with nowhere to go. Others took out their aggressiveness on punch bags, but she didn't believe in using violence; even less since she read that you don't empty yourself of hostilities but encourage the anger by hitting it. So she learned how to surf.
Little did she then reflect that surfing for her was the same thing as punch bags for others. It was not what you physically did to expel the wrath that mattered; it was what you did mentally that made the difference. Nowadays there were no pleasant thoughts for her. She never stepped on the surf board with the idea to let go. Instead she hung on to the frustration as hard as she hold the handle of the sail.
And so she built her own trauma. She no longer knew how to be happy. All there was left was a burning fury inside her; a fury that made her surf like an unstoppable madman.
One day she fell into the water and got knocked by her own board, the sail keeping her under water. Then she found what she had been missing, and she finally relaxed.