What started as an experiment and hobby for a good friend of mine started to make sense to me. He calls it "Wim Hoffing" (after the Dutch professional adventurer, Wim Hof, who popularised the breathing technique and cold water immersion in the West), but it is called by other names in different cultures.
He hands me a half smoked cigarette with calloused, brown hands. Some glowing embers fall out of the shabby roll and onto the weathered wood as his eyes wander off the edge of the once blue-painted pier, drifting over the white-capped expanse before us.
It started as just 2 or 3 sentences a day. Intentionally. I knew that if I decided to write a whole page a day, that I would write a handful of days in a row, and then the habit would slowly disappear, along with my good intentions. I had read and heard of the many great benefits associated with keeping a journal, yet I had my doubts. How could writing about my today improve my tomorrow?
This is my second attempt at writing a blog. The first one died a few years back, as did many of my good intentions for it. That being said, I feel like I have a lot more to write about right now, and have been blessed with a plethora of experiences and new and interesting friendships since then.