The Walk

• The Walk - When Reality Hijacks Your Plans

  This wasn’t the month I had in mind. Originally, I planned to be walking the windswept hills of Scotland on a writing retreat—journaling by candlelight, breathing in crisp air, and letting new stories rise up from silence and solitude. Instead, I’ve been home. At my desk. Every day. With the soundtrack of jackhammers and construction noise just outside my window. Not quite the peaceful pilgrimage I had hoped for. But here’s the strange thing. Sitting in the noise, the chaos, the disruption... I started to realize something important. This tension between what I long for and what’s actually happening? That’s the very heart of what I’ve been writing about. In my new novel—a prequel to my Story Mages saga—a young man sets out to save the people he loves. His parents have been abducted. The girl he cares about is dying. Everything in him screams to act. But before he can begin his quest, he meets a monk who tells him: yes, you’re right... but first, you must wait. You must spend forty days in fasting and prayer before you are ready. That moment—of being asked to pause when everything in you wants to run—is one I know far too well. So much of my anxiety, I’ve come to see, isn’t caused by what’s happening. It’s caused by the feeling that I’ve lost control over what should be happening. And the harder I try to hold on to my original plan, the more everything slips through my fingers. It’s frustrating. It’s humbling. And strangely enough, it’s healing. Because when I stop trying to force things, and just start telling the story, something shifts. I stop thinking in terms of outcomes, success, income, approval. I start writing from a place of joy. Of trust. Of surrender. And that’s when the magic happens. So no, this isn’t the month I envisioned. But maybe it’s the month I needed.

  --------  

  59:22

  --------

  59:22
• The Walk - I Finally Found the Root Cause (It Wasn’t What I Thought)

  This week, I finally found the source of the fruit flies in my house. Not in the compost bin. Not in the trash. But in a forgotten box in the pantry—above eye level—where a collection of rotting onions had turned into a buzzing fruit fly festival. It was gross. But also kind of poetic. Because I realized: those annoying flies were just symptoms. The real problem was hidden, out of sight, slowly decomposing. And that's exactly how I've been feeling lately—mentally flustered, physically drained, and emotionally stretched. Turns out, my life has a few metaphorical onions too. I’ve been pushing through fatigue, ignoring signs of overwhelm, blaming my screen time or workload—but the deeper issue? Likely a combination of ADHD, burnout, and my tendency to go full throttle until I crash. Here's what helped me start untangling it: Ask questions instead of assigning blame. My new physician doesn't rush to prescribe—she listens, asks, investigates. I’m trying to do the same with myself. Track the symptoms. A flushed face, skipped meals, screen binging—these aren’t flaws, they’re clues. Find the calming trifecta: Nature (my daily walks in the woods) Technology boundaries (with a little help from the ScreenZen app) Creativity (drawing, especially during Inktober, brings me back to earth) Most importantly, I’m learning that procrastination and distraction aren’t moral failings—they’re signals. If I want to clear the fruit flies from my brain, I’ve got to deal with the onions first.

  --------  

  1:01:02

  --------

  1:01:02
• The Walk - Plot Twists We Don’t See Coming

  I almost gave up on the story I was trying to write. I was tired. Mentally drained. Behind on my Inktober streak. And the word of the day—button—felt like it had zero story potential. What was I supposed to do? Write a gripping epic about haberdashery? But I’ve learned something over the years: creativity often asks for trust. Not confidence. Not brilliance. Just the simple willingness to begin. So I did. I started a story about a woman and her favorite vest. One of the buttons is missing, and she goes searching for it. At first, it felt pointless—even to me. But then something shifted. The journey took her to a remote, abandoned factory in northern China (don’t ask why), and somehow everything clicked into place. The supernatural showed up. The heart of the story emerged. And it all made sense. This week marked 29 years since my ordination as a priest. I almost forgot the date—again. But that moment, along with the story of the button, made me reflect on the twists and turns of life. There are so many moments when it all feels pointless. When things don’t go according to plan. When our dreams shift. Or fade. Or feel too big. Or too small. But here's what I’ve learned—whether you're writing a story or living one: You won't always know where it's going. You won't always feel inspired. You will be tempted to quit. But if you keep going, even with tired feet and half a map, you might find yourself in exactly the right place.

  --------  

  47:31

  --------

  47:31
• The Walk - When Noise Is a Nudge

  The roundabout outside my window is a construction zone again. Saws scream, bikes whiz by, even the cemetery mower joins the chorus. I catch myself tensing up—and that’s my tell. When every sound feels invasive, I’m not just annoyed. I’m overwhelmed. Last weekend didn’t help: hours of travel, a full day at a fantasy event, and then the social hangover. Good conversations, yes—but I’m still paying the energy bill midweek. Old me would have powered through, stacked on more goals, and crashed later. This time I’m choosing differently. I’m leaning on a few non-negotiables that calm my nervous system and keep creativity alive: A daily walk in the woods (often “working,” but always restorative). An hour of drawing after dinner—rough, imperfect, public. Progress over polish. A simple email triage (star what’s actionable, archive the rest) so my brain can breathe. Around that, I’m practicing the harder thing: boundaries. I love helping with community projects and church events, but when every month fills with other people’s priorities, my own mission—writing—shrinks. This episode is me saying it out loud and choosing a course correction: a two-week writing retreat instead of more “shoulds.” If you’ve been there—torn between what’s urgent and what you know you’re called to do—this one’s for you. I talk about reframing regret (“Next time I will…”), resisting the perfection trap, and making decisions ahead of temptation (from snacks to screen time to schedule). It’s not heroic. It’s hygiene. Creative hygiene. Hit play to hear the full story, plus the moment I finally decide—and why a loud roundabout might be exactly the nudge I needed.

  --------  

  54:47

  --------

  54:47
• The Walk - Why I’m Letting Go of “Doing It All”

  Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about change—and how it sneaks up on us. It started when I looked out my window and noticed something was missing: the hedge that used to block my view is gone. Now, I can see the road, the roundabout construction, and a little more of the world. That simple shift made me reflect on how much has changed since I moved into this house, and even more since the parish built it in the 1950s. Time has transformed the view, the village, and me. The walls are the same, but everything else has grown, aged, softened. These days, I’m trying to slow down and listen more closely to what I’m really called to do. I’ve cut back on some things—podcasts about gadgets and movies, weekly live classes—and leaned into what truly gives me peace: writing. Every morning I wake up, journal, reflect, and ask: “Am I still on course?” That question, simple as it is, helps me make sense of all the noise. I’ve realized something else too: I no longer want to do everything. I just want to do the things that matter most. Writing stories. Walking in the woods. Celebrating Mass. Talking to real people, not just timelines and algorithms. These small habits—walking, writing, reflecting—feel like my real vocation now. This week on the podcast, I talk about all of this. About how change isn't always dramatic—sometimes it's just a missing hedge, or a conversation with an old friend that reminds you who you are. And about how I’m slowly finding my pace again, chapter by chapter, story by story.

  --------  

  57:07

  --------

  57:07

Meer Onderwijs podcasts

Trending Onderwijs -podcasts

Over The Walk

The Walk: Podcasts in familie