It’s been 100 days.
One hundred days since the white smoke rose over the Vatican and Pope Leo stepped onto the balcony as the first American pope.
And also—one hundred days since I started walking every single day and telling stories.
At first, it was just a fun idea: write a tiny story inspired by that seagull chick we saw during the conclave livestream. But something shifted. What began as a small creative spark turned into a daily ritual that changed my life.
Since then:
I’ve written 77 short stories.
I’ve drafted two entire books.
I’ve walked through woods, fields, cities, rain, and heatwaves.
I’ve preached sermons that feel more alive than ever.
And I’ve finally started to feel... grounded.
There’s something about walking that changes the way I think. It slows me down. It clears the noise. And it connects me—both to the world around me and the one within. When I run, I track my speed and heart rate. When I walk, I notice butterflies, sunflowers, gravel paths, ancient stories, and the voice of God.
Sometimes the walk leads to a homily. Sometimes to a podcast. Sometimes it becomes a story or an insight at 5:30 in the morning that I have to record before I can go back to sleep.
Other times, it’s just quiet. But never empty.
The past 100 days reminded me that I’m not here to run. I’m here to dwell. To walk with others. To follow a voice that says, “Come, follow me.” Even when it leads back into the fire.
If you’ve ever wondered what might happen if you showed up for your creative self—just a little bit—every day… this is your sign. Go for a walk. Tell a story. Share your world.
It might just become the beginning of a new one.
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The Walk - When Life Switches to Red Alert
I was walking in the woods, trying to escape the heatwave—and the mental heatwave in my head. I’d just come out of a Sunday that flipped everything upside down.
You know that feeling when life throws a sudden curveball, and your brain hits red alert before your heart even catches up? That was me, standing behind the altar, trying to mask the panic when I heard that our pastor, Father Mauricio, is being transferred. Again. Another change. Another goodbye.
I talk a lot about slowing down, about being present. But sometimes, even a slow walk through the forest can’t stop the mental acceleration. My ADHD brain was off to the races—worrying, overthinking, preparing for worst-case scenarios.
This episode of The Walk is about that moment. The one where you realize that even after years of learning, healing, and growing… it’s still hard. When life doesn’t follow your carefully crafted routine. When you're just trying to keep going—and not fall back into old burnout patterns.
I also share what I’m doing differently this time:
Recognizing the signs of overwhelm early.
Asking for help before things spiral.
Creating a simpler structure for my ministry—and my mind.
Remembering my core identity: priest, author, geek.
If you're navigating change, dealing with anxiety, or just trying to understand why some days your brain won't start—this episode is for you.
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The Walk - Why My Parish Now Includes 55,000 Fantasy Fans
This weekend, I followed a bunch of gnomes into a rock concert.
That sentence alone should explain why I love Castlefest.
But honestly, what stood out most wasn’t the fantasy costumes or the festival energy—it was the quiet conversations behind the masks. Over two intense days, I filmed portraits, interviewed indie authors, and bumped into people I hadn’t seen in years (including someone who remembered me as an altar boy!).
What moved me most were the unexpected stories:
A man in a devil costume talking candidly about cancer and kindness.
An author reflecting on how burnout changed his life—and what he learned from stopping.
Readers and cosplayers telling me how much it means that a priest is just… there. Listening. Sharing. Being present.
It made me realize how much of my ministry now happens outside the walls of a church.
And maybe that’s where real connection starts: Not in preaching, but in walking alongside.
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The Walk - Walking My Way Back to Peace
This week, I walked through the woods—and through a lot of thoughts.
After last week’s intense physical challenge (four marathons' worth of walking!), my body hit the brakes. Fatigue rolled in like a heavy fog, and I had no choice but to slow down. At first, I was frustrated. Then I realized: maybe this was exactly what I needed.
When I stopped pushing, I began noticing small things:
The cool breeze through the summer leaves
How audiobooks help me read a book a day (yes, really!)
That post-lunch dip where all I want is to nap under a tree
The emotional “aftershocks” of being constantly on the go
But most importantly, I noticed how judgment—of others, and especially of myself—creeps in when I’m overwhelmed or tired. And how freeing it is to let go of that inner voice that whispers “you’re not doing enough.”
This episode isn’t polished. It’s more like a rambling walk through my thoughts. But sometimes, that’s where the real insight happens.
If you’ve ever:
Felt guilty for needing rest
Been too harsh on yourself
Struggled with being judged—or judging others
Wanted to break free from the pressure to always perform
…then come walk with me.
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The Walk - Time, Trust, and the Gift of Simple Goals
After a month of traveling—first to Ireland for a writing retreat, then to the Walk of the World—I’m finally back home, walking in the woods near where I live. And as I reflect on those weeks, one thing keeps returning to my mind: how deeply different life feels when you simplify.
In Ireland, I had one goal: write. During the 4-day walk: just finish each day’s 40 kilometers.
No multitasking. No racing the clock. Just presence. And strangely enough… I learned more during those four weeks than in the whole year before.
Here’s what stood out:
When you give your mind space, reflection happens naturally.
Friendships grow faster when you're walking side by side, not online.
Aging doesn’t mean losing purpose—it’s an invitation to live it more intentionally.
You don’t need to meet all your goals to know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
I used to plan ahead in big leaps: where I’d be in 10 years, what I’d accomplish. But I’ve come to see that fruit grows when I focus not on the harvest, but on today’s seed.
And like the sower in the parable, I’ve learned that it’s enough to simply sow. Whether it bears fruit is not up to me. What matters is that I walked, I wrote, I rested, and I trusted the time given to me.
Maybe that’s the invitation for all of us. Not to rush ahead. Not to cling to the past. But to ask: What can I do today with the time I’ve been given?
A weekly walk with Fr. Roderick during which he shares his thoughts as a priest on the struggles and challenges as well as the joys and surprises of day-to-day life.
Netherlands