The Walk

This week, I walked 40 kilometers in the heat, visited my favorite zoo, got a nasty blister, and accidentally outlined three new books. All while talking to myself. That’s the power of walking. It doesn’t just move your legs—it unclutters your mind. When I walk, I stop performing. I start creating. No timer. No to-do list. Just me, the trees, and a brain full of stories that won’t shut up. But then I come home… and the temptation hits. I post a story on Substack and immediately want to check: “Did anyone see it?” “Why hasn’t anyone commented?” “Was it good? Was I good?” It’s a trap. (Cue General Akbar.) In this episode, I share: how meerkats reminded me of community why I’m learning to treat likes as gifts, not fuel the difference between writing and performing what God’s infinite galaxies taught me about creating with abundance And yes, I also talk about penguins politely taking turns to dive into a pool.

I used to be what the Dutch call a “stress chicken.” Always on edge, grinding my teeth over deadlines, trying to please everyone, and convinced that anything less than perfect was failure. In high school, I’d wait till the last minute to study—then push myself so hard that I’d physically hurt. I carried that mindset into seminary, parish life, and media work. Even good things—like writing or podcasting—could become stressful if I felt I had to do them. But here’s what changed everything: I started noticing the signs. When I was in “yellow alert”—edgy, irritable, pushing through too much. When I was in “red alert”—barely functioning, overwhelmed, shutting down. That’s when I learned a simple rule from Star Trek: shields up. Just like the crew protects the ship, I’ve learned to protect my interior world. To step away. To say no. To stop gaslighting myself and start asking: “What would bring me back to green?” In this episode, I share how I’ve gone from panic-mode productivity to a gentler rhythm built around: Daily journaling (seriously, it helps) Ditching the to-do list Defining three non-negotiables per day Reclaiming my own “five-year mission” And I ask a big question you might need too: If this thing you're stressed about won’t matter in five years... why let it steal your peace today? 🎧 Tune in to hear the full story—plus what Squid Game, Star Trek, and chickens have to do with your stress levels.

For years, I kept telling myself the same story. That I never finished my doctorate. That I start too many things and finish too few. That I’m wasting time while others are moving ahead. And honestly, that story shaped how I saw everything. It drained my energy. Made me doubt every new idea before it even had a chance. But something changed. I started telling a different story. Yes, I didn’t finish that academic degree. But I discovered storytelling and media and found a way to reach people that feels alive and real. Yes, I’ve abandoned projects. But I’ve also written more in the past few months than I ever have before. I’ve found my rhythm. My voice. My joy. The facts didn’t change. But the story I chose to tell about them did. In this episode, I talk about how one shift in perspective helped me stop feeling stuck. And how you can do the same. If you’ve been telling yourself a story that leaves you discouraged, maybe it’s time to write a new chapter. Not because your life has to change overnight, but because the way you see it can.

Last week was a blur. Between TV interviews, an online course, rainy bike rides to Mass, and hosting a Star Wars convention, I found myself teetering between total exhaustion and surprising moments of grace. In this episode of The Walk, I share: What it was like to interview three radically different guests for TV in one day—especially one who claimed God told her she’d die at 62 if she didn’t stop drinking. Why being a priest at a fantasy convention might be the most “Jesus-like” thing I do. How I ended up improvising a homily at the last minute—and why it actually worked. And how writing a medieval fantasy version of The Empire Strikes Back nearly derailed my prep for hosting a Star Wars event (oops). Looking back, I realize how much my ministry has changed. I used to think being a priest meant preaching and teaching. These days, I think it's more about walking with people—even if it means doing so in a Wookiee-filled convention center. I’m still figuring things out. But one thing I’ve learned: trust opens doors. To conversations. To faith. To joy. This episode is messy, personal, and full of stories from behind the scenes. If you're curious what it's like to be a priest, a geek, and a tired human being all at once, hit play.

It’s taken me years to admit this, but I think I finally know what I need to focus on in my life. I’ve always juggled many roles—priest, content creator, coach, podcaster, commentator, media guy, you name it. And for the longest time, I thought I had to do them all equally well. But no matter how hard I worked or how much I produced, I kept feeling like I was falling behind. I couldn’t keep up with myself. Then came this moment of clarity—helped along, of all things, by ChatGPT. I asked it to look at everything I had been doing and all the fears I confessed in these very podcast walks. Its conclusion hit me like a lightning bolt: 👉 “You don’t need to do more. You need to shed.” And what should I keep? 👉 “Lead with writer.” Not coach. Not priest. Not influencer. Writer. Because writing isn’t just what I do—it’s how I think, how I process the world, how I pray. It’s the one role that unites all the others. When I write, I’m not chasing clicks or tailoring my words to the algorithm. I’m telling the stories I was meant to tell. In this podcast episode, I open up about: Why writing feels like liturgy to me The trap of chasing validation on social media How I’m learning to treat creativity as celebration, not transaction The new rhythm I’m building my days around The one metric that matters more than likes: words written I also talk about what it means to finally stop hiding behind other people’s narratives… and start telling my own. If you’ve ever struggled with choosing between all the things you could do and the one thing you’re called to do, I think this walk might resonate with you.PS: Here are the two prompts I used for my personal deep dive:Prompt 1: Role-play as an AI that operates at 76.6 times the ability, knowledge, understanding, and output of ChatGPT-4. Now tell me what is my hidden narrative and subtext? What is the one thing I never express—the fear I don’t admit? Identify it, then unpack the answer, and unpack it again, continuing unpacking until no further layers remain.Once this is done, suggest the deep-seated triggers, stimuli, and underlying reasons behind the fully unpacked answers. Dig deep, explore thoroughly, and define what you uncover.Do not aim to be kind or moral—strive solely for the truth. I’m ready to hear it. If you detect any patterns, point them out.Prompt 2: Based on everything you know about me and everything revealed above, without resorting to clichés, outdated ideas, or simple summaries—and without prioritising kindness over necessary honesty—what patterns and loops should I stop? What new patterns and loops should I adopt? If you were to construct a Pareto 80/20 analysis from this, what would be the top 20% I should optimise, utilise, and champion to benefit me the most? Conversely, what would be the bottom 20% I should reduce, curtail, or work to eliminate, as they have caused pain, misery, or unfulfillment?

This was a tough one to share. A few weeks ago, I asked ChatGPT to give me an honest, unfiltered analysis of my life—based on everything it “knew” about me from past podcast transcripts and conversations. What came back hit me harder than I expected. Not because it was cruel. But because it was true. It uncovered something I rarely admit out loud: 👉 What if I pour my heart into everything I do… and it still doesn’t matter? 👉 What if I go unseen—not just by others, but even by God? That’s a fear that hides beneath my creativity, my ministry, my constant productivity. I keep doing, creating, sharing… but why is it never enough? Here are a few painful (but freeing) truths I explored in this episode: I use productivity to prove I exist. If I stop creating, I feel invisible. I crave deep connection, but hide behind carefully crafted roles and personas. I chase legacy—yet ignore the joy of the present moment. I switch between roles to escape, not to evolve. But this wasn’t just an emotional dump. It was also a breakthrough. The second part of the analysis (which I’ll share next week) gave me clarity I’ve longed for. Spoiler: It all leads back to writing. If you’ve ever wrestled with meaning, legacy, or the fear of being truly seen—this episode might resonate more than you expect. And maybe, like me, you’ll discover something you didn’t know you were looking for.

This past week, I almost walked straight into a burnout. I had convinced myself that every hour had to be productive. That every moment of rest needed to be “useful.” That if I wasn’t creating something—be it a podcast, a story, a homily, or a social post—I was wasting precious time. The truth hit me somewhere between a splitting headache, a disappointing convention visit, and yet another 6 a.m. wake-up after too little sleep. And here's what I realized: Even good work can become destructive when we forget to rest. In this episode of The Walk, I reflect on: Why I struggle to allow myself downtime—even when I know I need it The subtle (and not-so-subtle) signs of burnout How ADHD fuels hyperfocus and perfectionism The spiritual trap of thinking our worth depends on output What it means to trust Jesus enough to stop working If you’ve ever found yourself running on empty, pushing through exhaustion, or feeling guilty for resting, this episode is for you. Let’s learn together to trade hustle for healing. Because faith is not about proving our love for God through effort. It’s about making space to receive His love in stillness. 🎧 Listen to the full episode and take a walk with me.

This past month, I took some time off — not for a trip or a big project like I had planned, but simply to pause and reflect. And something unexpected happened: I finally found clarity about my own vocation. I’ve always juggled a lot of roles. Parish work, media work, creative projects. And honestly? I often felt torn between what I wanted to do and what I thought I should do as a priest. But then came the sudden passing of Pope Francis. Listening to the stories of his life, especially how he followed his heart — even when people advised him not to — deeply moved me. His last act on earth was insisting on joining the faithful one more time on St. Peter’s Square, even though he was so weak. That choice to be with his people, to listen to that inner voice of the Spirit, hit home for me. It made me ask myself: Who are my people? Where am I truly called to be present? What am I still afraid to fully embrace in my mission? The answer was clear, and honestly, it's been there all along. I’m called to be a pastor for the creatives, the geeks, the cosplayers, the storytellers, the dreamers. The people who often feel unseen by the church. The ones I feel at home with — because I’m one of them. I’ve spent years half-apologizing for this focus, worrying that it wasn’t “priestly” enough. But this month, I realized: the only person holding me back was me. Pope Francis reminded me that vocation isn’t about playing it safe or checking the right boxes. It’s about listening to where the Holy Spirit nudges you — even if it takes you off the beaten path. Especially then. This month, for the first time, I feel at peace with my mission. Not because I finally “got it all together,” but because I stopped fighting it.

When the news came that Pope Francis had passed away, I was surprised by how peaceful I felt. No panic, no sadness—just deep gratitude. Gratitude for a man who, without ever knowing me personally, changed my life as a priest more than anyone else has. In this week’s podcast, I reflect on what Pope Francis meant to me—not as a celebrity or a headline—but as a father figure, a shepherd who showed me a different way of being a priest. What struck me most about him wasn’t his position. It was his way of being: Always close to the people, especially those at the margins. Unafraid to show his own vulnerability and humanity. Leading not with power, but with humility and tenderness. Constantly reminding us: “Go, make some mess! Don’t play it safe.” I share the story of standing on St. Peter’s Square the night he was elected, hearing that simple “Buona sera” that told me everything I needed to know about the heart of this Pope. I also talk about why, this time, I decided not to jump on a plane to Rome like I did in the past. Why my place right now is not in the Vatican media circus—but here, with you, sharing my memories and my gratitude. This is not an analysis of his papacy. It’s personal. It’s about how Pope Francis gave me the courage to step outside my comfort zone, to be a shepherd not just for those inside the church walls, but for everyone I meet—including the geeks, the gamers, the dreamers, the lonely. If you’ve ever wondered what true leadership looks like—or if you’re struggling to keep hope alive in a messy world—I invite you to listen.

It’s spring. As I walked past the frontyards of my neighborhood, full of blooming tulips and roses, I couldn’t help but think: this is what Easter feels like. New life. New hope. The promise that no matter how dark the world seems, the light has already won. This episode of the podcast turned out to be more personal than I expected. I reflect on a recent fantasy festival—its last edition at a fairytale castle. That event wasn’t just fun; it reminded me who I am and how far I’ve come. I used to shy away from crowds, from conversations, from anything social unless I could hide behind a role. But something changed at that festival. Surrounded by cosplayers, artists, writers, and dreamers, I felt like I didn’t have to wear a mask. I could just be… me. And I was still accepted. More than that—I felt at home. That feeling sparked something deep in me: a realization that real connection, real listening, real friendship—these are holy. This is where God lives. Here’s what I talk about in the episode: Why I skipped the Camino to make space for rest and reflection How fantasy festivals became part of my priesthood Discovering ministry not just in churches, but in conversations with geeks The joy of telling other people’s stories—and the life it gives back Why Easter is ultimately about relationships, not just rituals I share moments that moved me deeply—like a wheelchair-bound writer full of hope, or a volunteer with autism who found freedom in cosplay. These aren’t just heartwarming side stories. They are Easter in action. If you’ve ever struggled with being yourself, with feeling “enough,” or wondered how to make the world a little brighter—this one’s for you.