The Walk

This week’s episode of The Walk was recorded on a quiet trail in the Wicklow Mountains. It’s my last full day in Ireland, and I wanted to soak up every second of it. No plans, no pressure—just following my nose, as I often say. I ended up walking past pine forests being replaced with ancient native trees, climbing fences into meadows full of purple wildflowers, and eventually finding my way to a mirror-still lake that felt like something out of Tolkien’s Middle Earth. It was breathtaking. And quiet. So, so quiet. But this walk wasn’t just about the scenery. It was also about letting go. Over the last two weeks, I’ve finally done what I came here to do: finish the first draft of my novel. Well, almost. The most important pieces have fallen into place. And the surprising part? Most of that writing happened while walking. Dictating scenes, finding rhythm in the story and in my steps. What I’ve discovered is this: Writing doesn’t require pressure. It thrives in peace. Faith isn’t just about what you believe—it’s about trusting that what you’re doing matters, even if no one sees it. Not everything has to be productive. Some days are just for walking. For noticing. For resting. There’s a line I share in the episode that’s stuck with me: “The deer aren’t anxious about whether they’re good enough.” And honestly, I needed to hear that. Maybe you do too. If you’ve ever wrestled with creativity, doubt, or the need for approval, I hope this episode will give you a bit of space. A bit of quiet. A glimpse of a lake that reminds you: you’re right where you need to be.

I always thought retreats had to happen in silence. In a monastery. With stillness, books, and maybe the sound of a distant bell. But this week, soaked to the bone on a rain-slicked mountain trail in Wicklow, I realized something: my real retreat begins when I move. When I walk through mist and sheep-speckled hills. When a deer appears out of nowhere and follows me like an old friend. When my only distractions are waterfalls, wind, and the sound of my own footsteps. It’s in those long, quiet hours that my mind finally clears. That’s how I finished outlining the last acts of my novel. That’s how I found the energy to rethink a new “geeky catechism” project. That’s how I remembered who I am. I share all that—and a few unexpected encounters—in this episode, recorded mid-hike as the rain returned and the deer showed up again. If you’ve ever felt like you’re not “doing retreats right,” this one’s for you. You’ll hear about: The silent magic of Glendalough’s ruins and forests Why movement helps me write and pray better The curious deer that walked beside me (twice!) A behind-the-scenes look at my book’s final chapters And how old geeky sermons might become something new Sometimes, the most sacred places aren’t behind monastery walls—they’re on muddy trails with wet socks and wild grace.

I’m writing this from a quiet mountain trail overlooking the Upper Lake of Glendalough. The same path Saint Kevin walked 1,500 years ago. And maybe, in some small way, I’m walking it too. I came to Ireland not for a vacation, but for something I’ve needed for a long time: space. A chance to step out of the noise of everyday life and into the stillness that lets me hear again—really hear—what matters. Why do we create, write, or tell stories when the world feels like it’s falling apart? That’s the question I brought with me to this retreat. And it’s the question I explore in this episode. Along the way, I talk about: Why storytelling is a form of resistance What C.S. Lewis said about writing during war How Saint Kevin’s cave taught me something about my own mission What a real writer’s retreat looks like (yes, it involves laundry, hiking, and no Wi-Fi) I’m not here to escape the world. I’m here to recharge so I can return to it with something worth sharing. Come walk with me.

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.

There’s so much uncertainty right now. The economy is wobbling, the headlines are overwhelming, and it feels like everything we counted on is shifting. I’ve definitely felt that weight. And if you have too, you’re not alone. But here’s what I’ve discovered: you don’t need to fix the world to find peace. Lately, I’ve been escaping to the woods. Not to run away, but to remember. Out there, among trees that have seen decades of storms, I realize a few things: I can’t control global events. But I can control where I spend my time and attention. Doom-scrolling only feeds my anxiety. But walking, praying, or even just breathing deeply outside helps me feel human again. My value doesn’t depend on how productive I am, how much money I make, or what my calendar looks like. When the future feels shaky, it helps to go back to the basics: Move your body – even a short walk helps. Connect with others – even if it’s just reading birthday messages or checking in on a friend. Create space for quiet – that's often where you hear what really matters. Remind yourself what is in your control – your kindness, your attitude, your presence. And above all: trust that you are not alone. Not in your fear. Not in your struggles. Not in your hope. Jesus reminded his followers to look at the flowers, the birds—they don’t worry. And yet they are cared for. So are we. You are. So if you’re feeling anxious about the future, I get it. I do too. But instead of spiraling, try this: go outside. Let go of what you can’t control. And reconnect with what you can. The storm may be fierce—but we’re not powerless.              

I wasn’t planning to walk another Camino. Not this year. Not yet. But as I wandered through the woods this week, enjoying the first signs of spring, I felt that familiar pull. A quiet nudge that kept whispering: it’s time to walk again. Last year’s trip to Ireland was amazing—but also exhausting. I told myself I needed a break from that kind of travel. And yet... I just found a Camino Primitivo guide in my mailbox (no idea who put it there), and everything suddenly clicked into place. The Camino Primitivo is the original route to Santiago. It's shorter, but also harder—steeper, more remote. Still, something in me wants that challenge. Not just physically, but spiritually too. When I walked the Camino Frances years ago, I didn’t realize how much it would change me. Not during the walk, but afterward. It took years to unpack what that journey had done. And maybe that’s the point. Sometimes, you just have to walk it first. The meaning comes later. This time, I go with fewer expectations, but more trust. If all goes well, I’ll start the Camino Primitivo in the second half of April. It won’t be six weeks—just two. But I believe it will be enough. Because once you've walked the Camino, a part of you always keeps walking. 🎧 Want to hear more about how I made this decision—and what I hope to find on the trail? Listen to the full episode now.Want to support my online ministry? Join the community of friends that help me with a monthly donation: https://fatherroderick.com/join

A few days ago, I went for a long walk. No phone. No recorder. Just me and the quiet of the woods. That’s unusual for me. Normally, I’m always recording something — podcast episodes, course materials, you name it. But that day, I needed to step back. Why? Because I was burning myself out. Trying to keep up with my own routines, like cranking out five podcast episodes a week, just because I set that standard for myself. It’s great to have goals, but the constant push to achieve them was making me feel like a machine. Here's what I’ve started to realize: ☑ It’s not about output. It’s about effort. ↳ Pushing yourself to hit a goal often leads to burnout. ↳ Focusing on consistent effort, no matter how small, brings progress. ☑ Curiosity over judgment. ↳ Instead of berating yourself for not meeting expectations, ask: Why couldn't I? ↳ This simple, curious question unlocks real solutions. ☑ You don’t have to be perfect. ↳ Embrace where you are today. ↳ Stop letting your worth depend on measurable results. ☑ Find peace in the journey, not the outcome. ↳ Happiness doesn’t magically appear at the end of the road. ↳ It starts by embracing where you are right now. This Lent, I’m trying something different: Instead of rigid rules and unrealistic goals, I’m focusing on the journey itself. Taking small steps. Allowing myself to be human. What helps you find balance when life gets overwhelming?

Lately, I've been wrestling with a big question: How do I stay truly me in the content I create? I've spent years fine-tuning my videos, optimizing my titles, and chasing the perfect format. I even bought a teleprompter to keep my scripts structured and my delivery polished. But something strange happened—the more "perfect" my videos became, the less people seemed to care. Then, a funny thing happened. I uploaded a relaxed, off-the-cuff segment from a live stream—just me talking about my favorite books with zero scripting, zero polish, and no overthinking. And guess what? It took off. People loved it. What does this tell me? People crave real conversations more than perfectly structured content. Authenticity builds connections in ways no algorithm can replicate. Being too polished can actually make content feel less engaging. This realization is making me rethink my approach. Maybe I don’t need to be the perfect "media expert" or script every word. Maybe what truly resonates is just being myself—whether I’m talking about books, faith, geek culture, or anything in between. So, here’s my experiment for Lent: Less scripting, more storytelling. Less optimization, more connection. Less algorithm-chasing, more community-building. What do you think? Have you noticed this shift in your own online experience? Let’s talk.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on my relationship with social media and content creation. For years, I measured success in numbers—views, likes, followers. But I’ve come to realize that the most valuable interactions aren’t the ones the algorithm prioritizes. They’re the small, meaningful conversations, the real connections that enrich my life and, hopefully, the lives of others. This Lent, I’ve taken a step back from platforms like Facebook and Instagram. Instead of doom-scrolling through AI-curated feeds, I’ve shifted my focus to intentional engagement—replying to people I genuinely care about, building relationships rather than chasing reach. And you know what? It’s working. I feel lighter, less distracted, and more in tune with what truly matters. That shift has extended to my creative process as well. For the longest time, I put immense pressure on myself to "perform" every time I recorded a podcast or made a video. I’d start recording, feel like I wasn’t delivering something polished enough, and delete the whole thing—sometimes multiple times. But I’m learning to let go of that pressure. To embrace a more authentic, unfiltered way of sharing. Instead of obsessing over reach, I’m prioritizing depth of connection. Instead of worrying about perfection, I’m focusing on showing up as myself. Instead of chasing numbers, I’m choosing to trust the process. This shift has even influenced how I approach my book-writing journey. I recently came across a writer on TikTok who shares his fantasy story chapter by chapter with his readers. He’s not waiting for the perfect launch or obsessing over marketing strategies—he’s inviting people into the process. And I love that. It’s something I want to explore for my own book, creating a space where people can engage with the story as it unfolds. At the end of the day, whether it’s social media, podcasting, or writing, what truly matters is sharing the best of ourselves, not the most of ourselves. If this resonates with you, I’d love for you to join the conversation. Walk with me on this journey by listening to the latest podcast episode. Let’s discover together how shifting our focus from numbers to relationships can transform the way we create, connect, and live.

Every year, as Lent begins, the question always comes up: What are you giving up? For many, it’s sweets, coffee, or social media. This year, I’m making a bigger decision—I’m stepping away from Meta entirely. That means no more Facebook, Instagram, Threads or WhatsApp. Why? Because I’ve been paying attention to what’s happening with these platforms, and it doesn’t sit right with me anymore. With Meta scaling back moderation, prioritizing profit and growth over user well-being and social responsibility, and turning my timeline into a mess of ads and AI-generated junk, I realized: This isn’t a place I want to be anymore. At first, I hesitated. Facebook is a big way I stay in touch with parishioners and promote my content. But then I looked at the numbers. All my efforts—posting daily, creating polished graphics, engaging with people—didn’t actually increase my reach or podcast audience. It wasn’t helping me, and worse, I felt stuck there out of obligation. So I decided: This Lent, I’m taking a step back. Instead of passively feeding Meta’s business model, I’m investing my time in channels that help me reach new people and grow community, like BlueSky, Mastodon, YouTube, Discord and my own website. Will I miss the Meta platform? Maybe. But I think it will be freeing. Lent isn’t just about giving something up; it’s about making room for something better. Maybe this is a good time for all of us to reflect: Is social media enriching my life, or is it just consuming my time? 🎧 Listen to the full episode for more thoughts on this, plus reflections on Lent, digital detoxing, and how we can reclaim our attention.Fr. RoderickP.S. Join my Discord community if you would like to share your thoughts about the programs that I make: https://discord.gg/ucQmZ6uj2V

Today, while walking in the woods, I noticed something simple yet profound. I watched dog owners and their playful pups, and it struck me how the dogs react to a little conflict. Whether they choose to run away, bark back, or simply surrender by rolling over, their behavior reminded me of the choices we face in our own lives. I couldn’t help but recall my own past—times when I felt bullied and alone, caught between the urge to fight and the pressure to give in. Over time, I learned that standing up for what’s right isn’t about matching aggression. It’s about listening to your inner moral compass and acting with courage. In my journey of faith, I’ve come to see that: Running away is sometimes necessary for self-care. Fighting back can mean defending your values without compromising who you are. Surrendering isn’t weakness—it can be a strategic choice when you decide to save your energy for what truly matters. This reflection also made me rethink the famous gospel message of “turning the other cheek.” At first, I saw it as a call to simply submit. But now I understand it as a challenge to be stronger—to stand up for others and for myself by holding onto a higher set of values. It’s like the rebellion in Star Wars: the moral strength of a few can tip the scales against overwhelming odds. I’m sharing these thoughts because I believe that in today’s world, where injustice and bullying are still all too common, knowing your values and standing firm can change everything. If you ever feel torn between fighting back and giving in, remember there’s a third way—trust your inner strength and let it guide you.

When I prepared for my first marathon, I thought the hardest part would be the race itself—the 42 kilometers of relentless forward motion. Turns out, I was wrong. The real challenge? Learning when not to run. Like many, I believed pushing harder was always the answer. More training, faster miles, less rest. But my worst injuries, both in running and in life, came not from taking breaks—but from ignoring the need for them. Pushing through can be good—but knowing when to step back is even better. Rest isn’t weakness, it’s strategy. The hardest part of balance isn’t finding it—it’s giving yourself permission to keep it. This applies far beyond running. In work, faith, and personal growth, we often treat slowing down as failure. But in reality, knowing when to pause is what keeps us moving forward. I share more about this in my latest podcast episode, reflecting on lessons from running, burnout, and even my time in seminary. If you’ve ever struggled with giving yourself permission to rest, this one’s for you.

I remember standing in Glendalough, the valley of two lakes in Ireland. The air was crisp, the landscape bathed in that soft Irish light, and the echoes of ancient footsteps seemed to linger in the stillness. Centuries ago, a young man named Kevin stood where I had stood. Born into privilege, he walked away from it all to live in solitude, seeking God in the wild beauty of that valley. But solitude didn’t last. People found him, drawn by the authenticity of a man who wasn’t trying to lead… but ended up leading anyway. His story stuck with me because, well, isn’t that life? We seek peace, but people find us. We run from expectations, only to stumble into purpose. Sometimes, saying yes to the unknown is the bravest thing we do. Saint Kevin didn’t set out to start a community. But he did. Not through strategy, but sincerity. Not by force, but by simply showing up, fully present in his calling. I shared more about Kevin, Glendalough, and what they taught me about purpose and presence in my latest podcast episode. Maybe it’ll resonate with you, especially if you’re standing at your own crossroads.  

I was standing at the foot of Croagh Patrick, a rugged mountain in Ireland where St. Patrick once fasted for 40 days. Pilgrims were climbing barefoot over sharp rocks, a powerful act of penance. I, meanwhile, was lacing up my sturdy boots, wondering what drove them to do this. This mountain, this saint, and his story all have something important to teach us—not just about faith but about how we navigate an ever-changing world. St. Patrick wasn’t even Irish. He was a kidnapped teenager, taken from what is now Scotland and enslaved in Ireland. Instead of giving in to despair, he turned to prayer, learning to listen for God’s voice in the silence. When he finally escaped and made it home, he had another vision—this time calling him back to Ireland. It made no sense. Why return to the land of his captors? And yet, he did. And that changed everything. What fascinates me is how Patrick spread the Christian faith. Not through force or fear, but through understanding, culture, and storytelling. He spoke the people's language, embraced their traditions, and built communities that would last for generations. That’s the part of Patrick’s story that feels so relevant today. We live in a time where many are retreating into fear, seeing change as a threat. But Patrick’s life proves that faith doesn’t thrive in isolation—it grows when it meets people where they are. He didn’t fight against the culture. He engaged with it. He didn’t preach from a pedestal. He walked alongside people. He didn’t see outsiders as enemies. He saw them as his mission. I think that’s something worth reflecting on today. What if, instead of fearing change, we looked for the ways God is calling us to step into it with courage? What if we saw differences not as barriers but as bridges? If this sparks something in you, I dive deeper into these ideas in this week’s episode of The Walk. We explore Patrick’s real story (not the myth), how his approach still speaks to us today, and why faith always flourishes when it embraces, rather than rejects, the world around it.

"I will take the Ring, though I do not know the way." There’s a powerful moment in The Lord of the Rings when Frodo steps forward, against all odds, to carry the burden of the Ring. He doesn’t know how he’ll succeed. He has no guarantee he’ll survive. But he takes that first step, and it changes everything. The world feels overwhelming right now—wars, political tension, economic struggles. It’s easy to feel like Frodo, staring at a monumental challenge and wondering, “What can I possibly do?” Here’s the truth: like Frodo, your small actions can have a ripple effect. In fact, they’re more powerful than you think. We often fall into two traps when faced with overwhelming challenges: Avoidance – Pretending it’s not happening, unplugging completely from the news or issues. While boundaries are important, disengaging entirely can leave the world’s problems unchecked. Outrage – Getting sucked into a constant cycle of anger and frustration. Outrage culture thrives on this, draining your energy without providing solutions. But there’s a better way: focus on what you can control. Here’s how: Take one small step. Do one good deed today, even if it feels insignificant. Small acts of kindness build up in powerful ways. Turn outrage into action. Instead of letting frustration drain you, channel it into creating something positive. Write, volunteer, or simply offer encouragement to someone in need. Find hope in the small things. Just as Frodo and Sam remind us, even the smallest people can make the biggest difference. The fate of Middle-earth didn’t rest on the mighty armies of men, elves, or dwarves. It rested on two small hobbits who took one step at a time, fueled by hope. What’s one small thing you can do today to bring a little more light into the world?

I'm recording this on the third Monday in January, and for many of us, the spark of the new year feels like it’s fading. The Christmas lights are gone, the weather is bleak, and those ambitious resolutions? They’re feeling more like distant dreams. Some call this day "Blue Monday," and I get it—it’s easy to feel stuck when the world seems gray. But here’s the thing: Blue Monday doesn’t have to stay blue. I’ve discovered a mindset shift that’s helped me push through the gloom and find a little light in the darkness. It starts with one question: What can I do right now to make things better? Here’s how I’m turning Blue Monday into something brighter: Acknowledge the feelings. Feeling down? It’s okay. Emotions are signals, not the whole story. Writing them down in a journal helps me understand what’s triggering them. Focus on what’s in your control. Whether it’s making a room warmer (even if it costs a bit more) or taking a quick walk outside, small actions can make a big difference. Be the helper. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by bad news, I look for ways to help others. Even small acts of kindness—like supporting someone in need—can shift your mood. Embrace imperfection. Didn’t stick to your New Year’s resolution? That’s fine! Start small. One healthy meal or a short walk is better than giving up entirely. Blue Monday isn’t a permanent state—it’s an opportunity to rethink, reset, and take small steps toward brighter days. So, grab a mental paintbrush and turn those blues into yellows, oranges, and golds. You’ve got more agency than you think. Curious how I’ve been practicing this myself? I unpack it all in this week’s podcast episode, including how small changes in perspective can make a big difference. Give it a listen—it might just brighten your day.

Walking through a winter forest earlier today, I saw bare trees and fallen branches. Everything seemed lifeless. But beneath the decay, I noticed something powerful: the forest wasn’t dying—it was preparing for new growth. The trees had left nuts and seeds on the ground. The decaying leaves provided nourishment and protection, waiting for spring to arrive. It made me rethink the changes happening on social media right now. TikTok bans, Meta shifts, platforms falling apart. It feels like loss. But losing a platform doesn’t mean losing connection. Just like the forest, new life depends on what you do next. Here’s what I’ve learned after 20 years on social media: Platforms come and go, but relationships last. Genuine connections outlive follower counts. Numbers don’t equal community. You own your message, not the medium. Diversify where and how you share. Your podcast, newsletter, or blog gives you agency. Be present where it matters. Go to the platforms where your audience is, but don’t rely on just one. Engagement beats algorithms. Talk with people, not to them. Invest in meaningful conversations. Loss creates space. Mourning a platform can open the door to deeper connections and new opportunities. Let go to grow. Holding on to what’s gone prevents you from building what’s next. Platforms don’t define your value. Your voice and your impact do. What’s one step you can take today to strengthen your community beyond social media?

Have you ever wished for a total reset? Not just in your calendar, but in your life? That’s exactly what the ancient concept of a Jubilee Year offers—a fresh start for individuals and communities alike, once every 25 years. In this episode, I dig into the idea of Jubilee and why it’s more than just a historical footnote. It’s about restoration, freedom, and wiping the slate clean. Whether or not you’ve heard of it, there’s something deeply relevant here for all of us. Here’s a sneak peek of what we cover: What a Jubilee Year is: Think debt forgiveness, freedom for the enslaved, and a reset for all of us. Why it’s still relevant: How this ancient idea connects to modern issues like burnout, inequality, and our fast-paced lives. The personal takeaway: How you can apply the spirit of Jubilee to your own life right now—instead of waiting another 25 years! This episode isn’t just about history or theology. It’s about hope and the possibility of renewal. And let’s face it, who couldn’t use a little of that?

As we step into 2025, one phrase is shaping how I approach the new year: Perfect is the enemy of good. Like many, I’ve started previous years with big resolutions, only to watch them unravel by February. Why? Because I set the bar so high that a single misstep felt like failure. This year, I’m doing things differently—focusing on small, consistent steps rather than perfection.   Here’s what I’ve learned: Big changes stick better when they’re gradual. A five-minute habit is more sustainable than a huge masterplan for something you've never done before. Breaking tasks into smaller steps reduces overwhelm. For my next book, it could mean writing three paragraphs a day instead of a full chapter. Failure isn’t the end—it’s feedback. Mistakes teach us what doesn’t work and how to adjust. Interestingly, the Church offers a powerful reminder of this same idea at the start of each year. On January 1, we celebrate the feast of Mary, the Mother of God. In the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, a mosaic depicts Mary crowned by her Son, surrounded by stars and angels. Yet Mary’s life was anything but grandiose. Her greatness began with a single “yes” to God—one small step of trust and humility. This is a reminder for us, too: greatness often starts small. The steps we take today, however modest, can lead to something far greater over time. So, if you’re overwhelmed by resolutions or held back by perfectionism, take heart. Focus on progress, not perfection. Start small, and let each step build on the last. What’s one small step you’re taking today? Let’s share and support each other as we move into the new year. Listen to my full reflections on this in this new year's episode of The Walk! Here’s to a year of grace, growth, and progress—one step at a time.Happy New Year! Fr. Roderick Vonhögen P.S.: I am organizing a free webinar for parish members and religious organizations on how to grow your online impact and your social media following in 2025. I'll share 5 simple secrets that help me reach millions of people on social media. The webinar is next Thursday, January 9 at 8 PM CET (that is 2 PM EST/11 AM PST). Send me a message if you're interested, or share this with someone who might be!

The other day, I woke up with a Christmas song in my head. It wasn’t just any version—it was the Muppets and John Denver, singing 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas'. Nostalgia hit hard, reminding me of simpler, cozier moments from childhood. But here’s the thing: the world today feels far from cozy or simple. How can we have ourselves a Merry Little Christmas when the world is on fire? Still, the story of the Nativity holds lessons that matter even more now.  I talk about it in this week's episode of my podcast 'The Walk'. Some takeaways:  ☑ Focus on what you can control ↳ Global problems can feel overwhelming. ↳ Your local actions still create real impact. ↳ Small, consistent kindness changes lives around you. Jesus was born as a powerless child in a world that was in turmoil. Christmas is about small beginnings that end up changing the world. ☑ Turn Worry Into Prayer ↳ Worry drains energy. ↳ Focus on gratitude for what’s going well, even amidst challenges. ↳ Set aside five minutes each morning to sit quietly and pray. 'Do not be afraid,' is the message of the angels. And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. ☑ Embrace small acts of kindness ↳ Find a need in your immediate circle.↳ Commit to one action you can do today.↳ Reflect on how it impacted you and others. Mary wrapped her newborn son in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. Jesus' first experience is the simple, gentle care of his mother. Celebrating Christmas isn’t trying to escape reality. It’s about seeing the power in small actions and shared moments. So... have yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

 Christmas stress hit me hard this week.   I was sitting at my desk after hours of non-stop work when it dawned on me: Christmas Eve is less than an week away. My brain went into overdrive. So much to do. So many obligations. How am I this far behind? I imagined the chaos—rushing to clean the house, prepare meals, and meet commitments I’d promised without thinking. Sound familiar?   We romanticize the holidays—lights, calm evenings, and joy. But in reality, we’re sprinting through the season. Here’s how I’m learning to slow down, reclaim calm, and actually enjoy Christmas this year:   ☑ Start with a list. ↳ Write down everything you’ve committed to. ↳ Ask: “What can I cut, postpone, or simplify?” ↳ Overcommitting helps no one—not you, not them.   ☑ Create 15-minute calm moments. ↳ Light a candle. Sit in silence. Breathe. ↳ Dedicate this time to slowing down. ↳ Say, “This moment is for me and for God.”   ☑ Simplify social obligations. ↳ Perfect meals? Spotless homes? Not necessary. ↳ People value your presence over perfection. ↳ Be available, not overwhelmed.   ☑ Move at a human pace. ↳ Deliberately walk slower. Talk slower. Think slower. ↳ Recognize when you’re rushing and pause.   ☑ Make room for God at Christmas. ↳ Attend a church service. ↳ Arrive super early and take time to slow down. ↳ Let go of all stress, take a deep breath and open your heart.   ☑ React to stress with calm. ↳ Stress is contagious. Calm is, too. ↳ Choose to smile, breathe, and move forward deliberately.   The goal isn’t a stress-free life. It’s you learning to move through it differently. Christmas isn’t a performance. It’s an invitation to slow down, unburden yourself, and make space for joy.   In this week's episode of my podcast 'The Walk', I share how I am trying to implement these tips.   What’s one small way you’ll slow down this Christmas?

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself standing on the windswept Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. During the bus ride, I had been listening to an audiobook about the life of Saint Patrick, and I was surprised to learn how dreams had played a significant role in his decision to return to Ireland. Those dreams changed the course of history. Like many other saints that lived in Ireland, Patrick changed the world with nothing but faith and determination. I kept asking myself: How did he do it? No armies, no wealth—just stories and dreams. That question stayed with me, and now it’s shaping how I approach my own work and goals. Most people set goals, but many miss the deeper step: dreaming big. What if achieving your ambitions started with rediscovering your dreams? Maybe this is why Saint Patrick made the most important decisions in his life after reflecting on the dreams he had at night. In this episode of my podcast 'The Walk', I share how storytelling and dreaming transform how we connect with others—and ourselves. ☑ Why I traveled to Ireland for answers: ↳ The secret behind how ancient saints inspired entire nations. ↳ What their stories teach us about courage and purpose. ↳ Why their methods remain shockingly relevant today. ☑ The power of storytelling in your goals: ↳ How stories make your message unforgettable. ↳ Why data alone won’t inspire action. ↳ How I’m using storytelling to bring faith alive in a modern world. ☑ Why writing dreams down changes everything: ↳ A simple exercise to uncover what truly drives you. ↳ How visualizing your goals keeps you on track daily. ↳ Why combining prayer and planning creates unstoppable momentum. This isn’t just about storytelling or faith—it’s about finding the "why" behind what you do. If you’ve felt stuck or uninspired lately, this episode is for you. What’s one dream you’re ready to write down and pursue?

In this episode of The Walk, I take you along as I reflect on a small but meaningful change in my life: transforming an old coatroom into a cozy winter office. This tiny space has become my retreat, a place to focus and create without distractions. But the process of clearing out the clutter wasn’t just about tidying up—it became a lesson in making room for what’s really important, both in my home and in my life. As Advent begins, I share how this season invites us to do the same: to simplify, refocus, and create space for the things that truly matter. From letting go of distractions to carving out time for creativity, prayer, or meaningful connections, I hope this episode encourages you to look at how you can find clarity and purpose during this special time of year. And who knows? Maybe it will inspire you to tackle a little project of your own.Fr. RoderickP.S. Join my online community, support my work and get access to my weekly Premium Podcast by going to https://fatherroderick.com/join

I'll admit it - I'm a bit of a digital hoarder. My internet browser is like a virtual junk drawer, with tabs upon tabs open at any given time. Why do I insist on keeping so many tabs open, even when they're just cluttering up my computer and slowing everything down? It's not just the browser either - I used to have bookshelves overflowing with tomes from my university days, and a closet full of memorabilia from my travels. Maybe it all comes down to this deep-seated fear of losing information, ideas, and memories. As the years go by, it's like I'm trying to hold onto every little thing, terrified that if I let go, I'll forget or miss out on something important. But is that really the healthiest approach? In this episode of my podcast 'The Walk', I dive into the bittersweet process of aging - the physical changes, the nostalgia, and the challenge of learning to let go. It's not all doom and gloom, though. I also explore the benefits of embracing each stage of life, and how a little gratitude can go a long way in reframing the experience of getting older. So if you, like me, find yourself drowning in a sea of open tabs and half-forgotten keepsakes, give this episode a listen. You might just find some wisdom and humor to help you navigate the journey of growing older (and wiser). After all, as they say, with age comes...well, a lot of stuff. But also the opportunity to reflect, appreciate, and move forward in a meaningful way.

In this episode of The Walk, I share with you a conversation I had with someone who was wondering what the point is of reading books when you probably have no time of life left to do anything with the knowledge you gain? And what's the point of reading altogether? I share why I try to read 150 books this year, how I manage to read so many books and how the reading process affects me on various important levels. Check out my book reading challenge here: https://www.goodreads.com/user_challenges/50362078 👉 Join my online community, support my work and get access to my weekly Premium podcast here: https://fatherroderick.com/join

Ever notice how some days the hum of a leaf blower or other background noise can be more aggravating than others? I explore how my own tolerance for these everyday sounds can fluctuate, and how it reflects my level of sensory regulation (or disregulation and overload). The Impact of Overstimulation In a world filled with constant distractions, it’s easy to find ourselves overstimulated, which can lead to irritability and stress. Growing up, I was taught to be productive every moment, a habit that led to my own state of chronic overstimulation. During my recent trip to Ireland, I experienced this firsthand as I adapted to new surroundings daily. Even sleeping in hostels brought sensory overload, with unfamiliar sounds, background music and social interaction. Finding Relief Through Decompression Techniques Coming home, I focused on winding down through sensory decompression techniques. Noise-canceling headphones, calming music, and scheduled time to reset became essential. I also found that the Pomodoro Technique, paired with realistic prioritization, helps me manage my tasks without feeling overwhelmed. Calming Activities: Audiobooks and Low-Effort Gaming Reading is another outlet—particularly audiobooks, which I listen to at different speeds based on what I need. I also turned to cosy, low-effort videogames, which have become valuable ways to unwind without guilt. I've learned how much relaxation is crucial for mental well-being. The Power of Social Connection Although I’m more introverted, being around others—even without active interaction—brings a sense of calm. My running group has been a great help in maintaining that balance. Rational vs Irrational Thoughts I share some ideas from a particularly insightful book I read this weekend (check out my Goodreads review). I realized how I've already been applying the method described in this book for a while now, which helped me work through strong emotional reactions and catastrophizing thoughts and replace them with rational perspectives. This shift has had a profound impact on managing emotional overwhelm and staying grounded. I hope that by sharing these experiences and the methods that helped me, this episode can help you reclaim calm amid life’s noise as well.

After a month-long hiatus, I'm back with a new episode of The Walk! During my time away, I traveled to Ireland to explore the rich Catholic tradition and the influence of the early Celtic saints. This trip was also a personal quest for me, as I normally like to have everything planned out. But this time, I decided to let go of my fear and just dive in, and I'm so glad I did. The time away gave me a chance to reflect on the direction of my two public podcasts - The Walk and The Break. For The Walk, I plan to keep the same format of taking listeners on a walk with me and discussing life's challenges and how faith can help guide us. For The Break, I'm rebranding it as "Geek Priest" to better align with my love of movies, TV, and all things geeky. I'm also going to focus each episode on a specific topic that I'm passionate about, and add some random topics in the second half of the show. One of the stories I want to share with you today is about the monastic site of Glendalough in Ireland. This place, founded by St. Kevin in the 5th century, endured many hardships over the centuries, including Viking raids and political upheaval. But through it all, the main tower at Glendalough has remained standing as a symbol of God's enduring presence and the resilience of faith. It's a powerful reminder that no matter what challenges we face, or how anxious we sometimes feel, God will never abandon us.Get early access to my video course on the Celtic Saints by supporting my work with a donation: https://fatherroderick.com/celticsaints

I'm embarking on an exciting journey to Ireland to delve into the lives and wisdom of the men and women who played a crucial role in the evangelization of Europe. By signing up for my new course, you can join me on this adventure! In this course, I'll reveal how the teachings of these Celtic saints can enrich your personal life, deepen your faith, and help you find balance and inner peace. I tell you all about it in this new episode of The Walk. Don't miss out—my journey begins this week, and I'd love for you to be part of it! Sign up and learn more about the course at fatherroderick.com/celticsaints

In this episode, I talk about the paralyzing effect of self-limiting thoughts and how they can hold us back from achieving our dreams. Whether you're starting a new career, launching a creative project, or just stepping out of your comfort zone, those inner doubts can be overwhelming. I share personal stories from my journey as a priest and coach and I offer practical advice on how to push past the fear and take that first step. Key Takeaways: How self-doubt often surfaces when trying something new or risky - The importance of not overthinking and starting even when you're not "ready" Personal struggles with self-limiting thoughts before priesthood and in content creation Why sharing your failures as well as your successes makes you more relatable The power of embracing failure as a way to grow and learn How to shift from perfectionism to action Quote of the Episode: "I think I can do this because I’ve never done it before." — Pippi Longstocking Links: Learn more about my coaching and other activities at FatherRoderick.com Join the conversation and share your thoughts in the comments! Subscribe & Review: If you enjoyed this episode, be sure to subscribe and leave a review!

I just finished writing and publishing my newest book, "Tales of Power - A Guide to Epic Storytelling". In this episode of The Walk, I share with you a behind the scenes look at my creative process. The book is a journey into the art of storytelling, inspired by the timeless works of J.R.R. Tolkien. It delves into the transformative power of narrative, teaching you how to weave your messages into compelling stories that captivate and engage. Through my unique storytelling method, you'll learn to craft narratives that hold your audience's attention from beginning to end. The book is rich with over 150 short stories and story prompts, offering a treasure trove of inspiration for your own storytelling endeavors. Whether you're a seasoned storyteller or just beginning, "Tales of Power" provides the tools and insights to elevate your communication through the magic of epic storytelling. Keep an eye on my newsletter for information on how you can get a copy of the book! Haven't subscribed to my newsletter yet? Click here to sign up!

Imagine discovering one day that you’re immortal, destined to live for centuries, outlasting everyone you know and love. How would you feel about that? It’s the premise of the 1986 movie Highlander, where Connor MacLeod, a Scottish Highlander born in the 16th century, learns he’s one of a rare few who can only die if beheaded. As he navigates centuries of conflict with others like him, he’s forced to grapple with the loneliness of outliving everyone he holds dear. There’s talk of a reboot starring Henry Cavill—Superman himself—taking on the role of this timeless warrior. Queen When Queen's iconic guitarist, Brian May, was asked to write the title song for the original movie, he composed the haunting "Who Wants to Live Forever?" This powerful song dives into the heart of the matter: Is eternal life on earth truly a gift if it means watching everyone you love eventually fade away? This question is timeless and resonates through other stories, like J.R.R. Tolkien’s tales of Beren and Lúthien, and Arwen and Aragorn. In these stories, the immortal elves choose to sacrifice their eternal life out of love for their mortal partners. They’d rather face death together than endure the endless loneliness of living forever. Bittersweet Recently, I spoke with a parishioner in her nineties who shared the deep loneliness she feels after outliving all her family members. Her story brought home the bittersweet truth of our finite existence. While we might not like to think about it, acknowledging that our time on earth is limited can help us cherish the moments we have and the relationships we build even more. Tolkien “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us,” Gandalf wisely tells Frodo in *The Lord of the Rings*. Yet, in today’s fast-paced world, many of us feel the constant pressure to be productive every moment of the day, often leading to burnout. Are we truly making the most of our time? Are we investing it in what genuinely matters, or are we simply running on a treadmill of others’ expectations? Legacy In my latest podcast episode of *The Walk*, I explore how reflecting on the legacy I’ll leave behind motivates me to live more intentionally. It’s led me to let go of the things that don’t truly matter, making space for what lasts. P.S. If you’d like to support my work and gain access to my premium podcasts and online community, consider joining my community of friends. You can find more information here: https://fatherroderick.com/join Thanks for reading! Let’s make the most of the time we have. — Fr. Roderick Vonhögen

What I love about my work in television and online is that it brings me into contact with so many different people from all ages and backgrounds. It helps me to constantly broaden my horizon and to keep learning and discovering. In this podcast, I talk a bit more about my work as a TV host and interviewer and I share some thoughts about my future travels. Move your Patreon subscription to my new membership community before time runs out by going to https://fatherroderick.com/join

In this episode of The Walk, I'm sharing with you my recent experiences at the Castlefest fantasy festival. Some visitors I met showed surprise when they discovered that I'm a real priest and not cosplaying as one. What brings so many people to events like these, and why does there seem to be a revival of neo-pagan rituals visitors engage in? And what do I think about this as a catholic priest? Check out my new video course about Storytelling if you want to learn how to become a better storyteller and share your message through stories online, in public speaking or when sharing your faith. With a one-time donation of €99, you get access to 2 months of lessons and you help me produce more of these courses. Follow this link to sign up: https://fatherroderick.com/storytelling

Now that I am back home, I am looking back on what I learned during this first month that I've been living and working abroad as a 'digital nomad'. It has been a very positive and productive experience, and there is one thing I learned that I value above all other aspects of this trip... Join my new community that replaces this Patreon community and get access to many new perks and features: https://fatherroderick.com/join (after signing up, you can stop your Patreon support; you will be able to access this podcast through a new personal feed on the new website). Become a sponsor of my learning project and get early access to my London course about storytelling: https://fatherroderick.com/storytelling

I explore the early traces of Christianity and the remains of the medieval abbey in Leicester as I share with you how my plan to create a video course about storytelling evolved into a new teaching project that brings together many of my goals and talents in the years to come.

My ideas around the courses I'm producing during my 'digital nomad' weeks are quickly evolving. I'm recording this episode of The Walk at the end of my second week in the UK. I share with you some of my experiences, as well as my early thoughts about how you could join me in my efforts to explore, to learn and to grow during these trips abroad. Go to fatherroderick.com/storytelling to learn how you can get early access to my full course about storytelling!

I share with you my adventures during the first week as a digital nomad in the city of London! More information about my upcoming Storytelling Course and about how to sign up will be coming soon!

I have always enjoyed traveling, both for work and for leisure. On the other hand, I'm also a bit of a Hobbit who likes to be at home and who is apprehensive of leaving my routines and familiar surroundings behind. But I realize that if that need for comfort and predictability prevents me from pursuing new adventures, I run the risk of making my life smaller and smaller. So a while ago, I made a decision. Four times per year, I would push myself to go on an adventure. To travel abroad, not to for a vacation, but to work remotely while creating room for new experiences and new encounters. In this episode, I share with you where the road takes me in the month of July, and what my hopes and plans are for this new adventure.

In this episode, I share with you why my visit to Dutch Comic Con was so different from previous years. The migration from Patreon to my new membership community and Premium Podcast feed is now in full swing; all patrons should have received an invitation to migrate. Let me know if you have any issues, I'm here to help!

Whether it is about Star Wars: The Acolyte, about politics or about faith: online debate seems to be stuck in a negativity loop that is hard to avoid nowadays. Before you know it, you get sucked into the vortex of online negativity and you feel worse as a result. In this episode, I explore the root causes for this online behavior and I share with you how I try to counterbalance it by 'reprogramming' my own behavior using a simple morning routine.

For months I have been working behind the scenes on creating a new home for my community on my own website. I have finally started the process of bringing people over from Patreon to the new system, and I am ironing out the last wrinkles. It is the kind of work that I always forget to 'count' at the end of the day, because it doesn't immediately result in tangible output. But thanks to the 'Got Done' List I add to my journal at the end of the day, I'm starting to become more aware of the fact that I do way more work every day than I give myself credit for. The vision for the new community site is for it to be a 'home' for my followers, a place where they find a supportive and friendly community. If you are supporting me through Patreon right now, you will soon receive an invitation to move your membership over to the new community.