Alle afleveringen
405 afleveringen, van nieuw naar oud
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The Month I Made My World Smaller
31 oktober 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
The woods are absolutely beautiful at the moment. On my walk today I passed an old tree trunk covered in tiny yellow mushrooms, almost like little houses built against the side of a cliff, with a sea of brown and golden leaves underneath. And immediately my imagination went somewhere else entirely. I could see little creatures living underneath those mushrooms, sitting inside at the end of the day drinking hot chocolate. Lees meer
I have no idea how that would work in a mushroom house, but apparently my imagination does not care about practical details.
This really is peak fairy-tale season for me. Last year, around this time, I wrote 30 or 31 short stories in a month. This October has been very different because I deliberately tried to focus more. I wanted to work on my fantasy novel, on Pangur’s story, and on some of the other writing projects that have been waiting for me.
What I hadn’t expected was that October would also teach me something about the circumstances in which I seem to work best.
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The retreat I didn’t go on
Originally, I had this idea that I needed to go away somewhere. Maybe Ireland. Maybe some sort of writing retreat. I had already cleared most of my calendar, so the plan was to travel, walk, write, and create that sense of separation from normal life.
In the end I stayed home.
And after a slightly restless beginning, the rhythm just settled by itself. I went to bed around the same time, woke up around the same time, wrote in the mornings and went for long walks in the afternoons. There were very few appointments, hardly any travel, and not much external pressure.
At some point I noticed that I wasn’t missing the retreat anymore.
Apparently, what I needed wasn’t another place. I needed predictability.
That has been interesting to discover because I’m actually very good at improvising. I’ve been doing that for most of my worki…
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My Hobbit Hole Needs an Upgrade
21 oktober 2026 · 1 uur 11 min
Of all the rooms in my house, I spend most of my working day in what is basically a closet. Lees meer
It was never meant to be an office. When I moved into the former rectory where I live, this tiny room beside the front door was simply where people hung their coats. It measures 2.5 meters (about 8.2 feet) in length and 2 meters (about 6.6 feet) in width. Last year, I turned it into my Hobbit hole.There was just enough space for a small IKEA desk, a chair, and a few bookshelves. One wall holds a cupboard with all the house’s electronics, and there’s a single square window.
I’ve always loved the image of Bilbo Baggins sitting safely inside Bag End, surrounded by books and familiar things, writing down his adventures while the outside world disappears. That’s more or less what I wanted for myself: a small, warm place where I could shut out distractions and step into a story.
There was also a very practical reason for choosing the smallest room in the house: it was the only room I could afford to keep warm.
Writing with gloves on
The rectory was built in the 1950s, when apparently nobody expected heating a house to become a luxury.
The roof has never been properly insulated. The insulation inside the walls has largely deteriorated. Downstairs there are enormous old windows through which both heat and money disappear at alarming speed.
Last January, I spent around €1,200 on heating alone.
So during the winter I mostly retreat to my Hobbit hole. I keep the rest of the house at a fairly low temperature and heat only the room where I work. Last year there were days when even that wasn’t enough and I sat behind my computer wearing thin gloves.
It turns out that typing fantasy novels with cold fingers is considerably less romantic than it sounds.
This week I finally decided that something has to change.
I had two people from a local energy service inspect the house and explain where the biggest problems are. A company is coming to look at the walls and give me a quote for …
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My Fantasy Novel Sent Me Back to Seminary
14 oktober 2026 · 55 min
Today, I ran into some parishioners while walking in the woods. “I thought you were going to be in Ireland,” they said. So did I. Lees meer
For months, October had been blocked out in my calendar as my writing month. The original plan was to travel to Ireland, move from hostel to hostel, walk for hours every day and spend the rest of my time working on my fantasy novel.
Then I looked at the prices.
Travel alone had become expensive, accommodation would add another considerable amount, and suddenly my supposedly simple writing retreat was turning into a trip of several thousand euros.
So I stayed home.
At first that felt a little disappointing. Now, halfway through October, I’m beginning to think it may have been exactly what I needed.
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Walking without going anywhere
One thing I knew I would miss about Ireland was the walking.
When I’m there, I can easily spend most of the day on foot. Walking helps me think. Problems that seem impossible behind a desk often begin to loosen after an hour or two outside.
So I’ve simply kept doing that here.
This week I spent three hours wandering through the woods and the park around a nearby castle. Autumn has arrived properly now. The leaves are changing, the light is getting warmer, and at one point the late-afternoon sun hit the moss on the trees in such a way that I had to stop recording and take a picture.
The strange thing is that I don’t feel as if I’m missing Ireland very much.
I’m spending so much time inside the world of my stories that Ireland seems to be following me around anyway.
A different kind of retreat
What I didn’t expect was how personal the writing would become.
I’m rebuilding the fantasy novel I started last year, and the main characters are young people trying to work out who they are, how much they should conform to what others expect from them, and whether they can trust their own g…
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I Think I’m Suffering From Time Travel Whiplash
9 oktober 2026 · 57 min
I think I might be suffering from time travel whiplash. A couple of days ago, I spent most of an afternoon editing a podcast I had recorded at the Elfia fantasy festival in Arcen two weeks earlier. The recording had gone badly wrong. My ancient audio recorder had apparently decided that fifteen years of loyal service was enough, and large chunks of conversations had simply disappeared. So I spent six or eight hours reconstructing what was left, cutting around the gaps and trying to make the finished episode sound as if nothing unusual had happened. Lees meer
By the end of the day, something strange had happened to me as well. I felt as if I had just returned from the festival. I could remember the sunshine, the people I had talked to, the atmosphere, the conversations. Audio does that to me. The moment I start editing an old recording, I am back there again.
Then I opened Instagram and started promoting episodes of my saints podcast based on recordings I had made six weeks earlier. At the same time, I was scheduling other episodes that won’t be published until November. Past, present and future were all occupying the same afternoon. No wonder my brain occasionally wonders what month it is.
The month I was supposed to write
October was supposed to be simple. I had deliberately cleared the month so I could concentrate on rewriting my fantasy novel. Originally, I imagined myself spending much of October in Ireland, moving between hostels, walking during the day and writing the book in the evenings.
Instead, the first week mostly involved recovering from everything I had done to clear the month in the first place. I slept. I tried to slow down. I looked at travel prices, discovered that Ireland would cost considerably more than I’d expected, and started wondering whether I should change the plan.
Then I started another story. Then I researched medieval monasteries. Then medieval storytellers. Then architecture. Then ninth-century Irish monks living in Germany.
All fascina…
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I’m Excited to Be Writing Again
3 oktober 2026 · 59 min
October has finally arrived, and I’ve been looking forward to it for quite some time. Lees meer
I deliberately cleared as much as possible from my calendar. No big recording trips. No looming podcast deadlines. No administrative projects. For once, I want most of my days to revolve around one thing: writing.
Getting here was not particularly relaxing. Over the past two weeks, I produced around thirty episodes of my Dutch saints podcast, finished the paperwork for the audit of our foundation, and spent more than four hours on trains to record another ten episodes in a basilica in the south of the Netherlands.
By the time October arrived, I was exhausted. But the blinking lights in my head had finally gone out.
When everything keeps blinking
I’ve noticed this about myself before. I can have plenty of time to write, but if there are five other things demanding my attention, I find it almost impossible to really disappear into a story.
An email I still need to answer. A recording that has to be scheduled. A problem someone else is waiting for me to solve. None of those things may take much time on their own, but together they create a kind of white noise in my head.
Producing a daily podcast has created a lot of that noise this year. I’ve loved making it, but it also asks for a constant stream of creative energy. Spending your working day telling stories doesn’t necessarily make it easier to sit down afterwards and tell another one.
Last year, I was constantly dreaming up new stories. This year, much of that came to a halt.
I missed it more than I realised.
Three days into October
On October 1, I started writing again.
I’m back to rewriting my fantasy novel, and the year away from it may actually have helped. The world is much clearer to me now. I understand the characters better, and I have a stronger sense of why I want to tell this story in the first place.
At the same time, another idea came back to life.
A couple of months ago, while walking through Utrecht, I…
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You Don't Have to Finish Everything You Start
23 september 2026 · 50 min
At the beginning of this year, I decided I was going to read 100 books. Lees meer
It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. I’d read even more than that in previous years, and although I knew 2026 would be busy, surely I could manage 100?
We are now approaching October.
I recently looked at my Goodreads account and discovered that, to reach my goal, I’d pretty much have to read a book every single day until the end of the year.
Part of my brain immediately went: Challenge accepted!
Fortunately, another part asked a much more sensible question.
Why?
When goals become obligations
There’s nothing wrong with setting goals. I love goals.
The problem starts when circumstances change but the goal doesn’t.
When I decided to read 100 books, I didn’t know quite how demanding producing a daily podcast would become. I didn’t know how much time I’d spend recording, editing, traveling and doing everything else around it.
And yet there was still a little voice telling me that I’d failed because I wasn’t keeping a promise I’d made to myself nine months ago.
I recognize exactly the same voice when I look at my writing.
At one point, I wanted to publish eight books this year. Then I meet another author who published their first novel last year and already has their second book out, and immediately I think:
I’m so far behind.
Behind whom?
Nobody is waiting outside my house with a stopwatch.
The deadline mostly exists in my own imagination.
The Halloween project
I ran into the same problem again this week.
I had come up with an idea for a special series of seven episodes of my Dutch saints podcast leading up to Halloween. There are some surprisingly eerie stories about saints, demons and supernatural encounters, and I thought it would be fun to tell them almost like horror stories, complete with music and sound effects.
I loved the idea.
Then I tried writing them.
It was hard.
I’ve never written horror before. I’m actually rather impressionable myself, so I tend to avo…
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How to deal with a disturbance in the Force
16 september 2026 · 1 uur
I knew exactly what I wanted to work on this week. I was going to continue rewriting my fantasy novel. I had made some good progress on the worldbuilding and the magic system, and I was finally getting back into a rhythm. Lees meer
Then a letter arrived from the Dutch tax authorities.
Our non-profit foundation, Trideo, had been selected for a routine check. Nothing alarming, as far as I can tell. But they need documents. Annual reports. Plans. Financial information. Details about what we’ve been doing and what we’re planning to do.
And they need it before the end of the month.
There went my carefully planned September.
A disturbance in the Force
As I walked through the woods this week, I called it a disturbance in the Force.
You can have your priorities perfectly organized and diligently work through them every day. Then something appears that you didn’t plan for but can’t ignore.
I initially tried to keep everything else going alongside it. The novel. My podcast work. Preparations for a possible research trip in October. Fantasyfans. All the other projects already occupying little corners of my brain.
That didn’t work particularly well.
I stopped taking my daily walks. I didn’t sleep as well. I became agitated. There was a knot in my stomach.
The funny thing is that the paperwork itself isn’t particularly frightening. The problem is uncertainty. When something suddenly lands on my desk with lots of different parts and no obvious first step, my brain wants to solve all of it at once.
So I eventually did the opposite.
For the next two weeks, the paperwork gets priority. The contractual work still gets done. Everything else can wait.
Getting lost
There was a certain irony to explaining all this while recording the podcast.
I decided to take a path through the woods that I hadn’t walked before.
Except it wasn’t really a path.
Soon I was climbing over fallen trees, crawling underneath branches and trying to work out whether I had accidentally wandered into some…
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What Season of Life Are You In?
13 september 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
One of the unexpected gifts of this past week didn’t happen while writing my novel or recording a podcast. It happened while walking through the woods. Lees meer
As autumn slowly announces itself here in the Netherlands, the first mushrooms are appearing among the fallen branches. They’re easy to miss, but every year they remind me that life has its own seasons. Some things disappear. New things quietly emerge in their place.
I’ve noticed something similar happening in my own life.
For years I’ve tried to hold on to every version of Father Roderick that ever existed. The Star Wars enthusiast. The television presenter. The priest. The podcaster. The documentary maker. The YouTuber. The writer. I kept wondering whether I should still be all of those things at once.
Lately I’ve begun to suspect that the question itself is wrong.
Finding my place
Last weekend I spent a day at a small fantasy festival, recording interviews for my new Dutch podcast, Fantasyfans.nl. It was a much smaller event than Castlefest, which made it possible to have real conversations with artists, writers and visitors.
What struck me most wasn’t the costumes or the music.
It was the kindness.
Again and again I met people eager to encourage each other, share their creativity and celebrate each other’s stories. I came home with hours of interviews, but also with a growing conviction that this community is exactly where I need to be right now.
Not because everyone thinks the same way, quite the opposite.
It’s because I can simply show up as myself: a priest who loves stories. A storyteller who happens to be a priest.
Letting go of old roles
That has also made me think about the things I’m slowly letting go of.
This week I started clearing out one of the cupboards in my office. It was filled with microphones, cameras, old phones and equipment I bought for projects I once imagined I would make.
I realised I wasn’t really sorting electronics.
I was sorting through old versions of myself.
Some of…
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Back in Medieval Ireland
6 september 2026 · 58 min
Home again Lees meer
Every weekday morning this week, I’ve found myself back in early medieval Ireland.
The morning mist still hangs over the valley as monks make their way across the monastery grounds. The bell has just called the community to prayer. In the scriptorium, novices bend over their desks, learning to shape letters and illuminate manuscripts. Outside the walls, old legends are stirring, and somewhere in the distance a young novice is about to stumble into a story much bigger than he could ever imagine.
Then I look up from my laptop.
For the first time in months, I’m genuinely looking forward to sitting down every morning to rewrite my first fantasy novel.
Not because I’m making spectacular progress. Quite the opposite. Some mornings I rewrite a single page. Others I don’t write anything at all. Instead, I listen back to old voice notes, rethink the history of a monastery or spend an hour trying to understand one of my characters a little better.
And I’m having the time of my life.
Exploring instead of producing
Only a few weeks ago, this felt completely different.
Rewriting the novel had become a mountain I kept avoiding to climb. Every new story idea seemed more exciting than returning to the manuscript I’d already written. I felt guilty about that, convinced I simply needed more discipline.
Now I think something else was going on…
Last week I wrote about letting go of the imaginary version of myself who always had enough time to do everything. Once I stopped measuring myself against that impossible person, something unexpected happened. The pressure disappeared.
I no longer felt I had to prove I could write a novel, I could simply take the time to learn how to write one. And that tiny shift changed everything.
Instead of trying to produce pages as quickly as possible, I’ve started treating these mornings as an opportunity to explore. Sometimes I end up reading about medieval pigments. Or I draw a map of the monastery grounds. Sometimes I realise a…
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The Version of Me That Doesn't Exist
30 augustus 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
A decluttering expert said something this week that I haven't been able to get out of my head.We often buy things not for the person we are today, but for the person we hope to become. Running shoes for the future athlete. A bread machine for the baker who’s definitely going to make fresh sourdough every weekend. An expensive sketchbook for the artist who’s just waiting for the right moment to begin. Lees meer
As I looked around my own house, I realised I’d been doing exactly the same thing.
Not just with possessions.
With my life.
For years I’d been making plans for someone who always seemed just around the corner. He somehow had enough time to keep half a dozen YouTube channels alive, maintain every hobby he’d ever enjoyed, answer every email the day it arrived, write books at remarkable speed and still have time left over for everything else.
The strange thing is that I’d started measuring myself against him.
No wonder I always felt behind.
Learning the craft
That realisation changed the way I looked at almost everything. I no longer felt guilty about projects that no longer fit the life I’m actually living. I stopped worrying that I wasn’t moving fast enough. Even my fantasy novel began to look different. Instead of asking why it still wasn’t finished, I found myself enjoying the slow process of becoming the writer who can tell this story well.
That reminded me of one of Tolkien’s favourite ideas. He described artists and storytellers as sub-creators. God alone creates from nothing. We receive creation as a gift and shape it through imagination, craftsmanship and patience. I’ve always loved that image because it shifts the focus away from producing something as quickly as possible. Craft isn’t measured by speed. It’s measured by the care you bring to it.
Perhaps that’s why I find so much joy these days in things that don’t seem particularly efficient. Painting medieval-style creatures in watercolor. Recording conversations with fantasy authors. Walking through …
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The Story Underneath the Story
23 augustus 2026 · 1 uur 10 min
This week I finally began preparing the rewrite of my novel. Over the past year I’ve recorded hundreds of voice notes whenever an idea appeared, while walking through the woods, riding my bike or making dinner. Most of them last less than a minute. A better ending to a scene. A new character. A monastery that suddenly belongs on a cliff instead of in a valley. My plan was simply to transcribe them, organise them into a story bible and finally start writing. Instead, I spent an afternoon listening to my own thoughts, and as the notes piled up on my screen, I realised they weren’t really about medieval Ireland or even the mechanics of the magic system. Almost every idea circled back to the same question: what does creativity actually do? Lees meer
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That question led me to the medieval monks who inspired much of my story. They weren’t merely copying manuscripts. Through words, images and craftsmanship they shaped the imagination of the people around them. It reminded me of Tolkien’s description of artists as sub-creators. God alone creates from nothing. We receive creation as a gift and, through imagination and skill, participate in it. Suddenly I understood that this had become the foundation of my novel. The magic isn’t really about extraordinary powers. It’s about the mysterious way stories, beauty and imagination can change people and, through them, the world.
Perhaps that’s also why rewriting this book has become so important to me. For months I’d measured my progress in chapters, deadlines and word counts. Sitting there with those voice notes, I realised I’d been measuring the wrong thing. The novel isn’t only teaching me how to tell a better story. It’s teaching me how to become a better storyteller. Every rewrite, every conversation with another author, every sketch in my notebook and every documentary I make is part of that same apprenticeship. I …
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The Eclipse That Measured My Life
12 augustus 2026 · 1 uur 5 min
When a partial solar eclipse became visible across Europe this week, I grabbed the most sophisticated piece of scientific equipment I own. Lees meer
A kitchen colander.
I’d read that the tiny holes work like a pinhole camera, projecting dozens of miniature eclipses onto a sheet of white paper. It sounded just improbable enough to be worth trying. So I packed the colander in my backpack, walked to the open fields outside my village, and joined hundreds of other people who had gathered to watch the sky.
Some had brought telescopes. Others carried homemade viewing boxes or expensive camera gear. A few generous souls let curious strangers peer through their eclipse glasses. Children pointed excitedly at the strange crescent-shaped shadows beneath the trees, while amateur photographers compared lenses and filters.
For a brief moment, complete strangers became companions, united by the simple fact that something remarkable was happening overhead.
My humble colander turned out to work perfectly.
More Than an Eclipse
The last time I witnessed a solar eclipse was more than twenty-five years ago.
As I stood there watching the Moon slowly uncover the Sun again, I realised how much life had happened between those two afternoons.
Back then I had only recently been ordained. Podcasting barely existed. Smartphones belonged to science fiction. I hadn’t studied in Rome yet. I hadn’t experienced burnout. I hadn’t spent years making television documentaries, walked the Camino de Santiago or started writing novels.
Standing in that same sunlight, I wasn’t just watching an eclipse. I was looking across almost three decades of my own life.
It’s strange how time works.
Twenty-five years ago feels almost like yesterday. Yet when I imagine another twenty-five years stretching ahead, it suddenly seems like an impossibly long road. Our memories compress time. The future, meanwhile, always feels endless, until one day you realise it isn’t.
What Actually Lasts
That thought lingered with me…
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I Didn't Expect to Fall in Love Again
6 augustus 2026 · 1 uur 7 min
On Sunday afternoon at the Castlefest fantasy festival, I made a last-minute decision. Lees meer
I’d already spent the previous day interviewing authors for my new Dutch podcast, Fantasyfans.nl. Instead of recording more conversations, I decided to spend the rest of the festival making a short documentary.
There was no camera crew, no script and no elaborate equipment. Just my iPhone and a rough idea of the story I wanted to tell. I wandered through the castle grounds, talking to visitors about the stories behind their costumes, interviewing artists and following whatever caught my attention.
By the time I boarded the train home, I couldn’t stop smiling.
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An Old Craft
It took me a while to understand why.
Long before writing became such a big part of my life, I spent seventeen years making television documentaries. I eventually learned to do almost everything myself, from finding stories and conducting interviews to filming and editing.
The first documentary I ever made was awful.
I made every mistake a beginner could make. After spending the better part of a week trying to rescue the edit, I finally asked one of our experienced editors to have a look. He watched the footage for a few minutes, suggested a different structure and suddenly everything fell into place. It wasn’t that I had filmed the wrong material. I simply didn’t yet know how to shape it into a story.
That afternoon at Castlefest brought all of that back.
As soon as I started filming, it felt familiar. I instinctively knew who to approach, which questions to ask and how to collect the pieces I’d need later in the editing room. It reminded me that seventeen years of practice don’t simply disappear because you spend a few years doing other things.
The Next Chapter
On the train home, another thought crossed my mind.
Writing my first fantasy novel feels remarkably similar to making…
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Too Many Good Ideas
31 juli 2026 · 47 min
Every creative life has one problem that success doesn’t solve. Sometimes it actually makes it worse. Lees meer
Earlier this week, I found myself looking at my calendar with a growing sense of unease. It should have been a quiet week. After walking two hundred kilometres during the Nijmegen Four Days Marches, I’d planned to recover before beginning the next phase of my fantasy novel. Instead, my schedule filled itself almost overnight. Interviews in three cathedrals. Editing another series of podcasts. Publishing a few articles. Parish work. A radio interview about my Dutch podcast. And then, almost at the last minute, an invitation to Castlefest as a member of the press, my favorite fantasy festival of the year. The sensible thing would have been to stay home. Instead, I immediately started looking for my recording gear.
That’s the problem with work you genuinely enjoy. It rarely feels like work. I love interviewing authors and exploring old churches. I love telling stories about saints and meeting people who care about fantasy as much as I do. Every invitation sounds like an opportunity I shouldn’t miss. Yet somewhere along the way I realised that I was measuring success by everything I managed to fit into a week, while the project that matters most, writing my own books, kept waiting patiently for “when things calm down.” They never do.
Earlier this year, I made a public promise that I wanted to publish eight books this year (most of them already exist as drafts). It’s an absurdly ambitious goal, and I probably wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else. But I know myself well enough to understand why I set it. The number isn’t really the point. It’s a reminder of the person I’m trying to become. You don’t become a writer by thinking about books. You become a writer by protecting the time to write them. That means saying no, not only to bad ideas, but sometimes to wonderful ones as well.
So this August I’m trying something different. One chapter a day. That’s all. Not the p…
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For Four Days, the World Felt Different
26 juli 2026 · 1 uur 17 min
For four days, I walked fifty kilometres a day. I came home with sore feet, very little sleep, and a renewed faith in people. Lees meer
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By Friday afternoon, every step hurt.
After four days of walking fifty kilometers a day during the Nijmegen Four Days Marches—the world’s largest multi-day walking event—I had reached the point where my feet objected to almost every surface. The next morning, the short walk to the supermarket felt harder than some of the longest stretches during the event itself.
Yet that isn't what I remember most.
What stays with me are the people.
Every village seemed determined to keep forty-five thousand walkers moving. Children stood along the road handing out cucumber slices, cookies and sweets. Churches served us free coffee. Complete strangers applauded as we passed, as if finishing the walk mattered just as much to them as it did to us. Along the route I kept running into familiar faces. Friends from the fantasy community. People I’d interviewed years ago. Listeners who recognized me from my podcasts or from my social media posts. Even the Klingon cosplayer I'd once posed with at Comic Con somehow appeared among the crowds. With tens of thousands of participants, none of those meetings should have happened. Yet they kept happening.
Walking fifty kilometres together has an interesting effect on people. Conversation becomes easier. Pretence disappears somewhere around the thirty-kilometer mark. You talk about books, life, work and dreams simply because there's nothing else to do except keep putting one foot in front of the other. I spent much of the week with friends who are organizing a new fantasy festival. We talked about storytelling, community and why so many people feel at home in worlds filled with elves, dwarves and dragons. By the end of the week I found myself sketching the mythology behind their festival in my no…
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The Camino Didn't End in Santiago
15 juli 2026 · 1 uur 3 min
When I arrived in Santiago de Compostela two months ago, I assumed the journey was over. I’d recorded forty podcast episodes along the way, filled my phone with hundreds of photos, and written a short diary entry every evening before going to bed. Surely that would be enough to remember what had happened. Lees meer
This month I’ve started turning those memories into a book. Every morning I open my Camino diary, replay one of the podcast episodes I recorded on the trail, and begin writing. Almost immediately, something unexpected happens. A single photograph reminds me of a conversation I’d forgotten. A village on Google Street View brings back the smell of wet earth after an early morning rain. I find myself remembering details I never consciously stored away, as if they had simply been waiting for someone to ask the right question.
The biggest surprise is that I’m not just recovering memories. I’m discovering meaning. While I was walking, most days were wonderfully ordinary. Walk, eat, meet people, find a place to sleep, repeat. Only now, with a little distance, do I begin to notice how those encounters belong together. A conversation in the morning sheds light on a visit to a tiny church hours later. The story of a saint suddenly explains why a particular moment stayed with me. None of that was obvious at the time. Apparently, experiences need room to breathe before they reveal what they were trying to say.
Perhaps that’s true of more than pilgrimages. We often expect life’s important moments to announce themselves while they’re happening. In reality, they tend to whisper long after we’ve returned home. Looking back isn’t simply an exercise in nostalgia. Sometimes it’s the first time we truly understand where we’ve been. That’s why, in a strange way, I no longer feel that I’m writing about the Camino. I’m still walking it.
Listen to the podcast
This article grew out of this week’s episode of my podcast The Walk. You can listen by tapping the play button in the podcast…
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Learning to Stop
8 juli 2026 · 1 uur 1 min
On Monday evening, I finally uploaded the first chapter of my Camino book. By the time I’d published the accompanying newsletter and shared it online, it was already half past ten. I stared at the clock with mixed feelings. Not because the chapter had taken longer than expected, but because I’d broken a promise to myself. For months I’d been trying to stop working at five in the afternoon. That simple habit had transformed my days. I slept better, woke up with more energy, and actually looked forward to sitting down at my desk each morning. Lees meer
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The irony was that nothing had gone wrong. Quite the opposite. The book had finally found its voice. I had set out to write a guide to the saints along the Camino de Santiago, but somewhere in the first chapter it became something else. Instead of describing churches and biographies, I found myself back on the trail, meeting fellow pilgrims again, hearing the church bells of small Spanish villages, and rediscovering the conversations that had shaped my own pilgrimage. Every chapter opened the door to another memory, and before I knew it, I wanted to keep writing long after dinner.
Only a few weeks ago, I couldn’t persuade myself to work on my novel. Now I had the opposite problem. The words kept coming, and I didn’t want to interrupt them. It’s a much nicer problem to have, but it carries its own danger. I’ve learned often enough that enthusiasm can be just as exhausting as procrastination. Creative work isn’t only about finding momentum. It’s also about protecting it.
So this week I’m trying something that feels almost unnatural. When five o’clock arrives, I’ll turn off the computer, even if the next paragraph is already forming in my head. I’d rather leave something unwritten today than discover, a few weeks from now, that I’ve exhausted the very excitement that made me want to write in the first place.…
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Time Traveling Through Ireland and Scotland
1 juli 2026 · 1 uur 3 min
This morning, I found myself back in Ireland on top of a cliff at the end of the Pilgrim’s Path in County Donegal. Lees meer
A little later I wandered through the Scottish Highlands near Ullapool. By the afternoon I was standing inside a medieval chapel in Brittany, listening to the echoes of footsteps from years ago.
And yet, I never left my home.
In fact, only a day earlier I’d decided that I wasn’t going anywhere this summer.
For weeks I’d been trying to convince myself that I should return to Ireland. The Nijmegen Four Days Marches are coming up, and a week of hiking through the Irish countryside seemed like perfect training. I also wanted to record a new series of podcast episodes about Celtic saints. And, if I’m honest, I didn’t need much of an excuse to go back. Ireland has a habit of making me feel at home.
Then my left foot had other ideas.
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While putting on my walking shoes one morning, I felt a sharp pain across the middle of my foot. Nothing dramatic (probably an irritated tendon due to the amount of walking I’ve been doing lately) but enough to make me wonder whether hiking eight hours a day was really such a brilliant plan. After a bit of reading, the advice seemed remarkably consistent.
Take it easy.
Not exactly the words an enthusiastic walker hopes to hear.
For a day or two I kept trying to negotiate with reality. Maybe it would disappear. Maybe I could simply walk through it. Walkers are remarkably good at bargaining with their own bodies.
Eventually I admitted that Ireland would have to wait.
Oddly enough, I didn’t feel disappointed for very long.
That afternoon I connected an old external hard drive to my computer.
Back in time
The drive was full of video footage I’d almost forgotten about.
Ireland.
Scotland.
Brittany.
Hours upon hours of walks through ruined monasteries, tiny churches and windswept landscapes. I star…
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What the Camino Taught Me About Writing
26 juni 2026 · 49 min
In this episode I record during a historic Dutch heatwave, on a day officially marked as code red. I talk about waking up at five to cool the house, improvising sun‑blocking with bedsheets, and trying to adapt to temperatures that feel increasingly normal in a changing climate. Lees meer
I explain why I cancelled a planned storytelling workshop for seminarians, even though the topic is close to my heart. Instead, I stay home and continue editing the Camino saints series, reflecting on how much I enjoy spontaneous, on‑location storytelling and how these recordings remind me of my early podcasting days.
As I walk, I think aloud about the tension between creative energy and ADHD. New ideas give me momentum, while editing drains it. A helpful insight emerges: instead of “editing” my first novel, I can retell it with everything I’ve learned over the past year. That shift in mindset makes the work feel possible again.
I also talk about the frustrations of working within a broadcast organization where I have no control over promotion, and why Substack feels like a better home for building a community around my work. A lunch‑walk story about “a man who wanted to take his horse to heaven” reminds me how essential walking and play are to my creativity, and sparks the idea of sharing daily short stories as a way to reach readers.
The episode ends with a reflection on focus, choices, and the need to protect creative space — especially on a day when simply surviving the heat already feels like a full‑time job.
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The Walk - The Joy of Missing Out
21 juni 2026 · 59 min
This week I take an evening walk through the woods during a heatwave and reflect on a surprising decision: skipping one of my favorite events of the year. Lees meer
Comic Con Holland was happening just down the road. Friends were there. Authors I admire were there. Under normal circumstances, I would have spent the entire weekend interviewing writers, meeting readers, and soaking up inspiration.
Instead, I stayed home.
In this episode I talk about why I made that choice, how the fear of missing out can quietly undermine focus, and what I'm learning about protecting my energy and attention so I can return to the work that matters most.
I also share updates on my summer plans, my struggle to catch up with podcast production after the Camino, and my ongoing efforts to create a more sustainable rhythm for writing and creative work.
Along the way, I reflect on two stories that unexpectedly inspired me this weekend: the emotional finale of Young Sheldon and the animated film Transformers One. Both reminded me why storytelling matters and challenged me to bring more emotional depth to my own novels.
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The Walk - The Question That Changed My Week
16 juni 2026 · 1 uur 1 min
This week I'm reflecting on something that many creative people struggle with: what happens when motivation disappears. Lees meer
After several busy weeks filled with podcast production, events, travel, administration, and a growing backlog of unfinished tasks, I found myself dealing with fatigue, brain fog, and procrastination. Instead of trying to push harder, I decided to take a closer look at what was really going on.
In this episode I talk about the importance of rhythm, the hidden cost of open loops, why journaling helps me make sense of difficult periods, and how I've learned to replace self-criticism with curiosity.
I also share updates on several creative projects, including the upcoming Four Days Marches saints series, the Camino podcasts, plans for a book about the saints of the Camino, and my ongoing struggle between chasing exciting new ideas and finishing the stories I've already started.
Topics in this episode:
• Recovering from mental and physical fatigue• Brain fog, procrastination, and creative work• The value of journaling and self-reflection• Preparing a special saints series for the Four Days Marches• Writing plans for the Saints of the Camino book• Revisiting the Story Mages novel rewrite• Why Ireland keeps calling me back as a writer and pilgrim
As always, thank you for walking with me.
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The Walk - Momentum Before Motivation
3 juni 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
For a long time, I thought that progress depended on inspiration. Lees meer
If only I felt more motivated. If only I had more energy. If only I could find a few uninterrupted days to focus on the things that matter most.
But the older I get, the more I discover that meaningful work is rarely built on inspiration alone. It's built on small routines, simple habits, and the willingness to take the next step even when you don't feel like it.
In this week's episode of my podcast 'The Walk', I reflect on that lesson while preparing a new batch of podcasts, working on a book about the saints of the Camino, and getting ready to finally rewrite the fantasy novel I've been developing since last year. Along the way, I share some of the practical tricks that help me deal with overwhelm, procrastination, clutter, and the endless stream of creative ideas that compete for attention. Not because I've mastered any of these things, but because I'm still learning them myself.
The surprising discovery is that the same principles seem to work everywhere. Writing a novel. Cleaning a kitchen. Reading more books. Building a healthier life. In every case, success rarely comes from giant leaps. It comes from creating a little space, taking one small action, and trusting that momentum will follow.
Often all you need to do is to take the next step.
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The Walk - What Happens When You Challenge Your Own Beliefs?
28 mei 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
For most of us, it happens without us noticing. Lees meer
Our world slowly becomes smaller. The people we follow think like us. The news we read confirms what we already believe. The conversations we have rarely challenge our assumptions. Social media is especially good at creating that kind of comfortable bubble.
In this week's episode of my podcast The Walk, I found myself reflecting on what happens when we deliberately step outside of it.
The thought started with the stories of the saints that I've been recording these past weeks. Again and again, I encounter people who leave the safety of their familiar world. Princes who choose poverty. Scholars who engage with people who disagree with them. Men and women who cross cultural boundaries because they care more about truth and compassion than comfort.
That same pattern has shaped my own life in unexpected ways. Whether it's attending fantasy festivals, talking to people with very different beliefs, or listening to those who are questioning and even leaving the faith traditions they grew up in, I've discovered that curiosity is often far more valuable than certainty.
In this episode, I reflect on faith, deconstruction, critical thinking, the algorithms that shape our online lives, and why I believe genuine growth often begins when we're willing to ask uncomfortable questions.
Not because questioning automatically destroys belief.
Sometimes it deepens it.
And sometimes it helps us let go of things that were never really faith in the first place.
It's a personal and wide-ranging conversation about saints, storytelling, empathy, doubt, and why keeping an open mind may be one of the most important spiritual disciplines of our time.
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The Walk - The Pressure That Finally Caught Up With Me
21 mei 2026 · 54 min
Last week I found myself doing something I haven’t done in a long time. Instead of working on the mountain of deadlines waiting for me, I disappeared into video games for three days straight. Lees meer
On paper, that made no sense at all. I had twenty-two podcast episodes still to produce, unanswered emails, financial administration, requests for future talks, parish work, and a head full of open loops. The more pressure I felt, the more impossible it became to sit down and actually start. So instead of writing scripts, I escaped into the deserts of Arrakis and the forests of Viking survival games. At first I felt guilty about it. But slowly I started to realize something important: maybe this wasn’t laziness at all. Maybe it was my system trying to recover.
In this episode, I reflect on something I’m only now beginning to understand about myself. The moment life becomes too externally driven, too full of expectations and obligations, I freeze. Not because I don’t care. Quite the opposite. The pressure becomes so loud that my brain starts looking for predictable worlds where nothing is demanded of me anymore. What surprised me most is that the solution did not come from forcing myself back to work. It came from sleep, walking, journaling, and creating enough mental space to calm the noise in my head.
I also talk about a difficult encounter after Mass last Sunday, a moment that stayed with me much longer than I expected, and about how easily we underestimate the emotional cost of always having to “perform” socially, creatively, or spiritually. The deeper theme running through this entire conversation is the tension between external expectations and inner freedom. What happens when your creative life slowly starts to feel like obligation? And how do you protect the part of yourself that needs wonder, recovery, and room to breathe in order to stay alive?
This episode became a kind of audio journal about overload, recovery, creativity, and the surprising realization that som…
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The Walk - Imagination Is Not Escapism
15 mei 2026 · 1 uur 5 min
Some weeks feel like spring sunlight breaking through the trees. Other weeks feel like standing in the hail with your hands in your pockets, wondering why everything suddenly turned cold again. Lees meer
This past week felt like both at the same time.
After returning from the Camino, I found myself immediately pulled back into a whirlwind of obligations: parish life, fantasy festivals, interviews, talks, trains that weren’t running, late nights, and a stubborn cold that refused to leave. Somewhere between coughing fits, crowded convention halls and endless cups of tea, I also had to write something that unexpectedly terrified me: a sermon about fantasy.
Not a church sermon, at least not really. This was for a fantasy festival held inside a former church in Nijmegen. The organizers had invited me, partly as a priest and partly because I’ve somehow become known in Dutch fantasy circles as “that priest who likes fantasy stories.” And despite years of public speaking, despite television work and podcasts and interviews, I suddenly felt like an impostor. Like I didn’t belong there. Not enough of a writer. Not enough of a fantasy expert. Too religious for one world, too geeky for the other.
So naturally, I procrastinated completely.
What finally unlocked the entire talk was an unexpected memory of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. As a child, that factory looked more like heaven to me than clouds and golden harps ever did. And from there the entire theme suddenly became clear: imagination matters because every meaningful future first exists as a story we dare to tell ourselves.
That is why fantasy matters.
Not because it helps us escape reality, but because it reminds us that reality is not finished yet. Every creative act begins with imagination. Every hopeful future starts with someone envisioning something better than what currently exists. Children understand this instinctively. Adults often lose it under layers of exhaustion, cynicism and endless bad news.
Maybe that…
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The Walk - Returning to Work After the Camino
6 mei 2026 · 46 min
Coming home from the Camino felt stranger than I expected. Not because I missed the walking itself, but because I suddenly had to switch back into a life full of deadlines, obligations and screens. After weeks of spending my days outdoors, telling stories while walking through forests and villages in Spain, I found myself sitting behind a desk again, staring at giant research documents and struggling to begin. Lees meer
In this episode of The Walk, I talk about the friction between creativity and pressure. About why some work drains energy while other work gives it back. And about the realization that for me, balance is less about working harder and more about finding a rhythm that actually fits the way I function. I also share how the Camino unexpectedly reshaped my plans for writing, podcasting and building a fantasy storytelling community in both English and Dutch.
This walk through the woods became a conversation about overwhelm, delayed gratification, creative identity and the challenge of protecting long-term dreams while daily responsibilities keep demanding attention. And somewhere between the trees, dogs chasing my microphone, and thoughts about fantasy festivals and unfinished novels, I slowly started to see a clearer path forward again.
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The Walk - What the Camino Taught Me
29 april 2026 · 1 uur 9 min
I didn’t expect the hardest part of the Camino to come after I got home. Lees meer
A week after arriving in Santiago de Compostela, I found myself walking again, this time through familiar surroundings. Same blue sky. Same rhythm. But everything felt… different. During the Camino, life was simple. Walk, observe, create, connect. Back home, all the noise returns. Deadlines, expectations, unfinished work. And yet, something had shifted. The Camino didn’t change my life overnight, it showed me how much had already changed.
One of the biggest lessons hit me in a way I couldn’t ignore. When everything aligns, I go into full flow mode. I can walk 50 kilometers, record podcasts, generate ideas, and feel unstoppable. But that same flow hides the cost. I push too far. Ignore signals. Until something forces me to stop. A blister. A pulled muscle. Exhaustion. What surprised me most was this: every time I did stop, everything improved. Clearer thinking. Better creativity. More energy. Rest didn’t slow me down, it made everything better. That’s a lesson I’m still learning.
And then there’s something deeper. On the Camino, I let go of control. No strict plans. Just walking until it felt right. Talking to people without an agenda. Trusting that things would work out. And they did. Again and again. Strangers helped me. Problems solved themselves. It sounds simple, almost naive. But living it day after day changes something. It makes you wonder how much of your normal stress is… unnecessary.
Maybe the real challenge isn’t walking across Spain. Maybe it’s bringing that same trust, that same openness, back into ordinary life.
View my daily Camino Journal (with lots of photos) on Polarsteps: https://www.polarsteps.com/FatherRoderick/24866392-camino-frances
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The Walk - My Camino Week 4
23 april 2026 · 1 uur 12 min
The arrival at Santiago de Compostela. Lees meer
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The Walk - My Camino Week 3
16 april 2026 · 1 uur 11 min
My thoughts on the third week of my Camino. Lees meer
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The Walk - My Camino Week 2
9 april 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
My impressions on the second week of my Camino to Santiago de Compostela. Lees meer
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The Walk - My Camino Week 1
4 april 2026 · 37 min
My impressions on the first week of my Camino to Santiago de Compostela. Lees meer
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The Walk - Preparing for my Second Camino
25 maart 2026 · 50 min
I’m getting ready for a trip that feels both exciting and slightly overwhelming: I'm going to walk my second Camino to Santiago de Compostela! There’s a long list of things that need to be done, deadlines that don’t move, and a body and mind that are already feeling the pressure. Normally, this would be the moment where I push harder, try to finish everything, and ignore the warning signs. But this time, I’m trying something different. Instead of forcing my way through the chaos, I’m learning to slow down, to choose what really matters, and to accept that not everything will be finished before I leave. Lees meer
What’s changed is not the workload, but how I respond to it. In the past, I would measure myself against an invisible standard and tell myself I wasn’t doing enough. That voice is still there sometimes, but I’m starting to recognize it for what it is. I’m learning to work with my limits instead of constantly pushing against them. That means taking breaks, stopping when I’ve done enough, and trusting that I can pick things up again the next day. It’s not always easy, especially when everything feels urgent, but it does make a difference.
And maybe that’s already part of the journey I’m about to begin. Not just the physical pilgrimage, but a different way of moving through life. A slower pace. Less pressure. Fewer expectations about how things should go. I don’t know what this trip will bring, and for once, I’m okay with that. I’ll do what I can, leave the rest, and trust that something meaningful will unfold along the way.
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The Walk - Finding Peace in What I Choose Not to Do
18 maart 2026 · 50 min
Lately, I’ve been noticing a deeper question underneath everything I do. Not just how I plan my days, or how I manage my energy, but something more fundamental: can I actually trust the rhythm of my life? Because if I’m honest, I often try to control it. I plan, I push, I expect myself to perform. And then there are those days where nothing works. I’m tired, unfocused, and whatever I try just doesn’t land. What’s new is that I’m starting to respond differently. Instead of forcing it, I step outside, go for a walk, and slowly I feel things come back. Not because I made it happen, but because I gave it space. Lees meer
That shift is changing how I look at my work. I’m experimenting with giving each day a clear purpose, not to control everything, but to create room. Room for focus, room for rest, room to close the loops that keep buzzing in the back of my mind. But the real challenge is not the system. It’s letting go of the idea that I have to do everything. That my value depends on how much I produce. Choosing one focus for a month sounds simple, but it forces me to say no to a hundred other things. And that’s where it becomes spiritual. It’s about trust. Trust that what I leave undone doesn’t define me.
In this episode, I’m trying to put words to that tension. Between calling and limitation. Between wanting to do more and learning to choose well. I don’t think this is just my struggle. If you’ve ever felt torn between everything you could do and what you actually have the energy for, then you’ll probably recognize this. Maybe the real question isn’t how to do more, but how to live in a way that is sustainable, faithful, and grounded in trust.
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The Walk - Don’t Let the News Steal Your Hope
11 maart 2026 · 52 min
The news has been heavy lately. Every day brings new reports about the war in Iran, images of destruction, and stories of people whose lives are suddenly turned upside down. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by it. In this episode I reflect on what it means to stay attentive to that suffering without losing hope ourselves. Lees meer
One thing that helps me is remembering how powerful stories can be. News often focuses on what is going wrong right now. Stories, on the other hand, help us imagine where we might still go. They remind us that the future is not written yet. In the podcast I talk about how storytelling, whether in books, films, or even the stories we tell each other about our lives, can keep our imagination alive. And that imagination is closely connected to hope. If we can still picture a better future, we are less likely to give in to despair.
That is also why creative work matters to me right now. Writing stories, reading them, and sharing them with others helps me keep looking forward instead of getting stuck in the darkness of the moment. Hope is not pretending that the world is fine. It is choosing to believe that the story is still unfolding. And as long as the story continues, there is still room for courage, kindness, and change.
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The Walk - Between Doomscrolling and Escapism
5 maart 2026 · 1 uur 7 min
Sometimes the world feels like a constant stream of urgency. News updates, deadlines, expectations, and worries about things far beyond our control. In this episode, recorded during a quiet walk through the woods on a bright spring day, I reflect on how easy it is to get pulled into that whirlwind, either by endless scrolling or by escaping completely into distraction. But there might be a healthier place somewhere in between. Lees meer
During these walks I notice how the rhythm of nature slowly changes my perspective. The problems of the world do not disappear, but they begin to settle into a different order. From that calmer place I talk about learning to set boundaries, protecting time to rest, and discovering that balance is not about ignoring suffering, but about making space to process it without losing hope or empathy.
In the podcast I also share some of the lessons I’ve learned recently while juggling intense work, creative projects, and the temptation to overwork. It turns out that recalibrating your life often takes longer than you expect, but the peace that slowly returns is worth the effort. If you’ve ever wondered how to stay compassionate without becoming overwhelmed, this conversation might resonate with you.
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The Walk - When Protecting Your Evenings Changes Everything
25 februari 2026 · 53 min
The birds are loud again. The days are getting brighter. And somewhere between winter and spring, I’ve made a decision that is changing everything. Lees meer
In this week’s episode, I talk about something very simple: stopping at five. No more “just one more thing.” No more evenings that slowly dissolve into unfinished tasks. I used to think my hyper-focus was my greatest strength. Now I’m learning that without boundaries, it was the very thing draining me.
What happened when I finally drew a clear line around my time? Better sleep. Sharper focus. More peace. In this episode, I share why protecting your evenings might be the most productive thing you can do — especially in Lent.
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The Walk - Lent Without Pressure: Rebalancing Life in Forty Days
18 februari 2026 · 37 min
On the verge of Lent, I found myself asking a different question than usual. Not, what big project can I launch, or how can I make these forty days impressive, but what actually needs rebalancing in my life right now? The past few months taught me that enthusiasm and overcommitment can look very similar from the inside. I love creating, I love writing, I love saying yes to meaningful work. But I also discovered what happens when there is no margin, no boundary, no protected evening. Lent, for me, is not going to be about adding pressure. It is going to be about intention. Lees meer
One of the biggest shifts has been learning to protect my evenings. No more sneaking in extra work, no more late night editing sessions disguised as “creative freedom.” The surprising result is that I am more rested, more focused, and actually more productive during the hours that I do work. I am slowly letting go of the idea that I have to prove myself through constant output. Instead, I am reclaiming agency in healthier ways, like taking long walks and writing simply because I love the story, not because I publicly announced a deadline. That inner freedom changes everything.
So for these forty days, I am choosing a quiet commitment. I will write daily, but not as a performance. I will walk, think, pray, and create without turning it into a public challenge. Lent invites us to look honestly at what is out of balance and to take small, deliberate steps toward change. Not for applause, not for productivity, but for peace. Maybe that is the real preparation for Easter, protecting what truly matters so that new life has space to grow.
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The Walk - The Boundary Experiment That Changed My Week
12 februari 2026 · 1 uur 3 min
A few weeks ago, I could feel it in my body before I fully admitted it to myself. Lees meer
My blood pressure was up. My sleep was fragmented. Even at night, my brain was on orange alert. And during the day, I had this nagging feeling that I was living for work instead of working so I could live .
On paper, nothing was new. I’ve worked hard my entire life. Deadlines don’t scare me. But this time it was different. Producing daily saint podcasts under constant pressure had quietly taken over everything. And I was overcompensating for organizational issues that weren’t even mine to fix .
So instead of pushing harder, I tried something radical.
I stopped.
I started with the basics. Better sleep. Simpler mornings. Protein first, one cup of coffee instead of two. I stopped overthinking small decisions. I stopped pretending that exhaustion was noble.
Then I tackled the real issue: boundaries.
For the first time in my life, I calmly told people what they could expect from me, and what I needed from them. No emotion. No apology. Just clarity . When there was pushback, I didn’t argue. I repeated myself.
And something surprising happened.
They accepted it.
I began stopping work at five. Hard stop. Even mid-sentence. I protected one weekday as a non-work day. And instead of everything collapsing, I felt my creativity return.
I launched a second TikTok account just for books and writing, without pressure. It grew almost instantly . I finally fixed things in my house that had been broken for years, including a ticking radiator that had been waking me up all winter . And in the middle of all that, I wrote and published a small booklet about love in The Lord of the Rings .
Not because I forced it.
But because I finally had margin.
In this week’s episode of The Walk, I talk about what happens when you stop negotiating with your own limits. About the freedom of a five o’clock boundary. And about how protecting your health can unlock more creativity than any productivity hack eve…
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The Walk - What Happens When You Actually Slow Down
4 februari 2026 · 48 min
This week, I realized something I didn’t expect: doing less can actually help you do more. Lees meer
After weeks of high blood pressure and creeping exhaustion, I finally took a step back to reevaluate how I work. With the help of an AI coach, I started looking at the patterns behind my stress. What emerged was confronting. I’ve spent most of my life in overdrive—driven by deadlines, fueled by people-pleasing, and constantly measuring myself by what I produce. Even when I thought I was resting, I wasn’t. I was just switching gears and calling it downtime.
This week, I tried a different approach. One script a day. No work at night. Shorter walks. No “just one more thing” before closing the laptop. And to my surprise, it started working. My mind cleared. I felt calmer. The sense of urgency began to fade. And then something unexpected happened: I finally launched a BookTok channel I’d been overthinking for more than a year. Not out of pressure or guilt, but because I had space to breathe. I had energy again.
That’s when I started to understand what it really means to “protect the process.” I’ve always been focused on progress, on finishing, on pushing through. But now I see that the process itself needs care. It needs time, and margin, and trust. You can’t keep planting seeds if the soil is dry and cracked.
I used to think rest was a reward you had to earn. Now I’m learning it’s the foundation everything else depends on.
If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed or stretched thin, you’re not alone. It’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that you’re only valuable when you’re achieving. But that pressure is a weight we’re not meant to carry. And maybe it’s time we stopped trying to carry the world on our shoulders.
We’re not built for that. We’re not superheroes. We’re not gods. We’re just people. Beloved, limited, called—not to be perfect, but to be faithful.
And sometimes, being faithful means closing the laptop, stepping outside, and letting the sun remind you that life …
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The Walk - How My Body Forced Me to Listen
27 januari 2026 · 1 uur 2 min
This week might quietly become one of the most important of the entire year. Not because of a big success or dramatic moment, but because something inside me finally shifted. Lees meer
After weeks of pushing myself beyond the limit to finish a major podcast project, I crashed—hard. My sleep was awful. I started having strange hot flashes. One evening, I checked my blood pressure and it was alarmingly high. That got my attention.
At first, I blamed the usual suspects—too much ramen, too little rest. But the more I looked into it, the clearer it became: this wasn’t just about the past few weeks. It was about years of pushing myself, overplanning, and tying my value to how much I could get done. It was about a lifetime of workload stacking, amplified by ADHD and the fear of not being useful enough.
And the worst part? I knew all this already. I’ve spoken about it, preached about it even. But I hadn’t let it sink in—not emotionally. Not in a way that actually changed how I live.
This week, I finally started making real changes. I stopped working after five. I cut back my daily workload to something that felt absurdly small. I resisted the urge to “just do one more thing.” And when I felt uncomfortable—like I was wasting time or not being productive enough—I tried to see that discomfort not as a sign of failure, but as a signal that I was doing something new. Something necessary.
I didn’t expect it, but letting go felt like obedience. Not to a rule, but to reality. To the truth that I’ve spent years avoiding. And maybe, in a deeper sense, to God—who never asked me to earn love through exhaustion.
I still have questions. I still worry I’ll fall behind. But I also know I’ve never slept this well in months. And for the first time in a long while, I don’t end the day feeling like I have to prove I deserve to rest.
If you’ve ever struggled with feeling like you’re only as good as your output, this episode of The Walk is for you. It’s not about giving up—it’s about unlearning. A…
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The Walk - What January Taught Me About Recovery
21 januari 2026 · 56 min
I had a clear plan for January. It was going to be my month to get away, take a writing retreat, change my surroundings, and recharge after the intense December production sprint. Instead, I stayed home. And I worked. Hard. Lees meer
The new daily podcast about saints has been very well received, which I’m truly grateful for. But each episode takes a lot of effort—researching, writing, recording, and editing. I’ve set myself the goal of always staying a full month ahead, so there’s a buffer in case I get sick or life throws a curveball. That’s why I pushed so hard to finish all the episodes for February this past week.
The Saint of the Day podcast demanded everything I had. Twenty episodes, fully written and produced. That’s the length of a short novel in just a few weeks. And while I managed to get it all done, it came at a price. I gave up my daily walks, most of my rest, and ended up sitting at my desk for 10- to 12-hour days. Unsurprisingly, I crashed. Twice.
But this time something was different. I didn’t panic. I didn’t beat myself up. I didn’t immediately try to “get back on track.” I let myself crash. I listened to what my body and brain were telling me. And I learned a few things along the way.
First, recovery isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s part of the creative rhythm. When I push past that, I don’t win—I just delay the consequences. I’ve done that too many times. This time I stepped back and said, not again.
Second, I’ve realized that I often try to regain control of my life too quickly. The moment the pressure lifts, I want to fill the silence with something new: a fresh project, a new idea, a podcast revival. Anything to regain a sense of structure. But I’m learning that when I’m tired, that urge doesn’t come from creativity—it comes from stress.
The biggest shift has been learning to sit with that discomfort. To admit, even out loud, that I can’t do it all. That I don’t have the energy right now. That it’s okay to let a few things stay unresolved.
And whe…
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The Walk - One Week to Save My Month
14 januari 2026 · 59 min
This week, I finished something I didn’t think was possible: I wrote 20 podcast scripts in just a few days. That’s about 25,000 words. I recorded and edited a dozen of them. I skipped walks, meals, sleep. I pulled the lever on the Millennium Falcon and went full hyperfocus. Lees meer
But this post isn’t a humblebrag about productivity. It’s a reflection on something that hit me hard as I walked through the woods afterward, blinking into the sunlight like a bear after hibernation.
In the middle of this whirlwind, I realized this sprint wasn't just about meeting a deadline. It was about reclaiming something deeper: my sense of direction. My identity.
Because yes, producing daily stories of saints is beautiful and fulfilling. But it’s also a job. A contract. A task with a scope and timeline and deliverables. And somewhere in the middle of it, I started waking up with bursts of ideas for other things: new podcasts, new stories, new books. My brain was trying to tell me something.
It wasn’t just distraction. It was hunger.
I want my life to be about more than deadlines and deliverables. I want to write stories that come from my heart, not just the ones that fill a broadcast schedule. I want to reach the people beyond this one project. To build a creative life that reflects who I am, not just what I’m capable of producing under pressure.
And that’s why I’m setting new boundaries. I’ll give my best to this podcast project — but only within the space I’ve defined for it. One week per month. No more. That way, I can protect time for retreats, writing, and dreaming. For the books I long to write. For the broader mission I feel called to live.
Because here’s the truth: hustle alone is not holiness. Doing “enough” will never feel like enough if it’s not aligned with your heart.
So yes, I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished this week. But more than that, I’m grateful for what it taught me. That the work is not just about output. It’s about becoming. And I want to become the kind of…
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The Walk - The Crunch of Snow and the Start of Something New
6 januari 2026 · 57 min
On the Feast of the Epiphany, I kicked off my new daily Dutch podcast Heilige van de Dag with the first episode about the Magi. It’s a year-long journey, telling the stories of saints and martyrs—one per weekday. The project began with a simple idea: what if I could bring these sometimes dusty old tales to life in a way that makes them feel personal, surprising, and real? Lees meer
But launching a new podcast isn’t just about hitting “publish.” There’s the writing, recording, editing, and promoting. And when it’s in a language and format you’ve never tried before, it’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
What helped was this: going outside. Making my daily walks non-negotiable. Letting the snow slow me down just enough to reflect and re-center.
Because here’s the challenge I’m walking into this year:
I want to be creative—but not burned out.
I want to publish more stories—but with enough care to make them shine.
I want to build something lasting—but without losing joy in the process.
That’s why I’m committing to sustainable routines this year: early mornings for writing, focused weeks for podcasting, and hopefully a retreat or two to give new projects the breathing room they deserve.
The launch of Heilige van de Dag is only the beginning. There are books to finish, stories to polish, covers to design, readers to reach. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from snow-covered trails and saintly tales, it’s that slow steps can still carry you far—especially when taken with purpose.
Thanks for walking with me.
– Fr. Roderick
Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe
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The Walk - This Year Was Wild (But I’d Do It Again)
30 december 2025 · 1 uur 8 min
It’s the day before New Year’s Eve. I’m walking through the woods, watching my step—there’s still some sneaky patches of ice on the pavement. The sun is out, the air is crisp, and despite everything, I’m still going. Still walking. Lees meer
I never expected this year to be what it turned out to be. In some ways, it was the hardest I’ve had in a while. But also, without a doubt, the most creative. The most alive.
I started 2025 in a tiny, overheated closet of a room—my “writing cabin” after the radiator broke—determined to try something new: writing my first novel. I didn’t know what would come of it. But looking back now, I realize that was the spark that lit the whole fire. Since then, I’ve written not one but seven books. Some are short story collections, others full-length novels, each one stretching me in new directions. I wrote fantasy. I wrote fairy tales. I even wrote a pirate story, just because I could.
And I didn’t just write—I walked. Almost every day. Through sun, rain, and snow. And somehow those daily walks became the fuel for everything else. They gave me the space to think, to breathe, to figure out what mattered and what didn’t. They kept me sane during one of the busiest, most overstretched months I’ve ever lived through.
This December, I took on two major projects at once: launching a daily saints podcast (twenty episodes written, recorded, and now being edited) and finishing Advent of Dragons, my cozy fantasy novel for charity. I thought I could handle it. I did, just about—but I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’m learning. Slowly.
But more than the projects or the word count, the real story of this year was about change. I began to understand more about how my brain works, how ADHD and possibly autism shape the way I experience the world. I stopped beating myself up for the things I used to label as flaws. I gave myself more grace. And that’s made all the difference.
I also discovered that I’m not actually an introvert—I’m just someone who use…
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The Walk - This Christmas Feels Different
23 december 2025 · 57 min
I don’t know what happened, but somehow, I’m ready for Christmas this year. Not the scrambling-at-the-last-minute kind of ready. Actually ready. The house is clean, the work is done, the pantry doors are closed on all the clutter—and I’m not hosting. That alone feels like a small miracle. Lees meer
I didn’t get here by accident. The last few weeks were intense: writing 20 podcast scripts, sprinting toward a novel deadline, recording videos, finishing up admin tasks. I worked 10 to 12 hours a day. But it paid off. For once, I’m entering Christmas without the usual stress.
Saying yes to a one-minute promo video shoot in my home tricked me into making the place presentable. No tree this year, no guests to impress, just quiet and space. It feels like I gave myself the gift of margin.
There’s still one project left: finishing my daily Advent novel. Ten days, ten chapters to go. But that feels like a joy, not a chore. I love the world I’ve created. Cozy. Forgiving. A gentle mirror of what the world could be if we slowed down and chose kindness.
I know this isn’t everyone’s December. Maybe yours is full of noise and running around. I’ve had years like that too. But if you get a moment—just one quiet breath—I hope it reminds you what it’s all for.
I talk more about this in the final podcast episode of the year. About saints, writing, childhood Christmases, and the strange peace of a clean house.
Hope you enjoy it.
—Fr. Roderick
Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe
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The Walk - The Art of Doing Less (and Meaning More)
17 december 2025 · 50 min
Every December, I tell myself the same story. That I’ll slow down. That I’ll spend my afternoons reading by the fire, catching up on the books I didn’t finish during the year. That I’ll rest, breathe, and maybe even enjoy doing nothing for a change. Lees meer
And every December, reality unfolds differently.
This week, I found myself once again escaping to the woods after lunch, grateful for the silence between the trees. The leaf blowers have been relentless this season, drilling into my concentration, as if the world refuses to let anyone sit still. But out here, it’s quiet. Cold, yes, but manageable. And strangely comforting. Maybe because it gives me space to think about everything I’m trying to juggle right now.
I’ve been pouring my energy into two big projects this month. The first is a podcast series about saints, launching in early January. I’ve challenged myself to write each script in the present tense, not to make it harder—though it definitely does—but to draw the listener into each story as if they’re right there, walking beside the saint. It’s powerful work. Spiritual, even. But writing those scripts takes time. And focus. And on some days, I simply don’t have enough of either.
The second project is my Advent novel, a cozy fantasy story told one chapter at a time. It was meant to feel like an Advent calendar—25 chapters, one each day until Christmas. But there have been days when the words wouldn’t come. Days when I was too tired to think straight. So I’ve let go of the idea of writing two chapters in one day, or racing ahead. I’m just walking forward, one page at a time.
What I’ve come to realize—perhaps the hard way—is that more planning doesn’t magically create more hours in the day. Better time management doesn’t solve the problem of being human. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, there just isn’t enough energy or clarity or inspiration to do it all.
And that’s okay.
Because when I do manage to focus—when I write something that makes me pause, tha…
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The Walk - The Deadline, the Danger Light, and the Walk I Almost Skipped
10 december 2025 · 54 min
I almost didn’t go outside to record this episode. I was sitting at my desk, staring at my to-do list, convincing myself that staying put was the responsible thing to do. After all, I had committed to finishing twenty scripts by the end of the week for a new podcast series about the saints. And I was already behind. Lees meer
The temptation to keep pushing was strong. But I’ve learned, the hard way, that when your body starts sending warning signals—like poor sleep, flushed cheeks, constant tension—you ignore them at your own risk. So I put on my coat, hit record, and went for a walk.
As I talked, I realized how much pressure I had piled onto myself. Not just with the podcast project, but with the Advent story I’m publishing daily. At first, both felt doable. The saint scripts were supposed to be short, around six minutes each. I estimated two hours per episode—research, writing, recording, editing. It sounded reasonable. Until I discovered that many of the sources contradicted each other, and some of the research had names or events that were completely made up. I ended up spending entire mornings rewriting one script from scratch, checking the smallest historical details.
Meanwhile, the Advent story, which I thought would be a light and cozy creative outlet, started demanding more structure, more consistency, and a lot more energy. I’m no longer writing just for myself—I’m sharing each chapter publicly, which adds a whole new layer of pressure. I find myself triple-checking every plot point, worrying about continuity, trying not to introduce something that will break the story later on.
The real issue, I think, isn’t the workload itself. It’s my unrealistic expectations. I always seem to start with an ideal version of how things should go, and then try to bend reality to match that. But it never quite works. I plan with best-case scenarios in mind, and when things take longer—as they always do—I’m left scrambling, overextending myself, working late, and wondering why I…
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The Walk - I’m Finally Allowed to Talk About It…
4 december 2025 · 1 uur 3 min
December is already wild, but this week has been next-level: I can finally reveal the huge project I’ve been hinting at. Starting January, I’ll be writing, narrating, and producing a daily podcast about the lives of the saints for the Dutch national broadcaster KRO-NCRV. Lees meer
This isn’t your typical info-dump podcast. I want to take listeners into the stories—make you feel like you’re standing next to a saint as they make the hard choices that defined their lives. It’s all about emotional connection, not just dates and facts.
That means:
Story-first episodes, 5–7 minutes each
A full year of daily content (yes, 260 episodes!)
Written, performed, and produced with love and lots of tea
It’s daunting. The scripts alone are like writing a full novel every two months. But this feels like the natural next step in everything I’ve been building toward: storytelling as vocation.
And because I can never do just one thing at a time… I also launched a cozy fantasy Advent story, written live each day as a fundraiser for Cato, a fellow fantasy author who urgently needs life-saving surgery.
It’s madness, and it’s mission. I’ve never been more exhausted—or more excited.
🎧 Check out the full story in this week’s episode of The Walk, where I explain how it all came together, why I nearly burned out two days into December, and how I’m trying to find a sustainable rhythm for the creative marathon ahead.
Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe
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The Walk - The Advent Dilemma: One More Story or Take a Break?
30 november 2025 · 1 uur 3 min
It’s pitch dark outside as I’m recording this. Advent has begun, and while the Christmas lights sparkle on leafless trees, I’ve been working like a madman indoors—writing, pacing, writing some more. Because today, on the 30th of November, I did something I’ve never done before: I finished writing a full novel in just 30 days. Lees meer
Not just any novel. A story that feels like the best thing I’ve written so far.
The last few days were a blur of writing marathons, church duties, a Comic-Con surprise, and trying to babysit a thousand spinning plates. There were times I was sure I was behind. Turns out, I was actually way ahead—I just hadn’t had the time to notice.
That’s the power of moral commitment. When you push forward, even when it feels impossible, sometimes you find yourself standing on the summit without realizing how far you’ve climbed.
This month taught me that:
I can write an epic story in a month.
I must continue making space for personal, playful storytelling—even when professional projects threaten to take over.
Balance doesn’t mean doing less. It means choosing well and walking daily (literally and figuratively).
Now here’s the wild part: December starts tomorrow. I could write a cozy Advent story next—24 mini chapters, one per day. A magical, heartwarming tale set in the same universe as my novel. I even have the plot ready.
But should I?
That’s the question. My heart says yes. My calendar screams no. But you’ll find out soon which one wins. Head over to my Substack and subscribe if you want to read along as the next story unfolds—or doesn’t. That might be the story too.
Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe
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The Walk - Sometimes, You Just Need a Potato Day
20 november 2025 · 52 min
Today was a potato day. Lees meer
Not the comforting kind with blankets and movies, but the kind where your brain checks out and refuses to clock in. The kind of day where you sit at your desk and just can’t get into gear, no matter how many productivity tricks you try. I’ve had fewer of these days over the past year, but today, it hit hard.
Still, even on a day like this, I didn’t end up on the couch. I went for a walk, even though the rain hadn’t stopped like the radar promised. It was cold, wet and muddy, but walking is one of those non-negotiable habits for me. I’ve learned that once I step outside, even if nothing else gets done, something inside starts to shift. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it sparks ideas.
Today, it sparked reflection.
As I walked, I recorded this podcast episode and talked through what’s been on my mind lately. Part of the fog, I realized, is because something big is happening behind the scenes. I’ve been sitting on the news for a while, but I can finally start hinting at it: a major new project has been greenlit by the Dutch broadcasting company I work with. I can’t share the full details yet, but it’s easily the biggest media commitment of my life. It’s a daily production project, and it’ll require me to write over 250,000 words across the year.
It’s exhilarating and daunting at the same time.
What makes this even more meaningful to me is how deeply aligned it is with my core mission: storytelling that reaches people where they are. It builds on nearly everything I’ve learned in the past 20 years—TV, radio, writing, podcasting—and finally weaves all those threads together into one sustained creative effort.
But with something this big, I’ve had to draw some clear lines. Writing has become essential to me, not just as a creative outlet but as a way of living. Since January 1st, I’ve been writing regularly—almost daily—and I can’t imagine giving that up. That means protecting the space I’ve carved out for novels and creative work, even as …