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Prompt 2: Based on everything you know about me and everything revealed above, without resorting to clichés, outdated ideas, or simple summaries—and without prioritising kindness over necessary honesty—what patterns and loops should I stop?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.

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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.

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:

What do you think? Have you noticed this shift in your own online experience? Let’s talk.