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.
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 wh...
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.
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 person who remembers to walk in the woods. To tell the stories that move me. And to carry others, like Sam carried Frodo, one small act of mercy at a time.
If you’re in a similar season — juggling projects, wrestling with overwhelm, wondering where your dreams went — maybe this is your reminder too.
It’s okay to protect your calling.
It’s okay to say no.
It’s okay to want more than efficiency.
It’s okay to be a happy hobbit.
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