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.

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 used to spend a lot of energy masking. Once I stopped trying to be what others expected and just showed up as myself, things changed. I met amazing people at conventions, festivals, and writing events. I found a community of readers and writers that truly feels like home.

I don’t know exactly what 2026 will bring. I’ve got plans, of course—maybe more cozy fantasy, one novel for each season. Maybe something entirely unexpected. But I know this: I want to keep walking, keep writing, and keep learning to live at a sustainable pace.

Thanks for walking with me this year. Truly.

– Fr. Roderick

The Walk - This Year Was Wild (But I’d Do It Again)