Walking Anyway: Living with uncertainty, navigating life transitions, and finding faith when life doesn't go as planned

12: What's Holding Me This Summer

• Denisa O. Nica

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If someone had asked me six months ago what would be holding me this summer, I don't think I would have guessed any of these. And yet, here they are.

In this seasonal episode, I'm reflecting on the ordinary things, unexpected companions, and quiet rhythms that have been carrying me through this season. Not the things I thought I needed, but the things that have actually been helping.

A conversation about steadiness, paying attention, and discovering what is sustaining us in the middle of ordinary life.


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I’m Denisa Nica, and welcome to Walking Anyway. You’re listening to episode 12.

This is a podcast about living faithfully in uncertain seasons— when life feels unclear and nothing is quite settling yet. 

This is a place for anyone carrying questions of any kind and for any reason, and is not quite sure how to move through this in a way that feels steady and true,

If this is your experience, you’re in the right place to keep walking anyway. Each week I offer a reflection and a simple way to faithfully walk one more step.

I’m an author and spiritual director, and the founder of The Table— a contemplative online space shaped by a weekly rhythm, where women practice this kind of faithful living together, at their own pace, in the middle of their real lives and faith.

I live in Spain, where life moves a little slower, and that has changed the way I pay attention, and the way I live inside my own life.

This week I want o share a few things that are holding me this summer. A few years ago, I came across a question from Barbara Brown Taylor that has stayed with me ever since. “What’s saving your life right now?”

I've always loved that question because it helps me notice the life I’m actually living. So today I'm borrowing the spirit of that question and adapting it a little. I'm calling this episode What's Holding Me This Summer.

And I have a feeling this may become a seasonal tradition around here.

So as I share a few things that are holding me this summer, I hope you'll think about your own list too. Not the list you think you should have, the honest one. The one that only belongs to you.

Maybe for you is a morning walk, a friendship, your garden or an air conditioner faithfully doing the Lord's work in the middle of July. That counts too.

So today, I notice what I keep returning to, and what is finding me and what things have become my companions for this particular season. Looking at this list now, I’m realizing that if someone had asked me six months ago what would be holding me this summer, I don’t think I would have guessed any of these. And yet here they are. Listen in.

There are nine things holding me this summer. Some of them are meaningful. Some practical and a few are slightly ridiculous. Here we go.

Number one is my new Dyson AirWrap.

My hair is naturally curly, which sounds lovely in theory. In practice, summer on the Mediterranean coast and curly hair are not always working toward the same goals.

For years, drying my hair felt like an event. There were stages, negotiations and many moments when I seriously considered simply accepting whatever happened and becoming one with the frizz.

Then for my birthday in June, I received the new Dyson AirWrap.

I had an older version before, but this one somehow manages to do in fifteen minutes what used to take me forty-five. I'm still not entirely sure how.

What I do know is that my mornings feel easier. And lately I've noticed how grateful I am for things that make right now life a little easier.

For example, I've also stopped getting my nails done at the salon. I don’t have any profound reason for this change, I did it for years and enjoyed it. But at some point I realized I was very happy not spending a couple of hours in a salon chair every three weeks.

My nails feel healthier and life feels simpler. And honestly, I don't miss it. Maybe that’s what these two things have in common: this summer, I'm very fond of anything that gives me a little more freedom and asks a little less of me.

Number two on the list of what’s holding me this summer is electrolyte powder.

A few months ago I found a sugar-free electrolyte powder that I started adding to my water. The brand is called Trace. They're not paying me to tell you this, by the way. I just know someone will ask.

It's their ZeroLyte electrolyte powder with coconut water, and after spending far too much time reading labels and comparing ingredients, it was the healthiest and tastiest one I could find. One of the things I like most about it is that it has no added sugar, which is surprisingly difficult to find because most electrolyte powders do.

I've always been reasonably good at drinking water, or at least I thought I was. But it turns out there's a difference between drinking water and actually staying hydrated, especially when you live in Spain and summer arrives with all the subtlety of a furnace.

Ever since I started using it, I find myself drinking more water without really thinking about it. I have more energy, and drinking water simply feels more satisfying.

Some of you know I've talked before about living with chronic pain, and one of the things I'm learning is to pay a lot more attention to the small things that help me feel well.

Life is simply easier to inhabit when my body is getting what it needs.

Number three: an hourglass.

Not the small decorative kind, but a large one that measures exactly one hour.

I bought it a couple of years ago at Zara Home, which is one of the unexpected perks of living in Europe. There always seems to be a Zara Home around the corner just when I need it, and I have accepted that I am exactly their target demographic.

Give me linen napkins, olive wood serving boards, soft blankets, beautiful tapered candles in impossible shades of taupe and black, and I am a very happy person.

So naturally, I brought the hourglass home. I bought it because it looked elegant sitting on a shelf and because, yes, we like pretty things.

But then one day I turned it over and  started using it.

It's sitting on my desk right now, actually. I'm looking at it as I write this.

Every morning when I sit down to work now,  I turn it over and the sand begins its slow journey to the bottom.

I love that I can actually see time passing, grain by grain. Slowly enough that I hardly notice it, and then suddenly half the sand is gone. And maybe that's part of why I love it so much. Because one thing about me is that I have a tendency to disappear into whatever I'm doing, especially when I’m doing deep work.

Maybe some of you can relate.

I'll sit down to write something or record a podcast episode, and before I know it three hours have gone by and I've forgotten that I have a neck, shoulders and two legs.

The hourglass interrupts that. When the last grain of sand reaches the bottom, that's my cue to stand up, stretch, look outside, or simply move around for a few minutes before sitting down again.

It also feels very different from a timer, and I love it.

A timer always feels as though something is urgent and I need to respond to it right away. At least that's how my nervous system interprets it. An hourglass on the other hand, just quietly sits there doing what hourglasses have always done.

The sand falls, I notice, I stand up and somehow all that feels a lot friendlier. It reminds me that I live in a body and not only in my thoughts.

What’s holding me this summer, number four: plants.

At the moment, there is a bonsai tree and a glorious, tall white orchid sitting on my desk. They're right beside me as I write this.

Outside there are two more bonsais, a jasmine tree, a lilac, olive trees, succulents, lavender and a collection of plants I don’t know how they’re called.

I spend a lot of my days thinking, writing and recording. Most of my work happens sitting at a desk, and somewhere along the way I realized that I like having living things nearby.

I like looking up from my computer and seeing something growing, something alive, something that doesn't know or care about deadlines.

The bonsais are probably my favorites. I just love how slow they are.

There’s absolutely no rushing a bonsai tree.You can’t hurry it. You can’t convince it that a little more urgency would really be helpful.

Every morning I carry my coffee outside and before I water anything, I look.

I'm still very much learning what I'm doing, but one of the things bonsais have taught me is that not every need requires action. Sometimes a tree needs water. Other times it needs a little attention.

And sometimes, it needs absolutely nothing except to be left alone. I don’t know, I find that oddly comforting. Most mornings I walk outside convinced that at least one of them requires my intervention. Quite often the answer is no.

The orchid is a little different. For months it looks like nothing is happening. Then one morning I notice a new bloom. And every single time I act surprised, as though this has never happened before, even though we've been through this cycle a couple of times now.

Mostly, though, I just like having them nearby. I like the company, the slowness. They’re reminding me that growth is happening whether I am paying attention to it or not. And I like that every day they quietly refuse urgency.

Which probably explains why I keep buying plants. Number five on the list of what's holding me this summer is live music.

If you read my monthly letters, you've probably heard me mention this before. Most Sundays we'll go for lunch and then make our way down to Cabo Roig beach where Che Liam, a local Irish musician plays.

I've always loved music, but one of the things I love most about living in Europe is how music seems to be woven into ordinary life. There are stages set up beside the Mediterranean, concerts in town squares and in front of cathedrals, and somehow music always seems to find its way into the places where people are already living their lives.

Now that I think about it, this isn't only a Spanish thing. It was true in Romania too.

In my hometown of Brașov, summer evenings were filled with concerts, festivals, and live performances of every kind, from classical music to jazz.

I think that's one of my favorite things about Europe. Music isn't always something you buy a ticket for and build an evening around. More often, it simply becomes part of the day. You stumble across it while you're out for dinner, walking through a plaza, or spending an afternoon by the sea.

And I didn't realize how much I needed that until it became part of my life.

When we get to the beach, rows of colorful umbrellas stretch across the sand all the way to the water's edge. The air smells like sunscreen and salt water, and before long everyone seems just a little happier than they were when they arrived. And it’s not just because of  the sun and the sea. People are tapping their feet, nodding their heads, singing along, and smiling at complete strangers.There is something about live music that changes the atmosphere of a place.

Che has one of those voices that makes you stop what you're doing and listen. I regularly find myself thinking he should be playing much bigger stages than this. But then again, I'm quite happy to have him here. The thing I love most is that many of the songs are songs I've known for years. Songs I listened to as a teenager, that followed me into my twenties and thirties and forties. They somehow carry pieces of every version of myself inside them.

And there’s something deeply moving and healing about hearing those songs again while sitting beside the sea. I think part of why this has become so important to me is that I spend so much of my week with recordings. Sometimes I'm listening to podcasts or interviews, but more often I'm listening to my own voice while editing a podcast episode, or an audio reflection for The Table which remains a strange experience no matter how many times I do it.

So much of my work happens in a world where things can be paused, replayed, edited, saved, and listened to later.

And then every Sunday I find myself sitting in front of something that exists only once. A song sung by a real person in real time. You either show up for it or you miss it. For a couple of hours, I'm not listening to something that happened yesterday. I'm sitting inside something that's happening right now.

The sixth thing holding me this summer is coloring.

A few weeks ago I bought a coloring book while I was out shopping at th emall with my daughter, and somewhere along the way it slowly became one of those things that's holding me this season.

Most of the time when I'm working through an idea, I tend to stare out the window. And I still do. But lately I've noticed that instead of looking out the window, I reach for my coloring book. So just imagine me sitting at my desk with a handful of colored pencils, slowly filling in leaves and flowers while I'm thinking about a piece of writing, a reflection for The Table, a gathering theme, or something related to spiritual formation that I'm trying to work through.

If you had told me ten years ago that I would be happily sitting at my desk coloring flowers in the middle of a workday, I probably would have laughed. And yet, here we are.

I'm not particularly good at it, and I don't have a system. I don't stay inside the lines nearly as often as I probably should, but I've discovered that there is something calming about having my hands occupied while my mind wanders.

And I don't think it's only that. I love the colors and I love watching an empty page slowly come to life. It’s fun seeing a flower that was only an outline a few minutes ago suddenly filled with color and shape and texture.

There is something deeply satisfying about taking that blank flower petal and filling it with different shades of purple.

I don't entirely know how to explain it.

There is something about the movement of the pencils across the page, about watching color appear where there was none before. Something about choosing whatever shade I want without anybody telling me it's the wrong one. Maybe that's part of what I enjoy. Nobody gets to tell me it's the wrong color.

I spend so much of my life in words. Writing them, editing them, thinking about them, moving them around, trying to find the right ones. Coloring feels like a small vacation from language.

Nothing needs to be solved, shared or articulated, and no one is waiting for a finished draft. There are just pencils and flowers and approximately thirty-four shades of green. And for an hour or so, that's enough.

Number seven: walking. More specifically, walking after eight o'clock in the evening.

Because we're in Spain, after all. For most of the year I walk regularly, but summer walks are their own category. The heat changes everything. Nobody sensible is voluntarily wandering around at two in the afternoon.

So most evenings, once the sun begins to loosen its grip a little, I head out.

I have a route I follow through the golf course where we live and along a series of little paths that have become familiar to me over the years.

Now what I really love the most about this walk is that it contains trees. I realize that sounds ridiculous. I spent twenty-five years living in Canada surrounded by forests, and now I get genuinely excited about a particularly beautiful tree.

But trees are precious here. There is one stretch of the path where they arch overhead, and every time I walk through it I feel grateful.

And of course, where there are trees, there are birds. If you know me, you know birds are very special to me. Somewhere along the way, birds have become one of the ways I experience God's care and attention in the world, and I never quite get tired of looking for them and their sounds.

The funny thing is that I never paid this much attention to trees when I lived in Canada. I think when something is everywhere, you stop noticing it. Now I find myself appreciating every bit of shade, every patch of green, every place where something is growing.

The other thing I love about this walk is that I can do it alone. No bears. This is important. Canadians will understand. For years, walking alone in nature always included at least a passing awareness that you were not necessarily the largest creature in the area.

That concern does not exist here, so I walk, freely. And there is something reassuring about putting one foot in front of the other while the day slowly comes to an end.

Most evenings I come home feeling a little more like myself.

Number eight on the list of what’s holding me this summer is Passion Bubble with my daughter. Let me explain. Mara is home for the summer, and that alone would probably be enough to make this list. One of our little rituals is walking down to a nearby patio called Il Palco and ordering a cocktail called Passion Bubble.

It's light, fruity and tart, with a large bubble floating on top, and before you drink it, you pop the bubble with your finger. Then it disappears into the air like a little cloud of smoke. It never gets old.

But what I really love is not just the drink, which is really delicious. It’s that it gives us somewhere to go, a small container for sitting, lingering, and talking. And talking. And talking.

A strange gift of this season of motherhood is discovering that your relationship with your child keeps changing. She’s building a life of her own now and a world of her own. And then, for a little while, our lives overlap again in the same place. Long enough for late dinners, a few walks and a few cocktails with bubbles floating on top. Long enough to sit across the table from each other and catch up on who we are becoming. So no, I don't think it's really the cocktail that is holding me this summer. I think it's having her here.

And finally, number nine.

A single line from Psalm 16, is the ninth thing holding me this summer. “Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken.”

I've been carrying those words around for the last few weeks, although it feels more accurate to say they've been carrying me. They seem to find me everywhere.

I'll be making a salad or brushing my teeth or heading out for a walk, and suddenly they pop up. Sometimes they're the first thing that comes into my mind when I open my eyes in the morning.

I think part of the reason they strike such a deep chord in me is because the last few years have felt shaky. Somewhere along the way, the life I imagined and the life I received stopped being exactly the same thing. For a long time I thought what I needed was clarity, answers, to know what was coming next.

But when I sit with it, I don't think that's true. I think what I was really looking for was steadiness. And that’s what I find myself returning to when I read this verse. Because You're here, we're going to be okay.

And if I'm honest, that's probably what has been holding me my entire life.

Thanks for listening to episode 12 of Walking Anyway.

I hope this simple practice of noticing what's holding you this season, helps you recognize the quiet companions that are already present in your life.

The things that keep showing up, the things that keep carrying you. The things you might not have chosen, planned, or even noticed if you hadn't stopped long enough to pay attention. And if you find yourself making your own list this summer, I'd love to know what's on it.

If you're looking for a place to practice this kind of noticing alongside other women, I'd love to invite you to take a free 21-day Guest Seat at The Table.

It's a contemplative online community where we learn to stay present to God, ourselves, and one another in the middle of ordinary life. You'll find the link in the show notes.

Because the way you’re walking through this, is already forming something steady in you. 

If this episode resonated with you, you can follow the show wherever you listen to podcasts, and if you’d be willing to leave a rating or review, it helps more people discover Walking Anyway and join us here each week.  And if someone came to mind while you were listening today, maybe send this episode to them too. As always, you can find me at denisaonica.com., or on Instagram at denisa.o.nica. I’d love to see you there.

As you step back into your day, notice what stayed with you and let that be enough for today. And just like light moving through a room— you don’t need to see everything at once to keep living faithfully here.

And before we go, I want to leave you with these final words from Psalm 16:

"I have set the Lord always before me. Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad."

However your summer is unfolding, may you know the steady presence of God beside you, within you, and ahead of you.

Thanks for listening, and I'll be here with you next time.