The Alarming Evolution of My Fantasy Life a la Walter Mitty

(And Why I Can't Stop Breaking Imaginary Toes)

Bracing against the crisp, icy air, the Commander led her horse across the eerily quiet forest, the sound of the stallion’s hooves absorbed by the soft moss. One wrong step, one breath too loud, and the Commander would surely alert the cruel Enemy lurking ahead, betraying her position; her mission too crucial to fail, she is ready to face it all – the danger, the bloodshed… death, even, if that’s what it took to save her people.

Undeterred, clad in wolfskins and brandishing a two-hand sword, the Commander crept forward, her noble steed following her loyally into the very den of evil…

This was among my top five daydream scenarios perpetually running in my head when I was four or five. The other versions included:

- Riding a barely tame unicorn-Pegasus hybrid across a Faraway Land on a quest to rescue some Vaguely Princely Figure while brandishing a longbow,

- Barely taming a Painted horse in the Wild West and riding fast to come to the aid of the ambushed Lakota people while brandishing a knife,

- Riding a horse black as a night, bravely stolen from an unceremoniously unseated Nazgul to come to the aid of Rohan while brandishing an elven saber…

The trope was always the same: in each of my daydreams, I was A Brave Lone Hero, A Rider Through the Night, a Courageous Savior of Vague Princely Figures, The Oppressed, or the Rohirrim; there were always horses, Faraway Lands, and the skillful Brandishing Of Various Weapons involved; and, naturally, I always prevailed by ways of stealth, artful mastery of said weapons, True Heart, and Steely Courage.

IRL?

I was just a nerdy kid forever lost in my own head.

I was the kid who once spent thirty minutes staring at a ladybug, unmoving. My mother, returning from a grocery run to find me frozen in the same spot, feared I might turn out to be a little, you know, special needs. Plot twist: while she saw a concerningly vacant child, I was actually orchestrating an epic rescue mission. That ladybug? A majestic unicorn in peril. That malevolent-looking ant in its path? Clearly a cunning, treacherous monster in disguise…

My point is, I’ve always been a daydreamer, and my fantasies always involved me on a Very Important Mission, the whole world a boundless backdrop for my daring adventures.

Princely Figures

I often struggled with precise scripts, though, because in the fairytales my grandmother read to me, the narrative was different. There would be a princess locked up in some tower or other, either asleep or somehow incapacitated by ways of magic or distress. Some prince or other, on the other hand, had all the fun – riding horses, Conquering the Wilderness, wielding all kinds of dope swords, and fighting monsters.

Well, as a girl, I found this to be deeply unfair. According to those fairytales, my role would be to sleep through the whole thing, which was terribly dull.

That’s why I often included a Vaguely Princely Figure in my daydreams; I would be the main hero of the story, naturally, but if the fairytales insisted on princes being present, well, I supposed one could hang around in my fantasies, too. Only, he had to assist me in my quests, come to my aid, or at the very least, just kind of hang back and not get in my way. Essentially, he would be allowed to be my Eomer to my female version of Aragorn, sorta.

On Misunderstood Geniuses and Horse Whisperers

While I grew out of the horses, swords, and Rohirrim era (though I still tear up at the scene where Gandalf and the riders of Rohan charge over the hill at the Battle of Helm’s Deep; yes, I still regularly rewatch the LOTR extended version), I never grew out of daydreaming.

If anything, it only intensified with time. During my teen years, the scenarios mostly involved me becoming the Jack Kerouac of my generation, and, bearing the unbearable weight of the Tortured Genius, I would hitch a ride off into the sunset, forever Brooding and Alone Yet Spectacularly Talented. The Vaguely Princely Figure had disappeared altogether (see Brooding and Alone) – the Misunderstood Artist role required solitude, plus you can’t be that talented if you’re distracted by random Princely Figures.

Then, there’s the recurring dream I’ve played out in my head over and over again since I was about thirteen. In this one, I’m a Lone Traveler, and I come across a setting where there’s a wild/previously seriously mistreated/just seriously misunderstood horse, and this horse is in the hands of some Ruthless Tribe, or maybe an evil horse dealership, or some such, and no one can ride or tame this horse and it is about to be put down/sold to a heartless merchant, and then, one minute to midnight… Yours Truly steps into the arena with an aura of Mysterious and Magnificent Resolve, performs her secret horse-whispering magic, and gallops off into the sunset on the horse, bareback, with no bridle, having a) saved the noble steed and b) proven the Ruthless Tribe or the Evil Dealers wrong, oh so very wrong.

Sometimes, that’s it.

But sometimes, a Vaguely Princely Figure is involved again. This time, it’s some Brooding Male Person; upon witnessing my proud, quiet determination and incredible horse-whispering skill, said Brooding Male Person realizes I am the most wonderful creature to walk this good green Earth, and we live happily ever after.

Enter Rugged Adventurers and Walter Mitty

Speaking of happily ever after: remember Walter Mitty and his recurring daydreams about saving the dog of his crush, who then falls head over heels in love with him? The crush, not the dog, I mean?

Boy do I have a series of those, too.

Except in my daydreams, I don’t save my love interest’s dog; nay: I have no love interest at all, for I am Above Such Soapy Nonsense. I go forth discovering some… uh… dunno, some obscure mountain pass somewhere, and there’s maybe a landslide or something – yes, a landslide will do nicely – that has me cut off from my friends who require my immediate assistance; and, I’m on a bike, but the bike is mysteriously broken or something; actually, let’s also throw in a broken…foot, maybe? No, just some broken toes to make it believable. Alright; so: there’s a landslide, a broken bike, and some broken toes stopping me from rescuing my friends, yet I bravely forge ahead having cleverly resuscitated the bike and covered my injured foot in duct tape, and then, unexpectedly, I mean what are the chances, there’s a Rugged Adventurer rocking up and inquiring whether I might need some help, which of course I don’t, I don’t need anything or anyone at all, I Laugh At The Face Of Challenge, You Peasant; but the Rugged Adventurer, while deeply appreciating my furious independence, obvious badassery, and extraordinary strength and skill, pulls a Geralt to my Yennefer (“I know you can do anything on your own, but you don’t have to” - swoon) – et voila: we live happily ever after.

Yes, I am acutely aware of how embarrassing this is.

And it got me thinking recently.

As a kid, I constructed my daydream stories around myself and my secret and daring quests. It was all about me going on fantastic adventures, free and untamed, and brandishing swords, and coming to Kind Theoden’s aid at Helm’s Deep; the Vaguely Princely Figure was only added for consistency purposes (to somewhat align with those fairytales from books), and his role was to be a sidekick, an ally, possibly a confidant and confederate, but never a central character.

The Tortured Genius of my teen years, I suppose, was all about proving my worth and justifying my place under the sun; probably the need to feel special; the burning desire to stand out.

The horse-taming trope? More of the same, I suppose; the desire to establish my unique value, glory and brilliance trailing quietly but kind of obviously behind.

But the Rugged Adventurer scenario?

This one, I confess, bugs me to no end. While there are enough clauses and conditions in this story for me to come across as the Independent Hero, at its core, it’s the same old damsel in distress trope, only dressed up in dramatic landslides, bikes, and broken toes.

(also: am I really willing to break some toes just to create a space for the Rugged Adventurer to appear?

For fuck’s sake).

My point is: what’s up with this whole saving thing? Even Walter Mitty daydreams about a rescue scenario whereby he, the dog-saving hero, impresses his crush.

Why do we want to save others or be saved in our daydreams?

Needing to earn/be worthy of love?

Avoiding vulnerability to the point of exploding buildings and broken toes?

Or is this just for dramatic purposes and cinematic value?

Finally, what’s up with daydreaming about adventures while actually living them, as in the case of my landslide scenario (that happened in the Andes Mountains, minus the injuries; and instead of a Rugged Adventurer, I met a nice little old lady who sold me some petrol).

The thing about The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is that, while I love the 2013 film, the original story by James Thurber is very different.

It’s not about a hapless daydreamer becoming the hero of his own story through adventure.

It’s about a hapless daydreamer using his fantasies to escape real life - and it ends with a firing squad.

Imagined, of course. But telling, nonetheless.

Maybe the four-year-old Commander in wolfskins had it right all along. She wasn't daydreaming about being saved or saving others - she was simply dreaming of being fully alive. And isn't that what we're all really chasing, whether through our daydreams or our real adventures?

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and most importantly - to feel”.

No Princely Figures, broken toes, or dramatic rescues required.

What’s your take? Share your own daydreamer evolution in the comments - bonus points if it involves improbable unicorn scenarios. Or King Theoden.

Lots of love,

Commander in Wolfskins