Inspiration and Imitation

How to Live Deliberately in a # World

Photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash

If I say to you Walden Pond, what immediately comes to mind?

Solitude? Simplicity? Living off the land?

If Thoreau had an Instagram account, you can imagine the images: Selfie chopping wood; Selfie cooking meal over an open fire; Selfie reading by candlelight.

#simplicity

#hermitlife

#follow me for my hearty one pot meal recipes

But here’s the truth: Thoreau’s so-called wilderness retreat wasn’t really all that. His cabin was less than half a mile from town. His mother and sister visited most Sundays, bringing pastries. He regularly dined with friends, participated in town outings, and even threw parties at his cabin—including his famous melon party. During his time at Walden Pond, he managed to travel to Maine, spend a night in jail, and frequently engage with the world around him. In reality, Thoreau’s “time in the woods” was more like someone moving from Seattle to Mercer Island and still ordering Uber Eats on occasion.

At best, Walden is a form of creative non-fiction. And there's nothing inherently wrong with that—stories are powerful because they inspire us, even if they aren’t entirely grounded in reality. What is wrong, though, is the impact on us when we don’t know the facts, when we only see the polished image and not the full story behind it. While it’s somewhat comforting to realize that even in the mid-1800s, this kind of image curation was happening, today, it's easier—and much worse—because anyone can cultivate an online persona that has little to do with their real life. In a media-driven world, we are constantly shown images of how we ‘should’ live, pushing us to compare and imitate rather than to live authentically.

Photo by Abinash Jothimani on Unsplash

The harm lies in how this affects us, particularly as we reach midlife. At this stage, it’s natural to pause and compare ourselves to others. We look around at the success, accomplishments, marriages, and bank accounts of those around us, and it’s hard not to feel a pang of doubt. Why haven’t I done that? Why couldn’t I have what they have? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve questioned why I haven’t achieved some milestone as my peers.

What’s often missing, though, is the backstory. We compare what we see—people’s outward accomplishments or seemingly perfect lives—but we rarely know the full context. (Like that Thoreau got weekly pastry deliveries!) Maybe they didn’t have to pay for college themselves. Maybe they received support, aid, or luck that we’ll never know about. We compare our messy realities to the highlight reel of others, and media only fuels this by encouraging a kind of imitation—pushing us to think there’s a formula for a meaningful life that we need to follow.

That’s the real irony: Thoreau went to the woods because he “wished to live deliberately” to listen to his own inner voice. But when we follow someone else’s inspiration too closely, at what point do we lose our own? When does imitating someone’s deliberate life cause us to abandon our own? The truth is, living deliberately means tuning into your own purpose, your own values—even if that looks completely different from what inspired you in the first place.

So, how do we deal with this? First, by recognizing that what we see—whether it’s on social media or in a beloved book—often isn’t the whole story. It’s a curated version, crafted to inspire or entertain, but it’s not the messy, complicated reality that we all live in.

Second, we need to give ourselves grace. The truth is, everyone is grappling with their own complexities, even if they don’t show it. I may have poked fun at Thoreau for living only half a mile outside of town—not at all a radical wilderness experience by my standards—but for him, that distance might have required immense soul-searching and fortitude. We’ll never truly know.

Third, we can actively seek out sources of vulnerable honesty. Sometimes we need that reminder that we're not alone in our struggles. Whether it’s a trusted friend, a writer who speaks authentically, a women’s or men’s group, or even a 12-step meeting, finding a space where people share their real challenges can be a powerful antidote to the polished perfection we often see. These moments of connection give us that “me too” feeling, reminding us that imperfection and struggle are universal.

Walden Pond is also a cautionary tale for all writers and storytellers. Thoreau’s reflections on living deliberately didn’t just inspire readers—they sparked a movement. His personal retreat gave rise to the “back to the land” movement, and today, Walden Pond draws over 500,000 visitors a year. There’s even a 5,680-square-foot visitors’ center. Yes, it’s ironic—and even a little tragic: The message of simplicity and deliberate living has, in some ways, been co-opted by the very forces of imitation and comparison that Thoreau was resisting.

That is perhaps the real tragedy of our modern times: that media encourages imitation and comparison, not authenticity. As soon as we look at someone else’s life and think it’s something we need to emulate, we’ve already lost our connection to Self. Art and stories can inspire, but the best kind of art doesn’t compel us to copy—it helps us reconnect with the truest part of ourselves.

Perhaps that’s the journey of midlife: to recognize where we may have veered off our own path, to see where comparison has misled us, and to rediscover what living authentically means for us—and only us…. and then post the hell out of that life on Instagram so the world can tell us how awesome we are and imitate us.

Just kidding….