Presence, People, and Small Moments: Messy and Secret Life of Walter Mitty
- debanshu kanungo
- 21 hours ago
- 14 min read
It has been way too long, I apologize for such a long break; If I could yell “HELLO” through your screen right now, I absolutely would. I’d ask how you’re doing, what new things you’ve been trying, and I’d genuinely love to catch up with every single one of you.
But let’s get to the point—it’s not only been a while since I have last written, but also I can’t remember a time where I’ve felt this inspired. The kind of inspiration that makes your fingers itch to write. No exaggeration—if you asked me how I’m spending my last day in Sydney, it’s this: a self-planned café tour around the city, sipping lattes, reading my new book, writing this very post, and trying to crown a favorite cafe.
This morning, I woke up and flipped through the pages of my journal from the past month. And honestly, I couldn’t think of anything more fulfilling than sitting down and untangling the jumbled thoughts that have collected over this transformative time.
For those who may have missed the updates (though I’ve definitely been over-posting), I’ve spent the last month solo backpacking along Australia’s eastern coast. It’s been a complete rollercoaster—ironic coming from someone who doesn’t even like rollercoasters. I’ve learned a lot—about people, places, myself, and everything in between. That’s probably why I’m so excited to write this. Because what happened right before this trip unexpectedly became the emotional nucleus of the entire journey.
On May 5th, I scribbled this into my journal:
“Goal of the trip: be comfortable with not feeling wanted or loved all the time. Appreciate what is, not what could be. Let yourself be yourself. Eradicate distractions. You are a good person, but always take yourself from it…”
Heavy, I know. Trust me, I didn’t expect to be hit with this kind of existential wave on day one either. But I’m incredibly grateful for the chance to spend this time with myself—working consciously, actively, and honestly toward those goals.
As the title suggests, this is my most valiant effort at something new; to weave together two pieces of art that reflect the complicated inner work I’ve been doing.
Hold on, I just finished my lemon macaroon (I would rate a 7.5/10) in this cafe, so let me move on to my next stop on my tour… be right back.
Over time, this blog has evolved into what I can only describe as a polished version of my journal. Somehow, oversharing has become second nature here. So, let’s rewind to just before my flight to Australia. I got a phone call I later labeled “Confrontations and Consequences” (5/02/25)—yes, dramatic journal titles are my thing. That call pushed me to face something I had been avoiding for far too long; my deeply rooted inability to truly commit to someone.
If you’ve read my Bob Dylan review, you’ll know about my journey with letting go of ego and becoming the person I tell myself I am. But one area I hadn’t been honest with myself about was my romantic life. I hurt someone I deeply care about—not through malice, but through procrastinating on confronting something real. And look, it’s okay to not have everything figured out, but what made it worse was that I had been telling someone else (and myself) that everything was fine.
This person mattered to me, and in some backwards, bittersweet way, losing them forced me to confront the false version of myself I’d been gaslighting myself to believe. Thankfully, being alone in a country across the Pacific is as good a setting as any to face the truth.
Introduction
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is one of Ben Stiller’s underrated gems—witty, understated, with a far simpler plot than something like Severance. It’s always a bit sad to read the criticism, reducing it to clunky product placements and weak direction. To me, this is Stiller’s Truman Show or Stranger Than Fiction.
With its incredible soundtrack, Walter Mitty feels as if Indiana Jones decided to become the lead singer of The Strokes. As a whole, It’s sweet, confident, and quietly profound—for those who are willing to listen. What struck me most is how it celebrates saying yes. Yes to adventure. Yes to connection. Yes to the present moment.
Then there’s Messy by Olivia Dean—the debut album from the North-London raised 24 year old carries this innocuous promise of a summer evening with its jazz and Motown-influenced sound that makes the album reside in a state of suspended animation, enthusiasm and vulnerability.
Fun fact: I discovered Olivia Dean on a random weekday after dropping off a friend. Ladies Room came on shuffle, and I’ve been hooked ever since. For those who follow me on Superfan, she’s easily in my weekly top three artists at least once a month.
Her album didn’t just soundtrack my trip—it mirrored my emotional chaos. Especially when it came to understanding my own romantic detachment. I saw myself in those lyrics more than I wanted to admit.
Combine these complicated threads of art, and you idiosyncratically end up with the mindset this trip has sown in me.
Messy
I want to start by diving (no pun intended) into this album, as it aligns so closely with how my trip began. Messy is dedicated to navigating love and life with an awareness of what lies ahead, while still fully living in and absorbing each moment. Olivia Dean sings about romantic and familial relationships with a gentle touch. At the heart of Messy is the idea of hope — a light, nimble, and fresh collection of soul-pop tracks that underscore the importance of perseverance amid personal upheaval.
What makes my queen (Olivia Dean) different from her peers, however, is that she has the confidence to occasionally dissect subjects that others swerve, all while maintaining broad mainstream appeal. The fullness of Deans musical vision vibrates in gorgeously crafted moments carved from her deep, tender voice which skips and twirls through stories of love pursued and lost. These moments make Messy everything a debut album should be — a collection of connected stories presented through a clear, radiant voice.
The two songs I want to highlight from this album are Dive and Everybody is Crazy (PSA: not my favorite songs on the album but the most impactful).
Dive:
This song explores the joy and uncertainty of falling in love, with a focus on the act of vulnerability and taking a leap of faith into a new relationship (sound familiar?). The lyrics trace a shift in perspective — from doubt and jadedness to certainty and excitement about love. The song’s title and imagery evoke the feeling of diving into the unknown, using it as a metaphor for committing to a relationship.
One of my favorite aspects of Dean’s songwriting is how almost every track opens with poignant yet quirky lyrics, and Dive is no exception:
“ It isn’t working,
I'm a tidal wave of question marks,
And you’re just surfing, leaning into me like it is an art”
I love this imagery — it mirrors my own experience so well. It paints the picture of someone confidently riding this tsunami wave of uncertainty, telling both themselves and me that what we have is worth it, while inside, I’m looking up at them, almost wanting to scream with fear but not realizing it.
The second half of the chorus carries another powerful lesson:
"...Maybe it’s the fact that every time I fall, I lose it all,
But you got me from my head to my feet, and I’m ready to dive."
This is the song’s grounding moment, echoing the voice in my head that often warns me I couldn’t survive another heartbreak if I gave my all again. Yet Dean suggests that the love you put into the world is the love you receive — and that was my favorite message from this groovy track.
Listening to Dive on my 14-hour flight to Sydney — after the phone call — led me to ask myself: what is the real danger in loving people, places and things openly and courageously? The answers sent me into a nervous spiral, confronting my past shortcomings, not only with this person but in other relationships too. Yet, this reflection laid the foundation for a mindset I would continue to cultivate throughout my travels.
Everybody’s crazy:
This nervous spiral continued — until the penultimate track of the album, a slow piano ballad that felt perfectly timed. The track speaks directly to the experience I was having, opening with:
“I’m not as strong as I appear,
I’m more anxious than I appear,
What kind of a person would I be?”
These lyrics resonated deeply with the part of me that recognized the gap between the version of myself I had presented and who I really was. I had made it seem like I was ready for what we were building, but in reality, I was far more insecure — even if I didn’t fully realize it at the time.
The irony of recognizing this internal romantic mess is that once you accept your own messiness, you realize that everyone else is messy too. Everybody’s Crazy reminds us that being open about our insecurities — both with ourselves and with others — can lead to deeper, more authentic connections.
“Under the table, squeeze my hand/I need to know you understand…”
Ultimately, my biggest takeaway from this album was learning how to fall in love again, facing the fears that come with it, and still finding independence along the way.
Secret Life of Walter Mitty
The first time I watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty was during my year-long movie marathon in India, back in the COVID years. At the time, I don’t think I fully captured — or even realized — the core message of the film. I simply hadn’t experienced the kind of travel that I’ve now been privileged to undertake.
At first glance, James Thurber’s seminal 1939 short story doesn’t seem like the most obvious material for a Hollywood adaptation. The original story is about escape — escape from mediocrity, from boredom, from empty relationships. The film keeps that essential thread, retaining the character of Mitty, but expands into a much bigger adventure. It’s about many things, it travels to many places, but at its heart, it’s still about escape — and the incredible lengths the human mind and spirit will go to in order to break free.
And I think it’s a truly beautiful tale, told with real heart. Ben Stiller may not be known for a remarkable directorial track record — aside from the excellent Tropic Thunder, his previous attempt (The Cable Guy) was middling at best. But credit where it’s due: The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is a wonderful story. It’s a film that radiates genuine positivity and when approached with an open mind—It's message doesn’t feel soppy, generic, or manipulative.
Background
Walter Mitty (Stiller) is a negative assets manager at LIFE magazine, who frequently escapes into elaborate daydreams to cope with his unremarkable life — an unrequited crush on co-worker Cheryl (Kristen Wiig), and the looming end of the publication at the hands of a ruthless “transition manager” (Adam Scott). When the chosen photograph for LIFE's final cover goes missing, Mitty launches himself on a global quest to track down the elusive photographer, Sean O’Connell (Sean Penn), and uncover why this unseen negative was described as “the quintessence of life.”
I think all of us, to some degree, can relate to Walter Mitty. We’ve all imagined ourselves as more than we are — more exciting, more capable, armed with the perfect comeback or the right words for the one who got away. (In my case, it’s more about regretting not committing to the one who got away.) We’ve all replayed moments, thinking, “If only I had the chance, I would have done this instead.”
I know I certainly have. And The Secret Life of Walter Mitty speaks to anyone who’s ever had an overactive imagination, who’s created rich fantasy worlds, or who’s found themselves trapped — unable to break free and become the person they long to be. The brilliance of the film lies in how it brings these moments front and center, without feeling jarring, and without blurring the line between fantasy and reality too much.
For me, the movie isn’t about "finding your true self." Rather, it’s about returning to who you were when life felt lighter — when you were carefree, adventurous, and authentic. Yes, Mitty embarks on grand adventures to remote corners of the earth, but the message isn’t that life is found only in hiking Icelandic landscapes or scaling mountains. It can be, if that’s what you seek — but “living” is really about the small, precious moments that move us, moments of growth, wonder, and connection. That is why, in the end, we learn that Life Magazine’s “quintessence” was actually a photo of Walter Mitty himself, fulfilling the work he has always been good at. He was a ghost cat, or as Sean O’Connell liked to put it, “a beautiful thing that doesn’t ask for attention. "
With this message at its core, the film does a phenomenal job of exploring how change and escape intertwine. At first, Mitty seeks escape through fleeting, inconsequential daydreams. Later, he transforms his life by physically changing his circumstances — leading to a more permanent form of escape. It’s the kind of change that characters like Ted (Adam Scott) either can’t or won’t pursue, stuck in their shallow lives. Mitty goes out, meets remarkable people, has transformative experiences — and comes back changed. (Sound familiar?)
But this isn’t about becoming a completely different person. It’s about reclaiming forgotten parts of yourself — the parts that allow you to be more confident, more open, and more fearless. It’s an escape from a deep, quiet misery — and one we can all root for.
This kind of message isn’t exactly rare in Hollywood. But it is rare to see it told with this much warmth, character depth, and satisfying resolution. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty offers a moving, memorable journey — and leaves the viewer with a gentle catharsis through the triumph of one ordinary man.
Takeaway
I’ve tried to keep my analysis earlier in this post short (and failed) — to leave space for what really matters here: the learnings.
So what did I learn from my adventure oceans away?
The most ironic part of my solo travel and backpacking experience is that it was rarely solo. I met Thibeau, a Lo-fi music producer from Belgium, in a hostel in Noosa — we ended up road-tripping to Brisbane together. I sat next to Alex on my flight to Sydney, and weeks later, we were at a spa and comedy show in Newtown. I drove from Cairns to Cape Tribulation with two Germans, Linn and Lino, and their friend Isabella. I met Jim, a 60-year-old at a jazz festival, who got me into a yacht club in Brisbane after we bonded over gin and tonics.
You get the idea.
I met people from everywhere — New Zealand, Germany, France — some I spoke to for days, others for just moments. And every time, I’d ask them the same questions: “Why are you here? What’s next for you? How long are you travelling?”
And more often than not, the answers were:
“I don’t know.” “I just quit my job.” Or my favorite, from a British lad named Oliver I met in Cairns: “Just to live.”
I asked these questions because I had a checklist waiting for me: internships, school, applications, the next thing, and the next thing. To me, this trip had an endpoint — real life had to start soon… right?
But for them, this was real life. No deadlines. No plan. And how naive of me to have never considered that possibility. They’d miss dinner because the sunset surf session in Noosa went long. They weren’t worried about next month. They were here. Now.
On May 11th, I wrote in my journal:
"Sophia is 19, hasn’t applied to college, has no job or offer yet. I’m glad she’s enjoying her travels, but what’s she going to do with her life?"
That was my mindset: if you didn’t have a plan, you were lost. But over time, I realized what I had mistaken for being lost… was actually freedom. These people were spontaneous, uncertain, joyful. They were alive.
Eventually, I embraced it. My trip became less about researching what to do each day and more about doing whatever felt right. And I realized that my most important travel companion wasn’t a person — it was time. Some days I scuba-dived with turtles all day. Other days I watched a mom cheer on her child learning to ride a bike as the sun set behind them. Both days were equally beautiful. Because they were mine. Because I chose them.
The biggest takeaway? The simplicity of living. And to me, it breaks down into two parts: human connection, and small moments. They often overlap, but I want to explore them separately.
Human connection
Back home, I’m lucky — I have deep, lasting relationships: friends I’ve known since middle school, family who know me inside and out. But this trip introduced me to a different kind of connection: short, deep, temporary.
I’d connect with people for two days, two hours, a week — and then never see them again. Like Isabella, a 19-year-old German backpacker. We shared vulnerable conversations under the stars in Port Douglas, and within 48 hours, we were out of each other’s lives. But the depth of that connection? Real. Moving. Worth it.
It taught me that meaningful connection doesn’t require longevity. It requires presence. (Think about your best friends — why are you so close with them?) And for someone who struggles with commitment, this was a breakthrough. I’ve always waited for the “perfect” time to open up, to say what I feel, to commit. But as this trip — and Olivia Dean — remind me: there’s no point in waiting. You just have to Dive in.
The more the trip unfolded, the more I embraced this type of connection. I began loving it. I met people so different from me — different hobbies, mindsets, beliefs, lifestyles — and yet our conversations were amazing, our connections unique. Every encounter reinforced the idea that there is no perfect moment, no green light signaling that now is the right time. And if you’re always waiting for that, you might wait forever.
Small moments
I never really had a plan for each night. I’d go to bed knowing only that I wanted to catch a sunrise, visit a farmers market, go for a run — no idea where, with whom, or how far. This everyday uncertainty forced me to be present. It rewired my thinking about happiness, it isn’t some distant, ideal state — it is something that could be felt today. Every day. Every moment.
After this shift, I noticed a pattern in my journals: I began recording tiny details — watching strangers on the beach, noticing Pete and Jenny’s matching pajamas while they watched the sunset, jotting down a new favorite gnome in a hidden gnome garden on the way to Kirribilli Park.
And that’s how I arrived at the second part of what I’m calling my “simplification of living” formula: the beauty in small things.
The macaron you rate 7.5/10. The walk through the same park for the tenth time, but noticing a new flower each time. The conversation with a stranger on the train. These moments, seemingly insignificant, became the foundation of my experience.
I thought my highlights from this trip would be the big things — the waterfalls, the scuba dives, the beaches. But I’ve realized the most meaningful moments are often the quiet ones. The ones where you don’t take a photo. You don’t post a story. You just live it. You just are.
And I mean this seriously: the espresso in Kuranda Village saved my life a little. The hot shower after camping in a car saved my life a little. Grocery shopping with my mom after years — yesterday — saved my life a little.
I’ve discovered that little things add up to the big feelings we often seek— if you let them. And honestly, that realization has helped me make a few quiet shifts toward those goals I set on day one. I’m definitely not there yet, but I’m trying to get more comfortable with the parts of me that still resist it.
To help myself stay present, I started a new section in my journal called The Art of Noticing. Every day, no matter what I was doing — hiking, walking, scuba diving — I’d pause to draw or note something that caught my eye. Over time, this simple practice infused even the most mundane moments with a little bit of magic.
When you combine these two parts — human connection and small moments — the message becomes clear. Or, as Jay Shetty puts it in Think Like a Monk:
"The ocean is full of treasures, but if you swim on the surface, you won’t see them all."
And if Messy and Walter Mitty taught me anything, it’s this: the only way to see those treasures, both internal and external, is to dive into every moment.
A new friend. A new book. A new conversation or even just a new flower in your garden.
We often avoid/ignore these modest moments, afraid that diverting our focus from the “big" things in life will derail our futures, our plans, or all our hard work: But here’s a question from my journal I’ve never quite answered:
What’s the point of missing out on life in pursuit of having it “together”?
Through my trip, I uncovered that I had been spending all this time trying to understand life, but in reality, life is meant to be felt. We obsess over making sense of everything—fixing, solving, controlling—but maybe life isn’t a puzzle to crack; but a wave meant to flow through us.
So, I guess my biggest takeaway was that I can either spend my life trying to have it all figured out. Or I can live it like I did this past month— one moment, one connection, one small treasure at a time.
And if you ask me — that’s where the real magic is.