A life-changing adventure, a courageous leap onto a helicopter, and a new sense of self-worth. This is everything I thought I would find on my trip to Iceland the summer before my mission. The inspiration for the trip came from my favorite movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. In the film, Walter leaves his mundane routine and travels around the world in search of a missing photograph. On his journey, he discovers the beauty life has to offer, how much he is really worth, and the power he has to make a difference. I thought that if I followed his journey, I too would realize my own worth and experience the journey of a lifetime. What I didn’t realize then was that my problem wasn’t my location—it was my perspective.

If I could retrace Walter’s steps, maybe I would experience the change he did. My insecurities and doubts would turn into understanding and confidence. Life would make sense! I also timed it perfectly so I would receive my mission call while we were there. This trip would be the start of the most amazing and adventurous future. My mind raced through all the places I would serve—Africa like my mom and dad did, Italy, Japan, Peru. The possibilities were endless.

It took months to convince my parents, and plenty of late nights spent rewatching The Secret Life of Walter Mitty to form the perfect plan. I based our itinerary off the shoot locations and thrifted a thick red sweater just like the one Walter wore. The final touch to my trip preparation—my aunt’s vintage film camera. This would be the lens I used to capture the beauty I expected to discover. I wanted to remember how life-changing this trip would be and see my transformation.

We touched down in Reykjavik, and my phone regained cell service. My heart skipped a beat as I read my notifications: “Your mission call can be viewed in your mission portal.” This was it. My Walter Mitty moment. How blessed was I to receive my call to serve somewhere around the world while standing in the place of my dreams.

I decided to wait a few hours before opening it so I could do it where my favorite scene takes place—the moment when Walter’s true journey begins. The moment where he has to choose to give up or fight for his future. He races toward an ascending helicopter as David Bowie’s Space Oddity plays in the background.

The moment had arrived. I stood in the place where Walter stood, my own life about to take off just like Walter’s did. A salty breeze came in from the harbor behind us. My hands were shaking. I opened my call, skimming through all the unimportant words until I reached the line that revealed where I would go.

“Seattle, Washington,” I read in disbelief. That can’t be right, I thought. I honestly believed it was a mistake. I pinched myself and rubbed my eyes. I looked back. It still said Seattle, Washington. The helicopter had just powered off. Major Tom, we have a problem.

How could I get called somewhere in the same time zone I lived in? This was not the “adventure” I had in mind. I was basically going down the street.

I went into the cramped camper van and cried. I had never really understood denial until that moment. I no longer felt like Walter. I wasn’t special; I wasn’t going on an amazing adventure. I was headed somewhere gray and rainy—nothing exciting about it. Everyone else seemed to get called to an exotic and new destination, but not me. I felt unseen and unloved. This was not the kind of story someone would make a movie about. This was not an adventure; it was a tragedy.

For the rest of the trip, I carried a quiet ache in my heart. I searched for meaning in the mist of Skógafoss and on the black sand beaches. Maybe there was something magical waiting in the Blue Lagoon. I didn’t find it. I used to dream about the grandeur of Iceland, but seeing all the amazing sites only made me feel bitter that I wouldn’t get to experience something as beautiful on my mission. My story was so different from Walter’s. I went on the trip to see myself in a new light, but all I discovered was my own insignificance.

When we got home, I dropped off my rolls of film at the photo store. “Might as well get an Instagram-worthy post out of the trip,” I said to myself. A few hours later, they sent me the images. Perspective must have developed along with the color. As I looked back at those photos, the waterfalls and glaciers faded into the background. For the first time, I saw myself. Not just some dude in a picture, but the person I had the potential to become—a little battered and bruised, but willing to keep moving forward. On the trip, I had felt so small, a tiny spec in comparison to the vast Icelandic landscape. But in hindsight, I saw myself differently—a disciple of Christ, trying even when things didn’t turn out the way I expected.

I realized my journey was far from over. Life’s adventures aren’t always about the places you go or the grand feats you accomplish—they’re often found in the moments you would have never planned for, in the people you meet, and in how you overcome your trials. I didn’t hike through the Himalayas, or sail across the Atlantic, but I met people who mattered. And I realized that I mattered too. From knocking doors in the rain to forming genuine connections with strangers, my mission redefined what the word adventure meant. Adventure, I learned, is not measured by distance traveled or mountains conquered—it is measured by the courage to show up, the willingness to serve, and the growth that takes place. Sometimes, the smallest moments—the laughter shared after getting yelled at, the kindness of someone whose life is so different from your own, the prayers whispered on the bathroom floor—carry more meaning than any big accomplishment or trip. The most insignificant days can make the greatest impact.

Life is a journey at every stage. Trips come and go, but you are always central to your own story—and to God’s story. Experiences in life, even the ones that seem ordinary or disappointing at first, shape who we become. Tests of faith and resilience are what make life meaningful, even when we don’t see it at the time.

At the end of the movie, Walter realizes the photo he was chasing was never really about the picture—it was about discovering how amazing he already was. His mantra in the movie was: “To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”

You can do that in Iceland. You can do it in Seattle. You can do it anywhere. The greatest adventures in life aren’t about where your plane lands—it’s about who you choose to become. It’s about jumping on the helicopter even when you are unsure about where you are headed.

Reflection

1.     What is the point of my essay?

My essay shows that true adventure and growth don’t depend on traveling to a distant land, but on perspective, faith, and the courage to embrace the unknown. Life doesn’t have to be flashy for you to value yourself and find happiness.

2.     What is the rhetorical tool/tools?

Allusion (the reference to the movie and more specifically Walter from The Secret Life of Walter Mitty)

3.     Based on the audience and point ,why those tools?

I used the allusion to Walter Mitty to create an understanding for the reader of what I was hoping to accomplish on this journey. I wanted to be like Walter and have the journey he had. The audience can immediately see that things don’t turn out the way I had planned.

4.     How does the tool get the audience back to #1?

The allusion to Walter Mitty gets back to the point of my essay because over time I learned that what Walter’s story is about is more about the way he sees himself, not where he travels. This connects to my own story because my own humbling journey also helped me realize this. There was a point in my story where I felt so different from Walter. At first, it was everything I was afraid of, but by the end I realized I was more similar to him than I thought in a much more meaningful way.