“The Long Walk: What Tolkien Can Teach Us About Life in the Age of Social Media”

It’s safe to say that J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings stands among the most beloved and influential book series of all time. With more than 150 million copies sold, translated into over forty languages, and inspiring countless adaptations—including a blockbuster film trilogy—the work has shaped an entire genre.

And yet, for all its acclaim, one criticism remains common: it’s just a very long walk.

Yes, Tolkien was famously descriptive—he could spend entire pages on a single tree—but beyond that, modern readers often dismiss the series as slow or even boring. Still, the truth is that much of modern fantasy—from Dungeons & Dragons to World of Warcraft—would not exist without him. His storytelling didn’t just entertain; it defined an entire way of imagining worlds.

So, does that legacy outweigh the critique? Or does it reveal something deeper about how our culture has changed?

The Fast Lane of Modern Storytelling

As an indie author, I’ve noticed something: today’s readers—myself included—have the attention spans of distracted houseflies. If a story doesn’t grab them instantly and move at a breakneck pace, they’ll move on. Indie authors survive by understanding this reality. We craft quick, serialized stories filled with action and immediate payoffs designed for the social-media age.

By contrast, Tolkien’s approach could not be more different. His novels are literary marathons, not sprints. They are dense, philosophical, and deliberate. He takes his time to tell a story, layering language, lore, and meaning. The result is a world so detailed it feels like ancient myth rather than invention—a depth that could only come from patience, discipline, and a long creative walk.

So when people call his books “boring,” perhaps the problem isn’t Tolkien’s pacing—it’s our culture’s impatience.

Keeping Up with the Joneses (and the Algorithm)

We live in an age of hyperfocus and instant gratification. Social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube allow us to share our daily lives with the world. That’s not inherently bad—it can be a way to preserve memories and connect with others—but it comes with a cost.

We’ve created a culture where everyone else’s life looks more exciting than ours. We curate our highlights and compare them to others’ highlight reels, leaving many feeling that their ordinary lives are somehow lacking.

It’s the old anxiety of “keeping up with the Joneses,” only now amplified to a global scale. Before, it was about your neighbor’s car or house. Now it’s about filtered vacations, AI-enhanced selfies, and viral lifestyles that no one can truly sustain.

I’ve felt it myself. After losing 95 pounds and gaining muscle, I look and feel better than I have in decades. Yet I still feel insecure when I see my 20-year-old nephew—ripped, handsome, and full of potential. My trainer reminds me I’m fifty, not twenty, but social media whispers otherwise: “Other fifty-year-olds look better. Why don’t you?”

The Wisdom of Hobbits

Through the Hobbits, Tolkien offers a profound rebuke to this kind of thinking. They don’t compete with one another, don’t chase fame or fortune, and don’t care about appearances. They delight in the simple joys of life: a warm meal, a good friend, a long walk, a tended garden.

To others in Middle-earth, Hobbits seem naïve or unsophisticated. But Tolkien knew better. They possess something far greater—contentment. And that contentment makes them immune to the Ring’s temptations of power, wealth, and glory.

They are, in every sense, the best at “the long walk.”

The Journey That Shapes Us

Tolkien understood something our fast-paced culture has forgotten: life itself is a long walk. Most days are not epic battles or dramatic turning points—they’re quiet steps forward through ordinary time. Progress, real progress, is slow.

Success in anything—fitness, business, writing, faith—comes not from a single dramatic act but from consistent effort over time. The influencer, the celebrity, the author, even the neighbor you envy—they didn’t arrive overnight. They took the long walk.

That’s why Tolkien wrote The Lord of the Rings the way he did. The true drama is not in the battles, but in the perseverance between them—the trudging, the doubts, the moments where Frodo and Sam wonder if they’ll ever reach Mount Doom.

As Tolkien shows, our character isn’t forged in the fire of conflict but in the quiet of consistency.

When the Walk Feels Pointless

Most people don’t fail during crises—they fail during the in-between. When progress seems invisible, when the scale barely moves, when your prayers or work feel unanswered—that’s when discouragement sets in.

You’ve counted every calorie, gone to the gym, and yet lost only two pounds. You’ve worked for years on a dream that seems no closer. You’ve given up pizza and Doritos—our modern-day ambrosia!—and wonder, “Is it even worth it?”

That’s the moment Tolkien writes about: when Mount Doom is still far away and every step feels meaningless. Frodo feels it deeply—he’s weighed down not just by the Ring but by despair. And without Sam, he might have stopped walking entirely.

The Strength of Samwise

Samwise Gamgee is Tolkien’s greatest lesson in perseverance. He’s not a hero by any conventional measure—he’s a gardener, a handyman, a friend. Yet he’s exactly who Gandalf, under the will of Eru Ilúvatar (God), chooses for the quest.

Why? Because Sam embodies faith and hope in the face of exhaustion. He doesn’t quit when everything feels pointless. He keeps walking.

Tolkien captures it perfectly through Sam’s reflection:

“Yes, that’s so,’ said Sam. ‘And we shouldn’t be here at all, if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually – their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on – and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same – like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren’t always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we’ve fallen into?”

It’s not the heroes who seek adventure that matter most—it’s the ones who keep going when they’d rather stop.

The Real Meaning of the Long Walk

If you’re struggling to hold onto hope or faith during your own long walk, take heart. Life isn’t meant to be constant excitement. It’s in the quiet days, the small steps, and the unseen faithfulness that we are truly forged.

When you look back on your life, the moments that changed you most won’t be the thrilling highs or crushing lows—they’ll be the small, ordinary days that shaped your character without you realizing it.

“I have found that it is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.”— Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings

In the end, Tolkien’s long walk wasn’t just about Frodo and Sam—it was about all of us.

So keep walking.

Jay

JW Kiefer is a novelist, writer, and minister from Western New York.

To learn more or read his works, visit JWKIEFER.COM or follow him on Medium.