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《瓦尔登湖》是美国作家梭罗的一本著名散文集。书中细致描述了梭罗两年多来隐居瓦尔登湖畔，感知自然、重塑自我的奇异历程。“Simplicity， simplicity， simplicity！”是书中的一个名句，在多年后依然闪着哲理的灵光，启发着世界各地的读者。每个时代的人或许都如出一辙地为金钱、为名利奔波劳碌、忧心忡忡。大家长嗟短叹，困惑于人生的意义到底是什么，殊不知，在大自然中，快乐的真理随处可见。有时候，我们需要的可能仅仅是一场心灵的“朝圣”，去发现欢乐，发现美，发现一个澄明、恬美、素雅的世界。
Six years ago I found myself in a bad place. I was trapped in a 1）grueling daily commute from our 2）smallholding in the Scottish borders to my soul-sapping office job in Edinburgh. Each day I left early in the morning while my family slept， and returned with barely enough time to say goodnight to our two little boys before putting them to bed. We loved our home but could not afford it， and so I resigned myself to the 3）half-life of the commuter. Eight hours a day were spent sitting at my desk， with three more in my car.
I was chasing money， in hopes of buying space and time and a chance of happiness. The reality， however， was debt， mind-numbing jobs and little time to truly invest in our family and our lives. Something had to be done to shuck us out of it all， and I began to turn the hours in the car to my advantage， using the time to develop a plan of escape； to leave my job and journey into the wilderness.
Making it happen wasn’t so easy， however， starting with telling my friends and family. Not surprisingly， their response was less than 4）enthusiastic. Some assumed that I had finally succumbed to the stress of commuting and was having some kind of mental breakdown； others were angry， thinking I was shirking my responsibility. My wife， however， understood from the start.
Juliet also felt trapped by our situation. No amount of money was worth it， we agreed， and we made a deal： I would somehow find a way to build my cabin in the wilderness where I would live for one year alone. Taking the family wasn’t an option， as the children were too young and the dangers too many. Juliet would realise her own dream， however， and return with the boys to the Isle of Mull， where she was born.
Over time our plan took shape， and I finally found myself in the interior of Alaska， 300 miles from the nearest road. For the first few months I lived in a canvas tent with just my dog for company and laboured ceaselessly to build my 16ft x 16ft cabin before winter set in. I finished just in time： the temperature sank to -50C and pretty soon I was struggling with 12ft of snow and half an hour’s daylight each day. Only after I had nearly starved to death did I eventually 5）get the hang of it. I lived off 6）beaver meat and travelled by dog team， finally achieving the way of life that I had dreamed of. In the rare moments when I wasn’t engaged in the arduous business of staying alive in the wilderness， I read. Among the sacred collection of books in my cabin， I had the complete works of Shakespeare， the scripts of Woody Allen and， of course， my much-thumbed copy of Walden. It kept me going when times were tough， and I have often turned to it in the years since my return as a “spiritual 7）barometer”， to make sure I am not straying too far from my chosen path.
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Walden Pond， the lake that gave Thoreau’s book its title， near the small town of Concord， Massachusetts. He wrote beautifully about Walden Pond， with detailed descriptions of its oak and pine surroundings and the quality of the water itself. Clearly the place had inspired him， and his book in turn had inspired many others， including me.
I had long felt that I’d like to make a pilgrimage to Walden Pond， as a kind of homage to the man whose ideas helped turn my life around. It was risky though， since the world has changed immeasurably since Thoreau lived there in the 1840s， and I was in danger of shattering the vision I’d long held in my mind. Nevertheless， a week ago， I arrived at Boston airport， bearing my copy of Walden.
Quickly climbing into my rental car， I hadn’t had time to buy a map and so rather sheepishly 8）consented to use the satellite navigation system. With a sinking heart， I typed “Walden Pond” onto the screen， imagining what Thoreau would have thought of such a device.
The weather was cold enough to justify my beaver hat， so I pulled it out and， with a sense of history， stuffed my sacred kettle into my bag， hoping to brew some tea at a suitable spot. And when I reached the lake I found it even more 9）ravishing than I had imagined. I remembered Thoreau’s metaphor of a lake as“Earth’s eye”， and its surrounding trees as the“eyelashes which fringe it”.
I walked slowly along the path towards a small inlet which my visitor’s map marked as the location of Thoreau’s cabin. Pretty soon I reached the sacred spot， and walked very slowly up to the cabin-site， which was marked in a fittingly 10）unadorned manner.
I heard a train hoot， and turned to see a 11）locomotive pulling a row of silvery carriages along the railway that skirted the south-west corner of the pond. Thoreau， too， had listened to the train as it passed， and I stood very still for a while， overcome by a sense of the past. Time has changed—on the surface， everything is speeding up， yet the essential slow forces are still there， like a deep， steady current beneath the surface of a choppy sea. I wanted to see more， and made my way towards it， enjoying the sight of bone-dry oak leaves landing 12）daintily on the blue-green water. I noticed a fish jump into the air， and looked over to see rings widening across a stretch of shimmering water that began as a cloud slipped past the sun. I reached up and pulled some green needles from a pine tree and crushed them between my fingers， catching their clean scent on my skin. “Every little pine needle expanded and swelled with sympathy and befriended me，” Thoreau had written， and here I was， for all I knew beneath that very same tree. Again， I felt a sense of continuity， of lives crossing over， and I felt restored. True， the place was nothing like the personal image that I had held for so long. But the lake and the trees remain 13）unaltered， and there is still space to get a feel for what so inspired Thoreau.
As I drove back to Boston that night I thought of what Thoreau would have made of the modern world. In these unhappy times， with the world searching its pockets for every last scrap of currency， maybe it would pay to go back to basics， to make spiritual withdrawals from nature rather than the 14）cashpoint machine. Most of us don’t have a trust fund and so will never have enough money in the bank. Yet there is such wealth outdoors and it is everywhere； from an 15）allotment to the wide， open ocean， all can 16）replenish our spiritual banks. When the cold dreary numbers start to let us down， and all the smart-arse analysts start eating their words， it pays to remember that wherever there is a natural place there is a chance to find happiness， serenity and truth.
六年前，我发现自己身陷糟糕的境地。每天疲惫不堪地通勤往返，在我们位于苏格兰边境的小农场与位于爱丁堡的磨人心志的办公室工作之间奔波。每天，当家人还在睡梦之中，我就早早出门；归家时，仅仅来得及在两个年幼的儿子上床睡觉前跟他们道晚安。我们爱这个家，却买不起这房子，因此，我只能屈从于通勤奔忙，活得不成个样子。一天八小时，我坐在办公桌旁，另外有三小时坐在自己的车上。
我一直追逐金钱，希望买来空间、时间和一个获得快乐的机会。然而，现实是：债务、令人头脑发麻的工作以及微量真正投资于家庭和人生的时间。我们必需做一些事情来脱离这种困境。我开始将花在车上的几个小时化为优势，利用这些时间构思一个出逃计划；逃离我的工作，走进荒野，展开一段旅程。
不过，一开始跟家人和朋友说起时，计划的实施并没那么容易。不出所料，他们的反应并不热烈。有些人设想我是最后抵御不过通勤的压力，患上了某种精神疾病；其他人则很气愤，认为我想逃避自己的责任。然而，我的妻子却从一开始就表示理解。
朱丽叶也为我们的现况感到困扰。我们都认同，这个计划的价值非金钱所能比拟，同时我们达成一个共识：我会找个办法在荒野里建一间小屋子，独自生活一年。带上家人并不明智，因为孩子们还太小，而危险却太多。朱丽叶会追寻自己的梦想，带上儿子回到冒尔岛，她的出生地。
一段时间后，我们的计划开始像模像样了，我最终发现自己置身于阿拉斯加的内陆，离最近的公路有300英里远。在最初的几个月里，我与我的狗作伴，住在一顶帆布帐篷里，并且马不停蹄地赶在冬天到来前，建好我那间16英尺×16英尺大的小木屋。我完工得很及时：气温降到了零下50摄氏度，很快我就挣扎于12英尺厚的大雪中，并且一天只有半个小时的日光。就在我经历过几乎饿死之后，我才最终学会了求生窍门。我以海狸肉为生，以狗群拉车出行，最终实现了我一直梦寐以求的生活方式。
除了投身于累人的野外生存事务之外，在那些罕有的闲暇里，我会看书。在我的小木屋里，有一些珍藏图书，有莎士比亚全集、伍迪·艾伦的剧本，当然，还有我快翻烂了的《瓦尔登湖》。这书让我在艰难困苦时继续前行，也是我从荒野回归后这些年的一大 “心灵标杆”，我经常翻阅，以确保自己不会偏离自己所选的道路太远。 不久前，我有机会到瓦尔登湖旅行——就是梭罗的名著那点题之地，坐落在马萨诸塞州小镇康科德附近。梭罗优美地描写了瓦尔登湖，详细地描述了由橡树和松树环绕的四周以及湖水自身的静谧。很明显，这个地方启发了他，而他的书也启发了其他许多人，包括我。
很长时间以来，我觉得自己应该去瓦尔登湖作一次朝圣之旅，以此来向这位以思想改变我人生的男子致敬。不过，这是件危险的事，因为梭罗在那里生活的时间是19世纪40年代，而如今这个世界已经发生了不可估量的变化，我很担心这会将我长期埋藏于脑海中的美好景象撕个粉碎。尽管如此，一周前，我还是到达了波士顿机场，怀里揣着我的《瓦尔登湖》一书。
我急匆匆地爬进租来的小车，我没时间买地图，所以只好惭愧地用起卫星导航系统。不无沮丧地，我在屏幕上输入“瓦尔登湖”，想象着梭罗会对这个仪器抱有怎样的看法。
天很冷，戴上海狸帽也不过分，所以我把它找了出来。带着一份历史感，我还把那个神圣的水壶塞进包里，希望能在一个合适的地方煮点茶。当我到达瓦尔登湖时，我发现它比我想象的更引人入胜。我记得梭罗曾把这湖比喻成“地球之眼”，把四周的树木喻为“围绕眼睛的睫毛”。
我慢慢地沿着小路走向一个小入口，在我的访客地图上，那里标注的是梭罗那间小木屋的所在地。很快，我就到达了那个神圣的地点，我以极慢的速度走到小屋的遗址，那里以一种恰到好处又朴实无华的方式被标示了出来。
我听到了一声火车的鸣笛声，转身看到一个火车头拖着一列银色的车厢沿着围绕瓦尔登湖西南角的铁路驶过。梭罗也曾听过火车驶过的声音，我静静地站了一会儿，为一种往昔感所折服。时代变迁——表面上，所有事物都在飞速发展，然而那种实质性的缓慢推动力依然存在，如同一股深沉、稳厚的涌流潜藏于一片怒海之下。
我希望看得更多，于是向瓦尔登湖走去，去欣赏干枯的橡树叶优美地坠落到青绿色的湖水上的美景。我见到鱼跃半空，水波晕开，泛着金光的湖水前一秒还映着流云过日的景象。我伸出手，从一棵松树上扯下一些绿色的松针，在指间将其碾压，捕捉它们在我皮肤上留下的纯净香气。“每一支小小松针都富有同情心地胀大起来，成了我的朋友。”梭罗写道，而我正置身其中，据我所知，我就身处同一棵松树之下。再一次，我感到一种延续感，那是一种生命的交错，我觉得重获生机。确实，这地方与我长久以来所设想的个人印象毫无相似之处，但这个湖与周围的树依然不曾改变，依旧有空间让人获得一份曾经启发过梭罗的感受。
在我驱车回到波士顿的那晚，我在想梭罗会怎样理解这个现代世界。在这些不快乐的时代里，整个世界都在搜刮口袋里的最后一张钞票——回到基本所需，从自然而不是提款机里寻求精神回归，可能这样做更具价值。我们中的大多数人都没有一份信托基金，因此永远不会有足够的钱存在银行。然而，在野外，却有着这等财富，随处可见；从一片湖水到广袤开阔的海洋，所有的一切都能充实我们的精神银行。当那些冰冷沉闷的数字开始让我们沉沦，当所有自命不凡的分析师开始食言，记住这一点很是划算：只要是有自然景致的地方，就有机会去发现快乐、宁静和真理。
Six years ago I found myself in a bad place. I was trapped in a 1）grueling daily commute from our 2）smallholding in the Scottish borders to my soul-sapping office job in Edinburgh. Each day I left early in the morning while my family slept， and returned with barely enough time to say goodnight to our two little boys before putting them to bed. We loved our home but could not afford it， and so I resigned myself to the 3）half-life of the commuter. Eight hours a day were spent sitting at my desk， with three more in my car.
I was chasing money， in hopes of buying space and time and a chance of happiness. The reality， however， was debt， mind-numbing jobs and little time to truly invest in our family and our lives. Something had to be done to shuck us out of it all， and I began to turn the hours in the car to my advantage， using the time to develop a plan of escape； to leave my job and journey into the wilderness.
Making it happen wasn’t so easy， however， starting with telling my friends and family. Not surprisingly， their response was less than 4）enthusiastic. Some assumed that I had finally succumbed to the stress of commuting and was having some kind of mental breakdown； others were angry， thinking I was shirking my responsibility. My wife， however， understood from the start.
Juliet also felt trapped by our situation. No amount of money was worth it， we agreed， and we made a deal： I would somehow find a way to build my cabin in the wilderness where I would live for one year alone. Taking the family wasn’t an option， as the children were too young and the dangers too many. Juliet would realise her own dream， however， and return with the boys to the Isle of Mull， where she was born.
Over time our plan took shape， and I finally found myself in the interior of Alaska， 300 miles from the nearest road. For the first few months I lived in a canvas tent with just my dog for company and laboured ceaselessly to build my 16ft x 16ft cabin before winter set in. I finished just in time： the temperature sank to -50C and pretty soon I was struggling with 12ft of snow and half an hour’s daylight each day. Only after I had nearly starved to death did I eventually 5）get the hang of it. I lived off 6）beaver meat and travelled by dog team， finally achieving the way of life that I had dreamed of. In the rare moments when I wasn’t engaged in the arduous business of staying alive in the wilderness， I read. Among the sacred collection of books in my cabin， I had the complete works of Shakespeare， the scripts of Woody Allen and， of course， my much-thumbed copy of Walden. It kept me going when times were tough， and I have often turned to it in the years since my return as a “spiritual 7）barometer”， to make sure I am not straying too far from my chosen path.
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Walden Pond， the lake that gave Thoreau’s book its title， near the small town of Concord， Massachusetts. He wrote beautifully about Walden Pond， with detailed descriptions of its oak and pine surroundings and the quality of the water itself. Clearly the place had inspired him， and his book in turn had inspired many others， including me.
I had long felt that I’d like to make a pilgrimage to Walden Pond， as a kind of homage to the man whose ideas helped turn my life around. It was risky though， since the world has changed immeasurably since Thoreau lived there in the 1840s， and I was in danger of shattering the vision I’d long held in my mind. Nevertheless， a week ago， I arrived at Boston airport， bearing my copy of Walden.
Quickly climbing into my rental car， I hadn’t had time to buy a map and so rather sheepishly 8）consented to use the satellite navigation system. With a sinking heart， I typed “Walden Pond” onto the screen， imagining what Thoreau would have thought of such a device.
The weather was cold enough to justify my beaver hat， so I pulled it out and， with a sense of history， stuffed my sacred kettle into my bag， hoping to brew some tea at a suitable spot. And when I reached the lake I found it even more 9）ravishing than I had imagined. I remembered Thoreau’s metaphor of a lake as“Earth’s eye”， and its surrounding trees as the“eyelashes which fringe it”.
I walked slowly along the path towards a small inlet which my visitor’s map marked as the location of Thoreau’s cabin. Pretty soon I reached the sacred spot， and walked very slowly up to the cabin-site， which was marked in a fittingly 10）unadorned manner.
I heard a train hoot， and turned to see a 11）locomotive pulling a row of silvery carriages along the railway that skirted the south-west corner of the pond. Thoreau， too， had listened to the train as it passed， and I stood very still for a while， overcome by a sense of the past. Time has changed—on the surface， everything is speeding up， yet the essential slow forces are still there， like a deep， steady current beneath the surface of a choppy sea. I wanted to see more， and made my way towards it， enjoying the sight of bone-dry oak leaves landing 12）daintily on the blue-green water. I noticed a fish jump into the air， and looked over to see rings widening across a stretch of shimmering water that began as a cloud slipped past the sun. I reached up and pulled some green needles from a pine tree and crushed them between my fingers， catching their clean scent on my skin. “Every little pine needle expanded and swelled with sympathy and befriended me，” Thoreau had written， and here I was， for all I knew beneath that very same tree. Again， I felt a sense of continuity， of lives crossing over， and I felt restored. True， the place was nothing like the personal image that I had held for so long. But the lake and the trees remain 13）unaltered， and there is still space to get a feel for what so inspired Thoreau.
As I drove back to Boston that night I thought of what Thoreau would have made of the modern world. In these unhappy times， with the world searching its pockets for every last scrap of currency， maybe it would pay to go back to basics， to make spiritual withdrawals from nature rather than the 14）cashpoint machine. Most of us don’t have a trust fund and so will never have enough money in the bank. Yet there is such wealth outdoors and it is everywhere； from an 15）allotment to the wide， open ocean， all can 16）replenish our spiritual banks. When the cold dreary numbers start to let us down， and all the smart-arse analysts start eating their words， it pays to remember that wherever there is a natural place there is a chance to find happiness， serenity and truth.
六年前，我发现自己身陷糟糕的境地。每天疲惫不堪地通勤往返，在我们位于苏格兰边境的小农场与位于爱丁堡的磨人心志的办公室工作之间奔波。每天，当家人还在睡梦之中，我就早早出门；归家时，仅仅来得及在两个年幼的儿子上床睡觉前跟他们道晚安。我们爱这个家，却买不起这房子，因此，我只能屈从于通勤奔忙，活得不成个样子。一天八小时，我坐在办公桌旁，另外有三小时坐在自己的车上。
我一直追逐金钱，希望买来空间、时间和一个获得快乐的机会。然而，现实是：债务、令人头脑发麻的工作以及微量真正投资于家庭和人生的时间。我们必需做一些事情来脱离这种困境。我开始将花在车上的几个小时化为优势，利用这些时间构思一个出逃计划；逃离我的工作，走进荒野，展开一段旅程。
不过，一开始跟家人和朋友说起时，计划的实施并没那么容易。不出所料，他们的反应并不热烈。有些人设想我是最后抵御不过通勤的压力，患上了某种精神疾病；其他人则很气愤，认为我想逃避自己的责任。然而，我的妻子却从一开始就表示理解。
朱丽叶也为我们的现况感到困扰。我们都认同，这个计划的价值非金钱所能比拟，同时我们达成一个共识：我会找个办法在荒野里建一间小屋子，独自生活一年。带上家人并不明智，因为孩子们还太小，而危险却太多。朱丽叶会追寻自己的梦想，带上儿子回到冒尔岛，她的出生地。
一段时间后，我们的计划开始像模像样了，我最终发现自己置身于阿拉斯加的内陆，离最近的公路有300英里远。在最初的几个月里，我与我的狗作伴，住在一顶帆布帐篷里，并且马不停蹄地赶在冬天到来前，建好我那间16英尺×16英尺大的小木屋。我完工得很及时：气温降到了零下50摄氏度，很快我就挣扎于12英尺厚的大雪中，并且一天只有半个小时的日光。就在我经历过几乎饿死之后，我才最终学会了求生窍门。我以海狸肉为生，以狗群拉车出行，最终实现了我一直梦寐以求的生活方式。
除了投身于累人的野外生存事务之外，在那些罕有的闲暇里，我会看书。在我的小木屋里，有一些珍藏图书，有莎士比亚全集、伍迪·艾伦的剧本，当然，还有我快翻烂了的《瓦尔登湖》。这书让我在艰难困苦时继续前行，也是我从荒野回归后这些年的一大 “心灵标杆”，我经常翻阅，以确保自己不会偏离自己所选的道路太远。 不久前，我有机会到瓦尔登湖旅行——就是梭罗的名著那点题之地，坐落在马萨诸塞州小镇康科德附近。梭罗优美地描写了瓦尔登湖，详细地描述了由橡树和松树环绕的四周以及湖水自身的静谧。很明显，这个地方启发了他，而他的书也启发了其他许多人，包括我。
很长时间以来，我觉得自己应该去瓦尔登湖作一次朝圣之旅，以此来向这位以思想改变我人生的男子致敬。不过，这是件危险的事，因为梭罗在那里生活的时间是19世纪40年代，而如今这个世界已经发生了不可估量的变化，我很担心这会将我长期埋藏于脑海中的美好景象撕个粉碎。尽管如此，一周前，我还是到达了波士顿机场，怀里揣着我的《瓦尔登湖》一书。
我急匆匆地爬进租来的小车，我没时间买地图，所以只好惭愧地用起卫星导航系统。不无沮丧地，我在屏幕上输入“瓦尔登湖”，想象着梭罗会对这个仪器抱有怎样的看法。
天很冷，戴上海狸帽也不过分，所以我把它找了出来。带着一份历史感，我还把那个神圣的水壶塞进包里，希望能在一个合适的地方煮点茶。当我到达瓦尔登湖时，我发现它比我想象的更引人入胜。我记得梭罗曾把这湖比喻成“地球之眼”，把四周的树木喻为“围绕眼睛的睫毛”。
我慢慢地沿着小路走向一个小入口，在我的访客地图上，那里标注的是梭罗那间小木屋的所在地。很快，我就到达了那个神圣的地点，我以极慢的速度走到小屋的遗址，那里以一种恰到好处又朴实无华的方式被标示了出来。
我听到了一声火车的鸣笛声，转身看到一个火车头拖着一列银色的车厢沿着围绕瓦尔登湖西南角的铁路驶过。梭罗也曾听过火车驶过的声音，我静静地站了一会儿，为一种往昔感所折服。时代变迁——表面上，所有事物都在飞速发展，然而那种实质性的缓慢推动力依然存在，如同一股深沉、稳厚的涌流潜藏于一片怒海之下。
我希望看得更多，于是向瓦尔登湖走去，去欣赏干枯的橡树叶优美地坠落到青绿色的湖水上的美景。我见到鱼跃半空，水波晕开，泛着金光的湖水前一秒还映着流云过日的景象。我伸出手，从一棵松树上扯下一些绿色的松针，在指间将其碾压，捕捉它们在我皮肤上留下的纯净香气。“每一支小小松针都富有同情心地胀大起来，成了我的朋友。”梭罗写道，而我正置身其中，据我所知，我就身处同一棵松树之下。再一次，我感到一种延续感，那是一种生命的交错，我觉得重获生机。确实，这地方与我长久以来所设想的个人印象毫无相似之处，但这个湖与周围的树依然不曾改变，依旧有空间让人获得一份曾经启发过梭罗的感受。
在我驱车回到波士顿的那晚，我在想梭罗会怎样理解这个现代世界。在这些不快乐的时代里，整个世界都在搜刮口袋里的最后一张钞票——回到基本所需，从自然而不是提款机里寻求精神回归，可能这样做更具价值。我们中的大多数人都没有一份信托基金，因此永远不会有足够的钱存在银行。然而，在野外，却有着这等财富，随处可见；从一片湖水到广袤开阔的海洋，所有的一切都能充实我们的精神银行。当那些冰冷沉闷的数字开始让我们沉沦，当所有自命不凡的分析师开始食言，记住这一点很是划算：只要是有自然景致的地方，就有机会去发现快乐、宁静和真理。