My Disney Exhale

Last week, one of our kids invited me to go to Disney with him and his family. I didn’t hesitate and said yes immediately. I packed a suitcase, laced up my walking shoes, and stepped into their adventure

I love going with them, watching the grandchildren take it all in, and being part of their memories.

The Magic Kingdom entrance train station at Walt Disney World, beneath a clear sky

For me, Disney feels like an exhale.

And I expected to cry.
I always do.

There’s something about walking through those gates that makes my body respond before my mind catches up. My shoulders relax. I breathe a little easier. It feels like I recognize something safe and loosen my grip.

For me, Disney feels like an exhale.

The week before we left was tough. We visited an elderly, ill family member and attended a funeral for another. I didn’t realize how tight I was holding myself together until things began to loosen.

I jokingly call it “Disney’s perfect world”, and my family knows exactly what I mean. It’s not that it’s really perfect, It’s purposeful, clean and detailed. It’s staffed by people who seem to have a graduate degree in human decency. After a hard week, that level of intentional kindness feels like perfection.

It makes me want to pass it on with small random acts of kindness that change the tone of the moment. These are contagious in the best possible way.

I’m a roller coaster person, and love Guardians of the Galaxy, Expedition Everest, Rock n Roller Coaster, and Flight of Passage. I yell every time, and love how that kind of speed, joy and abandon keeps you young.

We rode some slow ones too, like Pirates of the Caribbean, The Navi River Journey, and The Carousel.

But my favorite moment of the whole trip was watching my young granddaughter on It’s a Small World. She was mesmerized, completely still, and glowing with wonder.

And there it was. The exhale.

Toddler girl, viewed from the back, sitting on man's shoulders.

I felt the continuity of it all, generations stitched together by a song on repeat and a slow moving boat. I remember being the child, on that same ride, filled with that same awe. It was pure joy, then and now.

You know, I identify as happy. That doesn’t mean that life is light all the time. It means I allow myself to feel the brightness when it appears. I let it land.

Disney gave me permission to unclench, to stop managing every detail, to let someone else carry the choreography. When you’ve been holding steady through real life, that kind of care can bring tears to your eyes.

They’re tears of relief, gratitude, and recognition that the world can still be kind.

When I flew home, exhausted and sore, I thought about what I wanted to bring back with me. It’s the attention, the posture, the intention, and the willingness to offer small kindnesses when the opportunity appears.

The exhale doesn’t have to stay in Florida. That’s the magic.

Maybe the real magic is creating spaces, in our homes, our gardens, and in our ordinary days, where someone else can loosen their grip ad breathe a little deeper.

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