[FW]: Notes to Future Husband #4
I wouldn’t call myself a Disney freak . . . but boy, do I love going to Disneyland. I make it at least once a year, and even at 24 years old, I still encounter the sleepless night before actually entering the “Happiest Place on Earth.” Most amusement parks appear to have one major goal — to use metal contraptions (ie. roller coasters) to shake and propel guests as violently and uncomfortably as possible. I honestly can’t stand this. I guess this is because I’m more of a loving pacifist than anything else. 🙂
Disneyland is different. Instead of all that wobbling and awful “stomach drop” feeling, Disneyland focuses on story, mood, and overall atmosphere. The park uses mostly dark, indoor rides that exploit pleasing art and stunning lighting to replace the thrills of your typical amusement park ride. In other words, it’s pretty easy to get swept up in the magic. So on this Wednesday, I fantasize that my future husband and I will experience love like this . . . at Disneyland.
It’s amazing how merely stepping into Disneyland changes your perception of . . . well, everything. From afar, even from the parking lot, Disneyland looks like the kind of place we’d normally hate. At first glance, the park appears to be an overcrowded asphalt jungle filled with annoying children, the smell of fried food that sticks to your clothes, and multi-hour lines (even for the tram . . . ).
But remember the first time we strolled through those gates together? Green grass everywhere, Mickey-shaped flora, the smell of corn dogs . . . it was like paradise. Ah yes, the annoyance wore off, and we were swept off our feet.
Peter Pan’s Flight doesn’t move more than five miles per hour, but the feeling of “flying” over a moonlit London, through the starry night sky hand-in-hand with you, will always be seared in my mind. The tallest drop in Pirates of the Caribbean isn’t more than twenty feet high, but the experience of riding through a New Orleans bayou party with quiet banjo strumming in the background was the epitome of thrills and romance at that moment. It’s magic, I tell you.
We shared our childhoods with each other as we sauntered through the crowded, very loud park. I told you about how when I was 13 I was dared to taste the water in the Pirates of the Caribbean (we were mature, I know). I told you about riding Splash Mountain for the first time at 7-years-old and feeling like I was going to fly off the canoe. I told you about the time in high school when one of my best friends and I rode Big Thunder Mountain Railroad five times (a record yet to be beaten). I even told you about the first time I went with my first long-term boyfriend and how he complained the entire day about being sleepy from gaming the entire night before (I’m serious).
And then there was us. I realize that it’s very important to go to Disneyland with someone who can appreciate the experience — someone who can can act like a kid even as an adult. Luckily, we both become 10-year-olds once we go through those gold gates. Well, I know I’m more of a 10-year-old than you, but you appreciate my bubbling enthusiasm, I’m sure.
You even appreciated my roundabout babble about how it was possible that you and I could have been at Disneyland at the exact same time as kids before even knowing each other.
“You know, I’m no numbers wiz, so I can’t really do the math on this one, but my guess is that the odds are actually greater than they seem. People come here all the time and always run into someone they know here. It only makes sense that over time, some of the many thousands of strangers you encounter here would eventually make it into your life somehow. I mean we could have been here at the same time at some point! Crazy, right?!”
Thank you for not looking at me like I was crazy. I really appreciate it. But I guess what I’m really trying to say is that, yeah, it really is a small world after all, and I’m glad you and I are in it together.