Why I like Disneyland

I’ve had a Disneyland annual pass for the past three years. I live a few metro stops away, so it’s quite convenient for me to visit the park whenever I have a few free hours and it isn’t too crowded.

A question I often get is: “Jimmy, why do you keep buying these annual passes? Doesn’t it get boring to ride the same attractions over and over again?”

I see things differently. To me, Disneyland represents a temporary respite where it’s ok to feel a sense of child-like wonder and briefly indulge in the lightness of make-believe.

Aside from Disney cast members, I reckon that nearly all visitors to the park are taking a break from their normal daily routine. Most go with the purpose of experiencing some happiness there; Disneyland is the “happiest place on Earth”, after all. Here, critics might dismiss the Disney magic as momentary and manufactured happiness, likening it to soft drinks or candy that are sweet but deliver empty calories and an unpleasant aftertaste.

I disagree, on the grounds that I think it’s a mistaken analogy. I don't see any reasonable scenario where walking around in Disneyland would have a negative impact on anyone's physical or mental health.

The world represented by Disneyland isn't real - no one is disputing this. Instead, my argument is that the creators of Disneyland were fully aware that they're creating a playground, just as any toymaker would be fully aware that they design and manufacture toys. These products have no practical function in "the real world", and the happiness they evoke is momentary - but so what? Children don't care that toys are feeble simulacrums of "adult stuff"; they like toys because toys are fun and toys help them to imagine fun stories.

In this sense, Disneyland is a giant playground full of toys and make-believe that we can visit whenever we feel like revisiting what it's like to be a child again for a day.

"But wait, Jimmy," you might say. "Why would anyone ever want to be a child again?" After all, being "childish" has a negative meaning, and "stop acting like a child" is an admonishment.

Here, I suppose, is the crux of the issue. I think that "being like a child" is a positive thing, and I consciously prefer to act in a "child-like" way whenever I can.

To me, the reasons are simple. Children are happier than adults. Children are generally more curious, more imaginative, more social, and more carefree. They're more willing to try new things and less concerned with money and status. They spend more of their time learning about the world around them, and innocently questioning its workings without feeling embarrassed about potentially seeming foolish. Knowing this, why shouldn't we be more like children?

I think "growing up" and eventually losing our child-like innocence is one of the saddest periods of our lives. I can't be alone in this, as some of Disney's most iconic and heartbreaking scenes depict this transformation. One of my favorite songs from childhood, "Puff the Magic Dragon", has entertained generations of children - children who only grasp the true meaning of the lyrics when they are no longer capable of dreaming about a dragon named Puff and a land called Honalee.

Ultimately, Disneyland has value for me not because of its rides, but because of the memories it evokes. And while I may never recapture my own lost innocence, I take comfort in seeing that it's alive and well in so many children running around in the park. As I write this, my nine month old daughter is sleeping in the next room. I hope that one day not too long from now, I can see the same excitement in her eyes, as stories from the Magic Kingdom and her own powers of make-believe combine to fuel the beginnings of a fun-filled childhood.