Mapping My Happy Place

I have always said that Disneyland is my happy place. In the physical realm, that is true. My real happy place, though—the place that I go to when I need comfort, security, and inspiration—is much more complicated and intangible.

And that is exactly where I am going to take you now.

Close your eyes and picture yourself in a grand library. Not a stuffy university library where you can hardly move in between the rows, but a private rich person’s library like what you see in an old Victorian mansion or in either version of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. In addition to row upon row of books, there are monitors on every wall playing the greatest hits of my life: my first trip to Disneyland, the day that I brought my dog Bubba home, the day I received my diploma for my MSc in Creative Writing from the University of Edinburgh…

Now imagine, directly across from you, an elevator (because I don’t like stairs). You step onto it and find that there are only four buttons on it, labeled in the following order:

Family

Mom

Dad

Me

You press on the “Family” button, and the elevator and goes down a level. It opens up to reveal none other than the Happiest Place on Earth, Disneyland. As you step off the elevator, though, you can see that it’s not just Disneyland of 2025; it is Disneyland of 1998, 2001, 2010, and beyond. And there, on the Rivers of America, along with the Columbia and the Mark Twain, sits the Queen Mary (since when is THAT in Disneyland?). The sun is brighter than it has ever been, and yet the heat is not overwhelming. There are no lines—in fact, there are no people whatsoever, except for one family of five: a young woman, her two brothers, and their parents.

They seem happy. Odd, but happy. They are surrounded by a regular menagerie of pets, too many for them to have them all at once—six dogs, a cat, a rabbit, a mouse, a guinea pig, a rat, and a tankful of fish. It’s a beautiful sight to behold, one that’s almost too real to be true—and it is.

This is how I wish my family was. We have never been a perfect family, but we have had some wonderful memories, at Disneyland and related to Disney in particular. That is why this is level one of my “happy place”—my family memories.

Return now to the elevator and press button two, “Mom”.

The door opens to a messy living room, piled knee-high with junk with just enough room for a person (or a dog) to walk through without tripping. A woman sits on a couch, eating chocolate chip pancakes off a coffee table. On the ground across the coffee table from her sits a little girl, also eating chocolate chip pancakes. They have the TV on in the background, but they’re hardly paying attention to it; they’re too absorbed in their food and each other to care about what they’re watching. The scene is simple, but it’s enough to warm the heart.

This is a mesh of memories I have of my mother: the messiness of the living room (which didn’t really happen until later years), our ability to totally ignore the TV because we’re too busy talking with each other, our chocolate chip pancake picnics while Dad was at work…

I lost my mother in July, so I visit this level of my happy place a lot lately. It’s filled with home memories (even though I generally would rather be anywhere but my home), Halloween trips to Disneyland, and midnight movies. It could also be called the “Best Friend” level.

Back at the elevator, you press the “Dad” button. It stops at the third level, and when the door opens, a gentle breeze wafts in. You step out and find yourself on the sandy shore of a manmade lake. It’s hot but bearable thanks to the breeze. You hear laughter coming from the center of the lake. You look and see a teenaged girl and her father in a canoe, making their way toward a rock sticking out of the water to break for lunch. It doesn’t seem like much, but the peacefulness speaks volumes.

This level is the best memory that I have of my father. We used to canoe out on Whiskeytown Lake, and it was one of my favorite things to do with him (besides go to the air show and sled down Eskimo Hill). We went every year until, one year, we just stopped doing it. Maybe I lost interest. Maybe he did. Now, I wish that I could relive those memories again and again—and I do, whenever I need a bit of comfort.

You hesitate to press the final button. “Me”? That sounds a bit private. Well, it is, but it’s OK. You have my permission.

The doors slide open to—nothingness. You step out the elevator, and you are surrounded by darkness.

What is this? you wonder.

It is my imagination. It is the place that I go to in order to call upon all the powers of my mind to make up whatever I desire—aliens, faeries, werewolves, djinn, a better world, a worse one, one where we all get along, one where everything makes sense, one where I can decipher the meaning behind people’s emotions and motives…

Perhaps you thought that such a place would be colorful, full of light and life. It is, but only for me, and only when I am looking for it. For now, though, it is empty, waiting for me to conjure up whatever I want to…whatever I need.

I hope you enjoyed your tour of my happy place. It might not be real, it might not be physical, but it is mine, and I invite you to enjoy it with me whenever you please.