I’ve taken it upon myself to be our family’s concierge for our upcoming Disney World vacation. I am no expert. I do, however, have an expert next door—an annual passholder—whose brain will happily be picked and picked and picked.
I took notes last time. My action items include printing maps of the five parks and making a loose itinerary for how we’ll navigate each one. I’ll bring these documents for review and approval from Her Royal Highness, along with other essential information.
One tidbit that felt like a back-alley, secret-handshake kind of deal: eating at certain restaurants gets you reserved seating at certain shows that can sell out. Insider knowledge acquired.
My strategy, mostly, is to stay chill. Very, very chill. To show up like a Tibetan monk might—allowing all things to be well and to unfold exactly as they will.
Because we know me.
I hate cutter-in-liners. I see a gap in a line, and I’m like, C’mon people, pay attention! And also, if we weren’t there five minutes ago, we’re late! That rush, that pressure—it’s nonsensical. I guarantee—GUARANTEE—that in five days of Disney and Universal parks, pool time, eating scrumptious food, and most importantly, having an abundance of time with my parents, brother, niece, nephews, husband, and daughter, it will all be enough just as it is.
If I happen to get a wee in my tummy from a ride, super. But that super-psycho, frothing-at-the-mouth, gotta-see-it-all-at-the-cost-of-blood-pressure-and-overthinking version of the trip? Big nah.
I’m on it enough that I’m even planning morning walks. Port Orleans Riverside—based on what I’ve seen and read—is a sprawling resort with lush plants and beautiful sights. A little quiet movement in the cooler morning air already feels like a step in the direction I want to go.
I have a similar goal at home. For the first time, I’m setting my tennies beside the bed. Usually, when I wake abruptly at 6 a.m., despite an inner voice urging me to get up, I pull the pillow over my head, shield my eyes from the low glow of the sun squinting over the horizon, and roll back and forth until my body finally gives in.
Who knows—maybe now I’m ready to take my body up on the morning-walk offer. Or maybe it’ll stubbornly resist and beg for more sleep. If so, I won’t get in its way. But if not, I may be starting a new habit.
Maybe the real victory won’t be a ride or a reservation, but those quiet morning steps—whether at home or at Disney—where my body leads, and I finally follow.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 