This reflective essay chronicles the author's return to Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom as an adult, accompanied by friends rather than family. The visit prompts examination of how the park has evolved physically and how the author's perspective has shifted since childhood. The essay explores themes of nostalgia, American consumer culture, health and obesity statistics, the commercialization of happiness, and what constitutes genuine human contentment. By comparing Disney's claim to be "the happiest place on earth" against research suggesting Denmark holds that distinction, the author reflects on authentic versus manufactured happiness and the cultural expectations that shape American experiences.
We parked in the Dolphin lot. The memories started to flood back. It had been years since I visited Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom. Only this time, I was not with my family. I wasn't with my parents, or even my brother. I was with two of my friends. We thought it would be a fun thing to do—go to Disney, spend the day away, and see what it would feel like going as adults on our own.
Not that it was cheap. The price tag really stung—something I never had to think about when I was a starry-eyed little child. As a teenager, we stopped going to Disney World as a family. Probably because of the divorce, there was never enough time to take the family together on a fun vacation. It seemed like all we did was argue and do homework. This trip felt liberating, driving here on my own with just a good friend by my side.
The monorail looked a lot spiffier. The signs were definitely new, but the system was easy to understand, as it had been the last time I was here. Scores of families shared the car with us—some with different body types and appearances, others with varying levels of physical fitness. Did Americans always look this obvious? I thought. No wonder the whole world makes fun of us.
I always knew in my head that Americans struggle with weight issues, but to see it right here, right now, in this crowded little monorail car headed to the Magic Kingdom? It was shocking. According to recent data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, about one in three American adults are obese (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2012). It appeared as if nearly the same proportion of children—often the children of overweight parents—were overweight too.
When we arrived at the ticketing area, my friend and I gazed up at the dizzying array of options for how we could give Disney all our money. I glossed quickly over the annual pass programs. Scanning the list of individual parks, I said to my friend, "Was this always here?"
Before he could answer, a woman shouted, "Oye! Ben aca!" I turned my head to see where that loud voice was coming from and saw a family of about ten people from what seemed like five generations approaching. Then my friend answered, "What? Animal Kingdom?"
"No," I said. "What is Blizzard Beach?"
My friend shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, are we going to Epcot and Hollywood Studios?"
After some deliberation, we decided to buy three-day passes because the cost savings versus two individual tickets was substantial. I told my friend we should pick something we had not seen before. But today, our focus would be squarely on the Magic Kingdom. Would it still feel like the "Happiest Place on Earth?" Or would it reveal itself to be the place on earth most likely to generate the kind of fake happiness that Americans had come to expect?
As it turned out, both were true. I have never been to Denmark, mind you, where recent research shows Denmark actually ranks as one of the world's happiest places (Wier, 2007). I had the sudden thought to visit the Denmark pavilion at Epcot, just for the irony. As Wier (2007) points out, "Disney World claims the distinction of being 'the happiest place on earth,' but if you're really in search of human bliss, you'd be surprised where you'll find it." I was surprised upon learning that the United States, which is more narcissistic than Snow White's stepmother, ranked only 23rd in the world (Wier, 2007).
Once we were through the gates that led to some kind of branded happiness, I looked around at the scene before me, consulting my map. My friend wanted to grab a bite to eat, as we had driven there without having breakfast. I scolded him because I remembered one thing about prices at Disney World. My mother used to repeat, over and over again, that the food at Disney World cost too much. We were practically never allowed to eat inside the resort. It was like torture to me, to smell all the candy and French fries.
Now, suddenly I felt sickened by the frying oil that wafted over from the nearest fry vendor and the candy syrups that glistened in the windows of the shops lining the fake city avenue leading to the rides. My friend picked a place, and I had to relent; I was starved. Looking at the menu, I noticed something that lifted my spirits a little: options for healthy eaters. There was a mushroom burger. There were baked fries. There was even a sandwich made from mozzarella and tomato and real olive oil. Menus had little symbols indicating which items were vegetarian and which were low in sodium.
Families around me grappled with reading the menu—which was printed in English and Spanish. There were people around me speaking all sorts of languages I did not understand; it was like being in Babel. I heard Asian languages I would never be able to place unless I definitively heard words I knew. There might have even been some Danes asking their companions if there was herring on the menu.
"Final observations on the passage of time and authentic joy versus performance"
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