Disneyland

THE LAST MINUTES together really matter.

My previous assistant, Eliza, and I worked together for almost four years. She traveled thousands of miles with me and heard me tell the same jokes hundreds of times. She sat by me on planes; she sat far away from me on planes. I napped; she worked out. I wrote books; she napped. We ate at local restaurants and rented cars and earned Delta SkyMiles. We worked together, even while living in different cities, every day. Weekends meant travel to conferences and events.

And then one summer we knew it was time for her to get a new job and for me to get a new employee. Nothing went wrong; the calendar just turned over to a new season and we could both feel it. She’s generous and kind and wanted to move on well, so she kept working for me through the end of the year. That gave us time to write up a full job description of what she had been doing and what I was going to want in her replacement. It gave us time to get everything set up and scheduled and to finish out our last tour season together.

Our final run of events was no joke. Four cities in two weeks: Los Angeles, Chicago, Orlando, New York. The trip started off with me speaking at a women’s luncheon in California. We landed the night before, got the merch table all set up, and grabbed a quick dinner. We had a short meeting with the host of the event, who gave us a tour around the venue and a little bit of information—namely that she was a cast member at Disneyland. I can’t tell you too much, but I can share that our host knew Cinderella. Like, she was beautiful and blonde and there was a time in her life when she REALLY knew Cinderella. (Ya with me?) This woman casually asked Eliza and me if we were interested in going to Disneyland.

I had never been to Disneyland and had only been to Disney World a few times in my whole life. But in an insane turn of events, just two months before this trip to Disneyland in California, I had the chance to go to Disney World with the creative team from my church. I’m not sure there is a place that makes me feel the way the Disney theme parks make me feel. I feel young and light and certain there is wonder and surprise around every corner. I smile the moment I step into the park, while I’m waiting in every line, and as soon as I get on and get off every ride. Of all the places I’ve been in my life, those parks are in the top tier of places that bring me the deepest joy. Again, it goes back to the childhood and Eden thing for me. The simpler my life was when I fell in love with those places, the further back the memories go and the more healing and dear the experience.

Eliza and I both knew that Disneyland was a good idea for us after the event was over. It was a luncheon, so by 3:00 p.m., we were cleaned up and packed up and changed into play clothes to head to the park. We were gifted beautiful rose gold Minnie Mouse ears, and I wore them with pride. It was the day of the SEC Championship football game and Georgia was playing, so I wore my long-sleeve, black Georgia T-shirt and jeans with my rose gold ears.

We bought our tickets and entered the park to see a massive crowd gathering right on Main Street U.S.A. It was a little before dinnertime, and apparently on one special Saturday near Christmastime, there is a candlelight event that “features a full Orchestra, Christmas Tree Chorus performing renditions of traditional Christmas songs and a retelling of the Christmas Story by a celebrity narrator.”1 On this particular night, a famous actor was reading, so the crowd was thick and excited. Eliza and I saw this as our opportunity to scoot past all the hubbub and the Christmas program and ride the rides with shorter lines, so we started buzzing our way through the park.

Fantasyland was our first stop. Walking through Sleeping Beauty’s castle as the sun began to set actually felt magical. That may sound silly to you, but the temperature outside was that perfect California-December feel. It was cool enough to make me glad to be in long sleeves, but I wasn’t cold. I was in comfortable shoes and had the ears on and was surrounded by happy kids and happy grown-ups and characters passing by. And there is just a feeling about Disneyland, especially for those of us who grew up watching Disney movies or knowing any of the history. You can feel the many years of that place in a profound and beautiful way.

Eliza wanted to ride the Mad Tea Party, so we did. I had never seen the spinning teacups in real life, only on the Disney Channel. They are special, it’s true. The teacups spin under a canopy of leaves, and a few jewel-toned paper lanterns hang from the trees. There are ten different shades of pastel, and the faster you spin the steering wheel, the quicker your teacup goes around and around. The lanterns begin to fuzz together as you spin, and it’s a beautiful scene.

I wanted to ride Peter Pan’s Flight. On the other hand, I did not want to talk to Peter Pan the character, even though he was hanging around the entrance to the ride, because he was being VERY Peter Pan-ish. You know what I mean? I just wasn’t in the mood for him to play a trick on me or mess up a selfie or do anything to ruin my very happy evening at Disneyland.

I have a clear childhood memory of riding the Peter Pan ride in Orlando. I remembered the hot-air balloons and flying over London. I knew it would feel sentimental for all the reasons I love the movie but also for the memories of riding it, but I didn’t know it would make me cry. But alas, I was the thirtysomething woman crying her way around London and Neverland in sparkly Minnie Mouse ears. But to be honest, I was on the edge of puddling tears the entire night. Because even as we ran from ride to ride and grabbed dinner and churros and tried to sneak into Club 33, I always knew what this night was about. It was about an ending. It was a beautiful wrapping to an incredibly sad gift because this would be Eliza’s and my last big adventure together.

We are adventure girls. And quasi-spontaneous trips like this one are my favorite. Eliza is the same way. It was one of the best parts of working and traveling together. Lobster in Maine. Pancakes in Pennsylvania. Sand dunes in Michigan. Icy waterfalls in Alaska. Soccer matches in Haiti. We never missed a chance to do something unique in the cities we visited. And this would be the last trip. Our Disney adventure the pinnacle memory. It doesn’t get more fun and more memorable than seven hours in Disneyland in December.

Our bodies were on our home time zones, so we both felt a little wonky as the night ended, but we had done it all. Leaving was sad because we were tired and the park was closing, but leaving was also sad because we couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a bigger ending than just that day.

I didn’t know how to hold both of those things: the joy of Disneyland and the grief of a life we’d grown accustomed to ending. But I knew we had to do it. I knew we needed the memory, even if we didn’t know how to imagine a life where we didn’t work together and see each other every day on FaceTime or every weekend on an airplane.

We have to walk each other through grief, even when we don’t know how to do it. Actually, we don’t have to. We get to. We get to ride Peter Pan twice just so the memory sticks like glue. We get to walk down Main Street U.S.A. as it (fake) snows on our heads and the smell of gingerbread fills the night air. We get to be amateurs, doing things we don’t know how to do but doing them together. There’s a purity in that, in this, and in walking through something we don’t understand to get to somewhere we’ve never been, and really genuinely feeling it all the way.

I know that about both Eliza and me. We weren’t escaping; we weren’t using the evening in Disneyland to not feel the sadness of no longer working together. Disneyland was a gift within the pain, and in a way, the fun was part of the grieving. We drank deep of it, and as the book of Psalms says, even in laughter our hearts ached.