It starts with me after the very first night when I realize that one day of our Disney Fort Wilderness stay has moved into Historyland. I remember feeling something similar when I turned ten years old, and realized that my life was at least 10 percent over. The anxiety deepens and starts to show on my face and in my body as we approach the midpoint of the trip. As we enter the final 48-hour lap, my blood pressure rises as I am overcome with a very blue sense of impending gloom. Is this our last boat ride across Bay Lake? Our final swim at the Meadows? The last time we will hear the constant roar of the buses? “No! We cannot stay another day!” I tell our pitiful children, feeling as though I am channeling Cruella De Vil.
My home that I love, where we have raised our children, had elaborate birthday parties, and picked summer tomatoes, suddenly seems mundane and imprisoning. I know the laundry piles and homework and bills that await. They seem like much more titanic tasks than they really are, and I am vaguely aware that my perspective is grossly askew. The long car ride home will be tired and dreary, devoid of the anticipation and elation that filled our journey just a week before. Everyone expresses it differently. Captain Bacon becomes short-tempered, and seems to bump his head on almost absolutely everything as he closes down the RV. My teenager gets sullen, and unable to find enough energy to move from his bed, let alone communicate beyond groaning sounds. And I fall into a lonely deep and dark hole, lacking of sunshine, forest animals, or beauty. My friend, Miss Macarena, may be the worst – actually crying giant, salty tear drops for days.
Still, we must address our drama-queen narcissism induced by the dreaded vacation conclusion. One way to do this is to never leave Fort Wilderness, and it seems that there are a few that attempt some version of this. The famous dog Abby was among them. But more practically, we can be proactive in finding gratitude in our spoiled hearts, and a new joy in that which is right in front of us.
#1 Go to the beach after leaving Fort Wilderness
This is nearly a must do. Just set aside two days at the end of your trip for chilling on the beach. I prefer the Longboat Key or Anna Maria Island area, which is just a couple or hours away below Tampa. If you are headed north, consider 30A on the panhandle, or Jekyll Island, Georgia on the Atlantic side. The ocean and sunshine will bring peace back to your suffering soul. The only big decisions you’ll face is how much sunscreen to wear, since sunscreen appears to have hit the list of things that may not be so good for us.
#2 Keep a serious travel journal
No, the Autograph book is not enough. Get in touch with your inner Emily Dickensen or Mark Twain. Keep up with activities, costs of things, a couple of sordid secrets and observations, and epiphanies when you figure out the meaning of life and how the Mouse fits into it. Keep a glue stick handy to apply random things, such as a leaf floating by from the old River Country or your speeding ticket that you got near Ocala. This needs to be a paper version that your grandkids can find and read and touch 50 years from now.
#3 Do three random acts of kindness on the journey home
Beyond the obvious of paying for the Starbucks of the car behind you, try to get creative. Volunteer to drive the entire way back to Ohio so that your wife can take a very long nap. Give $20 to every homeless person that you see with a cat. Bonus: stop by the animal shelter on the way home, and adopt two new cats. See, you are feeling better already.
#4 obsessively Start planning the next trip
Forget that you’ve just maxed out your credit card, it’s already time to go again. If you don’t get an offer from Disney on a Bounceback rate for your trip, call reservations and ask for one.
#5 Do a Disney Detox when you get home
This means no more grey stuff, no more blue margaritas. Cut out all the sugar and the alcohol, and stick to organic fruits and vegetables and water. Continue to walk the 25,000 steps a day that you did at the parks (better yet go for 30,000), and schedule a 90-minute massage five days post-return. In other words, begin to live and look like a real princess.
#6 If all else fails, Eat a liver cheese sandwich
I’m not sure why this works, but it does. Hopefully, you’ll only be so blue that you’ll do this once or twice per year. It must be on white bread, and preferably with a sliced tomato. There is something strangely magical in that mystery meat wrapped in the fatty gloop that will make all other worries fade away. Since you bought a whole pack, you can share some of the rest with your new cats that you picked up in number three (above).
Don’t be sad because it’s over.
Be glad because it happened ~ Dr. Seuss
