A Disneyland Loyalist Discovers the Wild Magic of Disney World

I told my kids not to compare Disney World to Disneyland. But as a lifelong Disneyland devotee from Los Angeles, I couldn't help it. The sheer scale of Disney World—six parks, dozens of resorts, connected by highways and monorails—felt overwhelming. Our plan was simple: three parks in three days. No expectations, just surrender.

Our first morning at Magic Kingdom started late thanks to West Coast jet lag. But the day unfolded in small, unexpected joys: my son losing a sneaker in Pirates of the Caribbean (a cast member handed him free Mickey Crocs), swimming back at the hotel, and a nighttime ride on the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train. The real magic came when my daughter begged to ride The Magic Carpets of Aladdin at 9:30 p.m. As we spun upward, fireworks exploded around us. Because of her, we had the best view in the park.

Epcot surprised me most. I'd heard it was sleepy, but I loved its world's fair optimism. While the kids napped in a stroller, my boyfriend and I slipped into La Cava del Tequila for margaritas and guacamole. Then a Florida downpour soaked us—but I was still enchanted. The trip ended at Hollywood Studios, where we finally achieved rope drop, rode Slinky Dog Dash with no wait, and found our home in Oga's Cantina, a dim, chaotic bar that felt like a lawless galaxy. Disney World is work—the crowds, the heat, the meltdowns. But when the kids quieted on the Skyliner ride back, I understood: this place collapses the distance between parent and child. We all believed in the same story, and that engineered joy still works.