“Dreams aren’t childish, imagination isn’t wasted, and believing isn’t weak.”
I’ve been to Walt Disney World in Orlando.
I’ve been to Disneyland Paris. I do live my life like I’m a character in a Walt Disney movie. Disney’s movie makers designed the theme parks. Naturally, I enjoy visiting movie theme parks and suspending my disbelief to make believe in the park fantasy for a day. But I have never been to the original Disneyland in California.
That kind of explains why riding my Harley to Disneyland matters to me. I’ve seen the Disney Worlds, the huge resorts, and the vast compounds. I’ve walked Main Street U.S.A. in Paris, France, ridden the rides, and felt the Disney magic. I know Disney World in Orlando, Florida, well. I grew up just a few hours away from Orlando.
But I’ve never been to the spot where it all started. And lately, it feels like there’s a missing chapter in my western story. It’s just a few hours away. It would be a nice motorcycle ride.
I’ve spent the last ten years working in Las Vegas. I never planned on living here. I just came here to find employment. That’s another story—how I ended up in Las Vegas. Life doesn’t always go as planned. Sometimes it upgrades in unexpected ways.
Vegas has always been good to me. I started cleaning swimming pools when I first arrived, willing to do any job. That job was a tour of the Las Vegas Valley. I’ve seen backyards all over this valley—places no tourists would ever see. I feel blessed.
Vegas is a logistical hub—a 600-square-mile oasis in the middle of a desert. Surrounded by mountains, this valley is the road into California. It’s California’s west gate.
Since I wandered here, Las Vegas has truly been good to me. I’ve done many different types of jobs here, including working for the famous Teamsters Union, and I prospered here.
I enjoy my life. Life is an adventurous journey. Walt Disney movies have provided pleasant fictions. I want to see the original Disneyland. I don’t just want to visit another theme park. I want to see the source of the dream.
The original Disneyland is nostalgia. That matters to me. There is something meaningful about standing where the theme parks started—just excitement and thrills.
Disneyland isn’t the biggest park. It doesn’t have the most hotels or rides. The grounds aren’t the biggest either. But it still has something the others don’t: the place where it all began. It’s where the whole story started. Every castle and parade, every fireworks show—they all go back to that one park in Anaheim. I want to feel that original vibe myself. I want to know why it got so big all over the world.
Growing up, Disney stories were always around me. They taught me about courage, loyalty, love, and the importance of believing in something bigger than myself. Those stories didn’t just entertain me; they shaped how I saw the world. Disneyland feels like those lessons don’t stop at the screen. It’s a place where imagination turns into things I can walk through, hear, smell, and touch. And that still matters to me.
Going to the original Disneyland wouldn’t just be a vacation. It’d be a personal time to think. And it’d remind me dreams aren’t childish, imagination isn’t wasted, and believing isn’t weak. It’d help me remember why wonder matters.
I’ve seen the Worlds built after Disneyland’s success.
Now I want to stand at the beginning and honor the spark that started it all.
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