I’ve learned to take my pleasures where I can; in my case, as those who know me know, that often involves Victorian novels in bed. I do not expect to find pleasure or its more evolved offspring, fulfillment, where pleasure is usually found: drunken nights, fancy food at expensive restaurants, and exotic sex are all, I think, overrated.

Up until this weekend I would also have put Disneyland squarely into the overrated category, except that Disneyland, unexpectedly, was for me a spiritual venture.

At Disneyland I felt almost zero anxiety and came away from my time there with the feelings of love and connection I consider the holy grail of human experience. As for anxiety, the absence of it really is one of life’s underrated pleasures. For those who deal with anxiety, I know you know what I’m talking about it. When it lifts, you feel so light you’re almost high.

I visited Disneyland with my son for our annual mother-son weekend. He selected the venue (Had it been up to me, we might have ended up in Scottsdale, AZ, at an all-inclusive resort binge watching whatever . . .).

I didn’t overthink the trip beforehand because I was very busy working. We arrived, and I just let the Disneyland thing take over. If you stay at the resort, you get a “magic hour” each day before the park opens to the rest of the hoi poloi (lol, that’d be us!).

I would have thought Disneyland would be anxiety-provoking, but it’s not — at least once you surrender to the heat, the lines, and the expense. Which I did. Disneyland, at it’s core, is a pretty simple and well-organized place. There’s not much to do except have fun.

We arrived late Friday evening and took some time to schedule out which rides were our priorities for the following day (including Space Mountain, It’s a Small World, The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, and Pirates of the Caribbean) and, because of that lovely magic hour, rode all six plus a couple of bonus rides (Toad’s Wild Ride*) before 10:30 am. Huzzah! Maybe that set the tone, but basically, except for a couple of times when I became hangry (different from anxiety, there’s an easy fix), we just kept having fun.

We walked 20 miles in 21 hours of park time over the span of the less than 36 hours. Impressive, no? And I have the giant blister to prove it!

You may still be wondering how this could have created a spiritual experience for me. Well, it happened like this: On day two, we used our magic hour to ride California Screamin’ about seven times in a row – no lines!

Time three, we both decided to close our eyes. During the initial acceleration, my son reached for my hand and held it all the way through. We sped through time and space downside and up, hair streaming behind us, and that still fairly little hand held mine firmly yet gently and I could feel all the purest love I’ve ever wanted in the span of those three to five minutes. There was no past, there was no future. There was just love and connection. There was just life the way I believe it’s meant to be and not always is.

So I do hope that when the visa bill comes I will remember what’s really important and why I do what I do. Life can be very sweet.

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*When I was a very little girl, I went with my cousins to Disneyland. Not wanting to miss out on my first trip to Disneyland, my parents hopped on an airplane and met me at the park. I remembered how surprised I was when they appeared out of nowhere; that was its own magic.

And speaking of sweet, I remembered Victor, my step-dad’s, joy when we rode Toad’s Wild Ride and how the ride felt so much more bouncy and intense when I was small, tucked between Victor and my mom. At that time, I didn’t know what Wind in the Willows was, or that it would become my favorite children’s book — a shared pleasure between Victor and me.

Disneyland is a sneaky place. It creates memories and tucks them into unexpected places in your heart and mind where they will wait for you to discover them at different times and in different ways. Again: Life can be very sweet.

This blog, dedicated to all the single ladies and our search for real love, is an adaptation of the beloved P.D. Eastman children’s book, Are You My Mother? At another phase of my life, I read the original to my children over and over and over again. Now I feel a bit like the baby bird, wandering the wide world. The message of Are You My Mother? mirrors what T.S. Eliot said so well:

We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

I believe love is home, and that “home,” no matter where or how you find it, is an unshakeable sense of well-being and connection — the feeling of being held by a loving mother.

Are You My Lover?

A man contemplated finding the love of his life.

His heart jumped.

“Oh oh,” said the man. “The love of my life will be here! She will want conscious, caring, and emotionally generous love.”

“I must gain life experience so I can provide conscious, caring, and emotionally generous love!” he said.

“I will be back!”

So away he went.

Meanwhile, a woman felt her own heart jump. It jumped, and jumped, and jumped!

Out came the desire a for conscious, caring, and emotionally generous lover!

“Where is my lover?” she said.

She looked for him.

She looked up. She did not see him.

She looked down. She did not see him.

“I will go and look for him,” she said.

So away she went.

Out into the world she went.

Out, out, out! There was a lot of living to do.

The woman knew very little about love and life.

She did not know about love and life, but she could find out. “Now I will go and find my lover,” she said.

She did not know what her lover looked like. She walked right by him. She did not see him.

She came to an adolescent boy. “Are you my lover?” she said to the adolescent boy.

The adolescent boy just looked and looked. He did not say a thing.

The adolescent boy was not her lover, so she went on.

Then she came to a busy mother. “Are you my lover?” she said to the busy mother. “No,” said the busy mother.

The adolescent boy was not her lover.

The busy mother was not her lover. So the woman went on.

“I have to find my lover!” she said. “But where? Where is he? Where could he be?”

Then she came to a priest. “Are you my lover?” she said to the priest.

“I am not your lover. I am a priest,” said the priest.

The adolescent boy was not her lover.

The busy mother was not her lover.

The priest was not her lover.

So the woman went on. Now she came to a gay man.

“Are you my lover?” she said to the gay man.

“How could I be your lover?” said the gay man. “I am a gay man.”

The adolescent boy and the busy mother were not her lover.

The priest and the gay man were not her lover.

Did she have a lover?

“I do have a lover,” said the woman. “I know I do. I have to find him. I will. I WILL!”

Now the woman did not walk. She ran!

Then she visited her therapist. Could her therapist be her lover? No, it could not.

The woman did not stop. She ran on and on.

Now she looked way, way down.

She saw a pothead. “There he is!” said the hopeful lover. She called to the pothead, but the pothead did not stop.

The pothead went on.

She looked on Tinder. She saw a one night stand. “Here I am Lover,” she called out.

But the one night stand did not stop. The one night stand went on.

Just then, the woman saw a married man. This must be her lover! “There he is!” she said. “There is my lover!”

She ran right up to him. “Lover, Lover! Here I am, Lover!” she said to the married man.

But the married man just said, “Dude.”

“Oh, you are not my lover,” said the woman. “You are a Dude. I have to get out of here!”

But the woman could not get away. The Dude wanted to pick her up.

He picked her way, way up. And up, up, up went the woman.

But now where was the Dude going?

“Oh, oh, oh! What is this Dude going to do to me? Get me out of here!”

Just then, the Dude came to a stop.

“Where am I?” said the woman. “I want to go home! I want my lover!”

Then something happened.

The Dude put the woman right back where she started. The woman was home!

Just then her own lover came back. “Do you know who I am?” he said to the woman.

“Yes, I know who you are,” said the woman.

“You are not an adolescent male.

“You are not a busy mother.

“You are not a priest.

“You are not a therapist.

“You are not a gay man, a pothead, a one night stand, or a Dude!”

“You are conscious, caring, and available, and you are my lover.”

The End

(Charming!) Illustrations by Natalie Wong.

Ms. Poodle’s marriage ended rather suddenly when her husband, the well-known Dr. Dachshund, announced that his secretary was expecting puppies. She, an inexperienced poodle, would venture into the world and make her way alone.

Ms. Poodle discovered an energy within herself she had not known she possessed; her creative faculties were ignited. She tried odd jobs, travelled, and enrolled in a variety of courses to determine which direction she should finally take. It was at one of these courses that she met Ms. Labrador.

Ms. Labrador was a beautiful animal, sleek and silky and ready for love. She flattered Ms. Poodle regarding her beauty, intelligence, and potential. Ms. Poodle fell in love despite herself, but her love for Ms. Labrador was tempered by a desire and a necessity to make her way in the world on her own terms.

Ms. Poodle worked long hours and fancied that Ms. Labrador, like she herself had done for Dr. Dachshund, would keep house, throw dinner parties, and show up beautifully dressed to evening events — in short, act as a support to her own professional endeavors. It was not to be. Ms. Labrador gave her love and devotion and little more. The two quarreled.

Tragedy struck one day when Ms. Labrador was struck by a speeding vehicle and died instantly, thoughts of love for Ms. Poodle on her mind, surrounded by the scattered petals of the red roses she had been holding. As a result of that incident and the unpleasantness with Dr. Dachshund’s secretary, Ms. Poodle decided that the pain and complications of love were not for her.

Ms. Poodle set about to create a humble yet rewarding life for herself working as the headmistress of a an élite school for the deaf, the mute, and the blind. She worked hard, and while her days and evenings were often full, she thought not infrequently of Dr. Dachshund and of Ms. Labrador. She puzzled over the intricacies of love and loss.

Yet Ms. Poodle accepted her solitude; it allowed her to live her values undisturbed. There was no one to hurt and no one to be hurt by. It was a simple life, and she cherished it. In the fall, she loved to hear a single leaf hit the granite cobbles outside her home. In the winter, she enjoyed the purity of the deep, white snow. Nothing was fresher, in the spring, than the smell of rain on newly exposed earth. And in the summer, a touch of gold on her skin as the sun set and she sipped a glass of prosecco, with or without friends, always revealed the beauty and power of friendship. She felt open to life.

It was during this time of acceptance and simple pleasures that Ms. Poodle met Mr. Mixed Breed. He was a dashing male, at least part boxer and nicely merled. Mr. Mixed Breed was new to town and looking to make acquaintances. Mr. Owl, a colleague at the engineering firm where they both worked, thought of pleasant evenings spent with Ms. Poodle and promptly brought Mr. Mixed Breed along to one of her sunset get-togethers.

Mr. Mixed Breed brought a flowering plant and, at Mr. Owl’s suggestion, a bottle of chilled prosecco, to the gathering. Ms. Poodle was instantly charmed by both Mr. Mixed Breed’s appearance and his manners. The two engaged in a stimulating conversation about the places they had traveled, the politicians they loathed, and the authors they each liked best. Mr. Mixed Breed confided that he loved social dance and, as he was new in town, was looking for a partner. Ms. Poodle blushed and steered the conversation elsewhere. In all, it was a delightful evening, and Ms. Poodle went to bed feeling happy and as if she had had perhaps just a sip or two in excess of her well-loved prosecco.

The next morning she woke up feeling oddly luxuriant. As she stretched herself, bare among her clean white sheets and numerous fluffy pillows, she wondered what could be different. A gasp of surprised pleasure escaped her lips when she realized that she had fallen in love with Mr. Mixed Breed. After a moment or two of reflection, she pinpointed the exact moment she had fallen in love, which was right when Mr. Mixed Breed said he was looking for a social dance partner. So romantic!

Ms. Poodle blushed as she had the previous evening, but she intended to keep her head. She knew that, having decided that love was not for her, she must content herself with friendship. Because she sensed that Mr. Mixed Breed would be a lovely friend to have, she felt herself falter. She began to ask herself whether she really wanted to be his friend, or if she would in fact prefer to be his lover.

At that moment, Ms. Poodle received a text. It seemed that Mr. Mixed Breed was on his way to her home with all the makings of a lovely brunch. Was Ms. Poodle available? Despite her history and her doubts, she was.