Lost in Longitude, Found in Laughter
What Disneyland taught me about space, time, and home
“Wow, we can watch Chinese CCTV here?!”
I said it out loud — instinctively, innocently — the moment I turned on the TV in our Disneyland Hotel room.
The entire room burst into laughter. Apparently, my surprise was far more amusing than the program on screen.
“Grandpa,” my granddaughter giggled, “we’re in China! Of course we get Chinese channels!”
Right. Of course. We were in Shanghai Disneyland, not Florida, not California.
In that moment, I realized just how disoriented I was — genuinely, amusingly lost in time and space.
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When I think “Disneyland,” I automatically conjure images of Southern California sunshine. Even here, thousands of miles away in Pudong, my internal compass had quietly defaulted to a Western Hemisphere setting.
That instinct betrayed me.
It was a longitude malfunction, if you will.
Yes, Shanghai Disneyland sits on a latitude not far from Los Angeles — and the climate, the layout, even the crowd energy felt comfortingly familiar. But I had forgotten about longitude: that quieter, often overlooked axis of our spatial awareness. And in that moment of unexpected confusion, my entire sense of location collapsed inward.
I wasn’t embarrassed.
Just momentarily… displaced.
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That evening, as fireworks painted the night sky above the Enchanted Storybook Castle and music rippled through the air, my mind drifted — not into fantasy, but into memory.
Decades ago, I stood in another Disneyland — this one in Los Angeles — with my daughter by my side. It was her first real theme park visit. She had finally reached the minimum height requirement to ride something exhilarating, and she was so proud. That moment felt like a threshold into something larger: courage, independence, joy.
And now?
Now it’s her son — my grandson — dashing eagerly toward the TRON Lightcycle Power Run, his latest favorite. Meanwhile, we have reached an age finding our gentle thrill on the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train.
A ride with no height check for us — just an invitation to smile, breathe, and let the cycle roll. It is funny how we no longer need to grow in height to participate…
These days, it’s more about growing in perspective.
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There’s something beautiful about seeing time compress into generational echoes. My daughter’s delight, now mirrored in her children. Our rides, now rerun by a new cast…
The setting has shifted; the longitude changed.
But the rhythm? The rhythm rhymes.
And it made me wonder: Where is home, exactly?
Shanghai, where I was born — and now return as a guest and guide?
Pleasanton, where we built a life and raised our family?
Or New York City, where I now walk the streets as a trailblazer, rediscovering myself in every season?
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That one spontaneous outcry — “Wow, we can watch Chinese CCTV?!” — sparked more than a moment of laughter. It cracked open something deeper in me: the tension between familiarity and foreignness, home and away, then and now.
Maybe home isn’t a pin on the map, but a place where laughter flows.
Maybe it’s where your latitude matches your mood, and your longitude doesn’t matter as much — because someone close is there to remind you where you really are.
Maybe home is wherever generations come together to share a ride, hold a hand, or laugh at Grandpa’s transient lost bearings.
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We weren’t lost, of course.
We were exactly where we needed to be.
Because sometimes, being disoriented is just a reminder of how deeply you’re engage — with the moment, with your family, with the layers of your own life.
So let the longitudes confuse, let the latitudes align, and let the fireworks dazzle.
If you’re surrounded by love and wonder, you’re home.
Kefei
koffeemocha in Shanghai