Breaking the Habit of Self-Judgment

For most people, Disney World is a place of joy, nostalgia, and shared memories. This past week, it became something much deeper for me: a quiet triumph.

It wasn’t the rides, the food, or even the magic that made the day so significant. It was that I went alone. With a camera. On purpose. And I didn’t let Delilah stop me.

Let me explain.

Delilah is the name I gave my inner critic back in 2013, when her voice had grown so sharp, so constant, that I needed a way to confront her directly. Like the biblical Samson with his Delilah, I freely handed her control of my life. 

In the beginning, she actually helped me survive. After painful experiences of rejection in high school, she urged me to hold back — to protect myself from the wounds that come from being too open, too vulnerable. But over time, her caution turned to control. She began warning me not just about others, but about myself.

When I began teaching in 2001 — a job I never sought and for which I had no formal  credentials — she greeted me with a full-blown case of Impostor Syndrome. As my responsibilities grew, so did her voice. 

You’re not good enough. ... You’re not really a teacher. ... You’re just faking it.

By naming her, I learned to talk back. I learned to say, Not right now, Delilah. 

However, her grip on my social confidence remained fierce. She especially thrived in public spaces, whispering, Everyone is watching you, and they think you’re pathetic!

Which brings me to Epcot.

I had told myself I wanted to go — just me and my Canon 60D — to practice photography and refill my creative well. But as the date drew near, Delilah showed up, loud as ever. 

You’ll look ridiculous. Who do you think you are? You’re not good enough to use this camera! 

But something in me — maybe the Phoenix within that we’ll explore in a future blog post — whispered, Not today.

So I went. I got to Epcot at 9:00 a.m -- right when it opened. I even took a Photo Memory moment to mark the bravery of that decision — me, holding my camera, standing in the purpose of the day. 

I reminded myself to slow down, to notice light and color and story shape. I took at least three shots of every scene that caught my eye, adjusting aperture or angle or focal length, not because I needed to prove anything to anyone else but me.

The 101-degree heat index was brutal. Sweat made my glasses slip down my nose so much that I couldn’t see through the viewfinder properly. It was hard to focus or even frame a shot. Eventually, I stopped pushing (of course Delilah reminded me I was a quitter, but I ignored her). 

I returned the camera to the car and took the monorail to Magic Kingdom. I had no real reason to go except I wanted to see the castle – the epitome of the message Dreams do come true and You can become whatever you wish to be. 

I walked Main Street, took an iPhone photo of the castle, and called it a day. I was home by 5:30 p.m., completely satisfied.

As I reflected on the day this is what I came to realize: most people are too busy living their own story to narrate yours. They’re not judging you — and even if they were, their judgment holds no weight unless you hand it power.

The bigger truth is: I was the one doing all the judging. I was telling myself I’m not good enough. I was comparing myself to others which robbed me of joy. I put value statements to labels. A photographer takes pictures. I muddy the waters by determining if the photos are good or not.

When I finally chose not to listen to that voice — and instead chose to go, to shoot, to eat, to ride the monorail — I cracked the hard shell of self-protection I’ve worn for decades. I embraced the possibility of transformation into someone free from the weight of expectations.

I can’t say Delilah is gone. But I am no longer willing to allow her to dictate what I do.

I took a solo trip to Disney World. I brought my big camera. I walked through the world on my own terms. And in doing so, I discovered something sacred:

I don’t have to be perfect to find joy. I am enough -- even though I’m still becoming.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. — John 10:10 (NIV) 

That truth alone was worth the drive.

From Paris to Epcot: A Lesson in Contentment

I have loved France—especially Paris—since I was eight years old. That was the year I started taking French in school, met a student who had just returned from a junior year abroad, and dreamed of doing the same. Over the next several decades, I spent a month in Arcachon, studied French in college, and took a two-week solo trip to Montmartre, fully immersing myself in Parisian life.

These are but a few memories I cherish: 

• Meandering along the Seine admiring the Bateaux Mouches scenic boat ride
• Strolling through the Tuileries Gardens as children play with toy boats in the fountain
• Standing in the center of Monet’s water lilies at the Musée de l’Orangerie
• Savoring a Salade Niçoise at a streetside café while watching the world go by. 

But when overseas travel isn’t possible, I find similar joy in a place much closer to home—Epcot’s France Pavilion. While it isn’t Paris, it beautifully captures the city’s essence, inviting both nostalgia and delight. Here I have learned contentment comes not from longing for what isn’t, but from embracing what is.

The Artist’s Corner

Nestled along the water’s edge in Epcot’s France Pavilion is a charming scene: an artist’s easel, a bicycle leaning casually against the wall, and a small canoe resting nearby. Every time I see it, I’m transported to two places at once.

First, to Montmartre’s Place du Tertre, where artists gather in the square to paint en plein air. I imagine Renoir and Degas capturing the shifting light with the stroke of a brush.

And then to the Seine, which winds through Paris past iconic landmarks like the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, and Notre Dame. It peacefully bridges the city’s two halves—the academic Rive Gauche and the bustling Rive Droite into a cohesive whole.

Epcot’s small tribute to the artistic life may not be Paris itself, but it holds that same sense of creative wonder. And that is enough.

Les Bouquinistes

One of my favorite Parisian sights is the row of green bookstalls along the Seine, run by the bouquinistes—second-hand booksellers who have been part of the city’s landscape since the 16th century. Overflowing with old books, vintage postcards, and artistic prints, they invite pedestrians to pause, browse, and discover.

At Epcot, a smaller version of these bookstalls lines the pavilion’s cobblestone path. The sight of them never fails to make me smile. In an instant, I am back on the Pont Neuf, green stalls guiding my gaze toward Notre Dame.

The Taste of Paris

Simple pleasures are the best. My favorite meal in Paris consists of a fresh baguette, soft goat cheese, a crisp apple, a handful of walnuts, and a glass (or two) of wine—especially when enjoyed picnic-style on the Champs de Mars with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Even a humble jambon-beurre—a crusty baguette dressed simply with butter and ham—tastes like perfection.

To my delight, these same flavors can be found at Les Halles Boulangerie-Pâtisserie in Epcot. The bread has the same crisp exterior. The pastries are buttery and indulgent. One bite, and I am home—even if home is an ocean away.

Gardens and Galleries

One of my favorite walks in Paris is through the Tuileries Gardens, the beautifully manicured space stretching between the Louvre and Place de la Concorde. Beyond the gardens lie three of my favorite museums:

• L’Orangerie, home to Monet’s water lilies.
• Musée d’Orsay, a treasure trove of Impressionist art.
• The Louvre, an expansive palace filled with artistic masterpieces.

While Epcot does not have these museums, it does offer beautiful gardens filled with colorful flowers. Plenty of benches invite weary travelers to pause, perhaps enjoy une boule de glace, and savor a moment of stillness.

Embracing the Beauty in What Is

It would be easy to walk through Epcot’s France Pavilion and focus on what it isn’t. It isn’t Paris. It isn’t Montmartre. It isn’t the Left Bank or the Tuileries Gardens.

But when I slow down and truly take it in, I realize that what it is—is something beautiful. A reflection, a memory, a taste of a place I love. And in that, I find contentment.

Epcot’s France may not be a replacement for Paris, but I am not looking for that. As Marcel Proust once said: “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

And through those eyes, I find joy.

 

Where Past and Present Meet: The Gift of Disney’s BoardWalk

Most think Walt Disney World is a nonstop whirlwind of thrilling activities. From rope-dropping the most popular attractions to securing the perfect spot for fireworks, the days are often planned to the minute.

Yet, I’ve discovered that some of the most magical moments don’t require a park ticket, running shoes, or an agenda. Sometimes, the magic can be found by stepping away from the rush and simply being present.

One of my favorite places to embrace this slower pace is Disney’s BoardWalk Resort.

I typically start the journey by taking the Skyliner from Pop Century Resort to Epcot. Instead of turning left when I exit the transportation gate and heading toward the World Showcase, I turn right.

I stroll through the International Gateway and across the bridge, leaving the crowds behind. The air feels lighter as I walk by the tranquil Crescent Lake. The moment I step off the bridge, it's as if I’ve entered another era—an Atlantic seaside resort town from the early 20th century.

The elegant white façade of The Cake Bake Shop greets me first, its sparkling windows beckoning guests to peek inside at the dazzling array of towering cakes and delicate pastries. While the prices caution me to save the indulgence for a special occasion, I can’t help but soak in the atmosphere—it makes me feel like royalty.

The BoardWalk has a way of inviting me to linger, savoring the moment and noticing the intricate details. No rush. No long lines. Just the sound of footsteps meandering across the wooden planks and the occasional laughter of families riding surrey bikes.

This is the magic of being present.

It’s a word I’ve reflected on often, a word with layers of meaning. Present is the here and now—not dwelling on the past, not worrying about the future, but simply embracing the moment.

As I continue my stroll along the BoardWalk, another beloved stop calls to me—the Blue Ribbon Corn Dog stand. I rarely pass by without ordering one. The first bite instantly transports me back to my childhood when Mom would occasionally treat us to a corndog lunch at the Sage Department Store. It was here that I not only developed my love of corn dogs but also my passion for reading. I’d save my allowance for weeks, then, once-a-month treat myself to a new Bobbsey Twins book -- the lavender spines always promising an engaging mystery.

Present is also a synonym for gift. And the BoardWalk itself is a gift—an invitation to step into a simpler time, a slower rhythm, and a more peaceful world. This resort is a present hidden in plain sight, waiting for anyone to take the time to unwrap it. While others race to the next thrill ride, I sit on a bench, eat an ice cream cone, and watch the people pass.

At night, the BoardWalk’s vintage lights flicker on, and the shops along the water’s edge transform into a nostalgic country fair. I browse through Thimbles and Threads, looking for the perfect souvenir. I admire the kids shooting hoops for a chance at a prize. The sight of the Crescent Inn’s rooftop always takes my breath away.

For me, the BoardWalk is a quiet reminder that joy is not reserved for only the grand and glorious. Sometimes, it’s in the ordinary, right in front of our eyes.

One final layer of this deeply meaningful word, is His Presence.

If I allow myself to pause and still my mind, I sense God is here. He is ever present -- in the breeze off the water, in the laughter of the children, in the quiet, simple pleasures of life.

So often, I chase after what I think will bring me joy—the next shiny new object or thrilling vacation that promises a more contented life. But the truth? Joy is already here, surrounding me wherever I am, waiting patiently to be noticed. The BoardWalk reminds me of this. It is a present—both a moment in time and a treasured gift.

And the beauty of this experience? It’s free.

You don’t need to be a guest at the resort. You don’t need a park ticket. This hidden treasure is available to anyone who takes the time to wander its paths, breathe in its nostalgia, and embrace the quiet magic it offers.

Sometimes, the greatest adventure is found in the everyday moments. The only thing required is to be present enough to receive it.

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