It’s around sundown on the afternoon of October 28, 2013, when my uncle breaks the long silence to ask if I’m ok. That’s one of the things I like most about him: he can be as melodramatic as a sixteen-year-old girl. I try to laugh it off–I’m fine. I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s not even for sure yet. But the rumors have been circulating on the internet for days now, and we both know what’s coming. The Jonas Brothers are breaking up.
The other girls at my high school think it’s “hilarious” that I’m “still into the Jonas Brothers.” At home, I’m known for being a drama queen. But sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s Chevy, just my uncle and I going down a nondescript Florida backroad, I finally let myself feel all the things I’ve been pushing aside. The Jonas Brothers breaking up feels like the end of something, and although I can’t quite grasp why, I can’t help but feel a sense of mourning.
I’ve always rolled my eyes at those Tumblr edits with phrases like “Bands Save Lives” and “Her Playlist Is A Glimpse Into Her Soul” stamped over a black-and-white background. But I’d be lying if I said that kind of thing didn’t unironically cross my mind that October. The way I loved the Jonas Brothers and their music had, in a weird way, saved my life. The last gift my father gave me before passing away in 2009 was Jonas Brothers tickets. I listened to their music as a means to cope with problems that were simply too much for an eleven-year-old girl. I could play A Little Bit Longer when I felt like crying and blame Nick Jonas for my tears. The summer we lived in a haunted house, I’d blast their albums on my speakers as if the joyful music could drive away that heavy sense of dread.
If any of this sounds melodramatic, it’s because it is. But your favorite band breaking up is an end-of-the-fucking-world scenario when you’re sixteen, and I’m not trying to invalidate the things my younger self felt so deeply. And now, nearly six years later, I still think of the Jonas Brothers breakup as a formative moment in my own life.
When I think back on the year 2019, I can honestly say the best thing that’s happened to me so far is that the Jonas Brothers got back together. It’s been a year of loss, mourning, confusion, and rejection, and always-expensive-and-not-always-effective therapy sessions.
Now, I won’t pretend I know what Kevin, Joe, and Nick were going through back in 2013 because I don’t know them personally (imagine knowing them! I bet they smell heavenly and have really soft hands), but it’s safe to say they were going through a tough time. I imagine that, when they were trying to produce V, their unreleased fifth album, they struggled with insecurities and uncertainty about the future. I’m almost certain I know how they felt when they released Pom Poms and First Time–like they were stumbling around in the dark, hoping and praying that things would go right but knowing they wouldn’t. Of course, I can only extrapolate, but something tells me I’m close to the truth here.
Back in 2013, I couldn’t understand how or why JB had come to the point where a band of brothers needed a break from each other and the fame and creative beauty they had achieved together. But I was sixteen, and things had mostly gone my way up until then. I knew what I wanted (to write) and who I wanted to be (a writer) and how I would get it (by studying writing in college). In short, life hadn’t kicked my ass yet. But all of that began to change when I started college. For the first time in my life, I doubted what I wanted and how I wanted to get there. I read “The Bell Jar” my freshman year (bad idea if you’re clinically depressed, friends) and couldn’t stop thinking about Plath’s fig tree metaphor where every fig represented a different life for the same woman. Would she pick one? Would she starve? Author, TV writer, producer, teacher, lawyer–which fig was I going to eat?
College zoomed by, and eventually, I had to pick a fig or two. I chose to change majors from media production to media theory. I chose to stay away from LA, which meant I couldn’t be a TV writer. I chose grad school, and I applied to a grand total of two institutions (not my best idea, I’ll admit). During my last semester, I was rejected from both at around the same time my grandmother died and I inadvertently (but also maybe intentionally?) ruined things with a really great guy by standing him up on our first date.
There was a lot of crying going on that semester. I must’ve run through twice my bodyweight in tissues (is this where I try to get Kleenex to sponsor me?). None of the crying episodes felt particularly climactic at the time, but some moments do stand out in retrospect. I remember crying in the Public Gardens (a really nice place to cry, actually. I highly recommend it if you ever find yourself sad in Boston), not caring who saw. I remember crying so much it left ugly, unignorable streaks in my foundation. I saw myself in the bathroom mirror when I got home, and the crying turned into hysterical, hiccupping laughter, which in turn led to some more crying. Next thing I know, I’m on the bathroom floor, staring at a mousetrap and asking God why He’d allowed me to get my hopes up about my future if it was all going to go to shit. You know, real classy stuff.
But here’s the thing. I should have never doubted in Him.
I’m not trying to get too religious on you since I promised you a post about the Jonas Brothers and this is like three whole ballparks away from that, but bear with me. Whatever you believe in–God, several gods or goddesses, the Universe with a capital U, some cosmic power or other–you believe for a reason. For me, the reason is that every awful thing I have experienced has been temporary. Every bad thing I have lived through has ended, and there was almost always something better waiting on the other side. The Jonas Brothers broke up in 2013, and early this year they announced their comeback. Well, roughly a month after the triple catastrophe of early 2019, I received a miraculous little email from NYU.
I’d applied to two different MFAs at NYU and had received rejections from both. So, when I checked my email in bed one late March morning, I was tempted to believe I was hallucinating. Maybe it was a mistake? A marketing ploy? Was Ashton Kutcher about to pop out with a camera crew? The email was an invitation to apply to an MFA program I had never heard of before, one they thought I would be a better fit for. I looked up their website and burst into tears. Happy tears, for the first time all year.
It was almost too good to be true. It was the kind of program I could only dream of, a hybrid program that perfectly combined my creative pursuits and my interest in critical theory. Perfect for the girl who couldn’t decide on a fig.
I’m scheduled to start there next year.
How does any of this relate back to the Jonas Brothers? Just like Kevin, Nick, and Joe needed some time apart, I needed things to fall apart so that better ones could fall together. Maybe crying on a bench in the Gardens on a cold February morning was my interview on Good Morning America. And this doesn’t necessarily mean that my struggles are over with. I still have rough days (and weeks, and, hell, even months). But there’s an odd sort of relief knowing the worst is behind me. Just like Kevin, Joe, and Nick took time to heal, I’m taking a gap year before starting at NYU. I think I still have some stumbling around to do before I make it to the Jonas Brothers comeback of my life, but I have a feeling that, for me, happiness begins soon.
So, Dear Reader, if you ever find yourself going through hell, think of the Jonas Brothers. It works for me!