Story of a Teen Heartthrob

This photo used to hang on my closet door. Found on Google images.

I give you full permission to laugh at me as you read this post. ;-)

I am finding that dreams come true when I simply allow them, rather than searching for ways they might come about or trying to force things to happen. I'm also really getting it that time as we know it does not exist, and that today the Universe is hearing all of our prayers, even those we uttered as children. Or in my case, as a teenage girl head-over-heels for a certain country music star.

When I was around fifteen years old, I developed a mad crush on Mr. Bryan White. He was to me then what the Jonas Brothers are to hormonal adolescent girls today. I memorized everything there was to know about him. Favorite ice cream? Chocolate chip. Birthday? February 17th. Pet peeve? People who drive with one foot on the brake and one foot on the gas.

Stalker? Yes.

For several of my teen years, I lived with my mother. I won't go into the details, but we had a rough few years. For both of us, those years were chaotic, angry, and tension-filled. However, one thing that always brought us together was her support of my undying love for Bryan. This woman endured endless hours of CMT and country music radio, and for this I am quite certain she has accumulated karmic gold. When my best friend (who we'll call D) and I found out that there was a local contest to win backstage passes to Bryan's concert, my mother helped us dye our bodies and hair a non-flattering shade of blue. Sadly, we did not win (damn you, naked woman in blue washtub), and we were washing blue out of our hair for a week.

We were strapped for money back then, but my mother was intent on helping me meet Bryan, so we took three trips to Nashville in three years. One of them took place after my friend K had just suffered her first broken heart. That girl cried on the drive there, at the Fairfield Inn, at the Opryland Hotel, at the Country Music Hall of Fame, on the drive home...I do not know how my mother resisted the temptation to drive that Ford Tempo off a bridge.

The next trip was with D, and this was when our stalker tendencies really began to show themselves. We had watched a tour of Bryan's home on CMT, and we were convinced we could find his house, knock on his front door, and convince him to marry one or both of us. In a weird twist, it turned out that her aunt's best friend lived across the street from him and gave us their address. We actually drew pictures of his house, landscaping included, and set out to make our dreams come true.

Hang-up? Ice storm. We ended up driving to Nashville (and back) in twenty-four hours, but in that time, we found the damn house. When we turned onto his street, my heart caught in my throat. I turned to my mom and squeaked, "Can I scream?" The answer was yes, and her hearing has never fully returned.

Struck by a sudden bout of shyness, I chose not to knock on his door and instead left a Glamour Shot of me (I wasn't kidding when I said you could laugh) and a plate full of no-bake cookies in his mailbox. I included my address, and I was SO sure he would write me to tell me I was beautiful and the cookies were delicious and would I marry him? Imagine my surprise and disappointment when that letter never came. (I still laugh about the cookies- I really thought he would eat them!)

On our last trip to Nashville, we were on a tour bus doing one of those cheesy tours of the stars' homes when the driver just happened to mention that Bryan was going to be putting on a free concert by the river later that evening. I didn't even ask Mom if we could go. I just gave her a look that said "If you want grandchildren, you better figure out how to get to the river."

We did, and that was the night that I caught Bryan White's guitar pick. You would have thought I won the lottery when that green piece of plastic flew through the air in slow motion and landed square in my lap. It was the best night of my life up to that point (thankfully things got better or I would be writing this from my room at the loony bin). My mother has a different story to tell about that night, some blabber about locking our keys in the car late at night in downtown Nashville and being the only car left in the lot and thinking we were going to be chopped up in someone's freezer by morning. Not me, I was planning a wedding.

I never met Bryan. I never scored front-row seats or backstage passes. He never wrote me a letter, never acknowledged my existence.

And the saddest part of all is this. I grew up. I stopped believing in fairy-tale love stories and dreams come true. I went on to get engaged, break off said engagement, move to Oklahoma, go to college, spend a few years living the wild life, fall in love, get my heart broken, realize my dream of becoming a kindergarten teacher, and finally, after all of it, find myself.

I think it is fair to say that my innocence is long gone, but I'm proud to say that I have opened myself up to dream again. My dreams today don't involve a country music star, but they leave me just as starry-eyed as I was for him back them. Working with my mentor, Byron Katie. Traveling to Italy for an adventure abroad. Writing that book. Falling in love with a kind, honest man.

The funny thing is that opening my heart to possibility has brought about magic in all kinds of unexpected ways. It seems as though the Universe has no sense of time. Many years ago, I would have given absolutely anything to score front-row seats to Bryan's concert and have the opportunity to meet him in person. I tried everything I knew to make that happen, but to no avail.

Fast-forward a decade ahead. As you probably know, I moved to a new school this year. It turns out that our music teacher is the director of the Oklahoma Opry, and she is friends with Bryan. When I heard that, I laughed out loud. Oh, if she only knew...

Then, two nights ago, I was surfing Myspace. Something (boredom, mostly) told me to look at his page. It has been years since I listened to his CDs, and I was curious to see if he was still making music. I laughed again when I saw that he is going to be in OKC in March for an small, intimate concert, and there were front-row seats available. I didn't think twice. I called my mother and told her to clear her schedule on a certain Friday evening, and I booked the tickets. I then e-mailed our music teacher to let her know about my silly story and how this is the happy ending.

I'll be totally honest. I don't listen to country music anymore, and 27-year-old me isn't that excited to go to an Opry show. But there is still a little 16-year-old in me, and she is doing somersaults. I am so amazed that even though I forgot about my dream, the Universe didn't. All it took was me getting to a space in my life of allowing, and everything came together in a magical way.

As a gift to my teenage self, I promise to post a picture of me and Mr. White here at the end of March. Maybe I'll ask him if he likes no-bake cookies...

I show no signs of stopping.