by Miley Cyrus
Now Emily and I love hanging out. We’ll spend four days in a row together. I can’t imagine a better Lilly. We’re super close. Freakishly close for how much time we spend together. It took us a while to get into a groove—we both needed to learn how to be sensitive to each other. We never had a big blow-out fight followed by an old-fashioned heart-to-heart like I’m sure so many teenage friends do. Both of our lives are so busy that cycling through that kind of dramatic conflict and resolution is a luxury we can’t afford. We work together every day. We’re professionals. We wanted to get along, and we absolutely had to behave responsibly for the good of our show and our careers. So yeah, for a while I was just doing my best to keep the peace. But you know how they say that sometimes if you act a certain way long enough— act happy even when you are sad—eventually that happiness becomes real? Well, I think somewhere in the course of trying to keep the peace and act like friends, it sort of became true. It felt natural. And once it was natural, well, things were just peaceful. Getting along with Emily was a happy surprise. Work was a better place to be—it felt much more natural now that my onscreen BF suddenly felt like a real BF. It even feels weird now to try to talk about how tense and unpleasant it was. That was us? It’s hard to believe.
Time passed, and now when I look at Emily I don’t feel insecure or competitive or annoyed at our differences. Instead I see someone who has been with me through long, grueling work days and someone I can hang out with whenever there is a free moment.
It was worth it, worth all that fighting and tolerating. I figured out that your friends don’t have to be exactly like you. In fact, the people who are different are the ones who are more likely to open the world for you. Those friendships can take the most work—I don’t think I’d ever really worked on a friendship before this. (No, I don't think working on those sixth-grade girls would have helped in the least.) Maybe this is a lesson that everyone learns at some point in life. The friendships that take work can be the ones that are the most rewarding.
Now that I think about it, it’s part of growing up, I guess, and part of having a grown-up job as a child. I see the days spinning by and look for ways to make my relationships strong, productive, happy, and peaceful. I’ll always be hyper and impulsive, and I’ll always talk without thinking, but I’m more aware of how my actions affect others, and what has to be accomplished, and what my responsibilities are. No matter how tired or goofy I feel, I have a greater sense of the big picture, and what I want to give and get from life, every day. I have Emily to thank for that lesson, because I have a feeling it’s going to be something I come back to over the years.
The Bridge
Romantic relationships also take work. That I’m sure of. And they, too, change and grow.
The last time I saw Prince Charming, we hugged. I closed my eyes for a moment. It was a strange hug, but I did not want to let go. In that moment, I just wanted to imagine that it was two years ago, and things were the way they used to be.
When I write songs, I try to tell a whole story. But sometimes the whole story isn’t ready to be told. The bridge of a song is the transitional part, the part that musically connects two parts of the song. It’s sometimes called a climb. After the bridge, a song may come back to the chorus, but it’s bigger, it’s grander, and it feels different because of what happened in the bridge. When you hear the bridge, you feel things changing, and you know that the finale is near.
That’s where I am these days. I’m in a different key. I’m still climbing, still figuring it out. I’m hurt and mad and happy and hopeful. Prince Charming was my first true love, and I’ll hold a place in my heart for him forever.
So I’m in the bridge of a song. I know what the final chorus sounds like. I know it’s coming. I expect it. I’m just not quite there yet.
Sheba
When I was one or two, my mom gave my dad a dog named Sheba for Father’s Day. It was a time in my dad’s life when he was very successful—on top of the mountain—but he had the realization that he didn’t have anything. So he let go of his music career and moved with the family and Sheba to the farm in Franklin to be the very best husband and dad he could be. Sheba was part of that, part of coming back home, part of choosing family over fame and fortune. Dad loved that dog—she was the most loyal dog ever. She was with us for a long time, but unfortunately Sheba didn’t have a good end. She was bitten by a tick, got paralyzed, and then, because she couldn’t move, she got hit by a car. My dad was devastated. That was a few years ago.
It was in June a couple of years ago that my parents were walking around Pasadena when they saw a beautiful black dog who reminded them of Sheba. She was with a homeless woman wearing a shirt that said ANGEL. Mom and Dad stopped to pet the dog and started talking to the woman, who said her name was Joanne. She said, “I’m a Christian. My husband and I got divorced. I feel like I’m supposed to be here on the streets. I’m a missionary.” My dad asked what the dog’s name was. Joanne said it was Sheba.
Sheba! My parents were touched by Joanne’s story and the whole Sheba dog connection. They tried to give Joanne some money, but she wouldn’t accept it. She said she was fulfilling her calling.
Now, I haven’t talked much about religion and what God means to me and my family. I mean, you know I go to church on Sundays, but faith is more than that to me. It’s part of who I am, the way I think, and how I live my life every day. Meeting Joanne— someone so dedicated to God—was important and meaningful to my parents. God has all kinds of messengers, and I always have my eyes, ears, and heart open.
Faith is having the strength to trust in something that you can’t see with your eyes or prove scientifically. You believe because your heart tells you that’s where you should go or who you should be. Your heart tells you what is right.
A few days later, it was the Fourth of July. We didn’t have any plans. Remember? My parents aren’t big planners or partyers. It was a hot afternoon, and we were all just walking around Pasadena. My dad mentioned Sheba and wondered if she was afraid of the fireworks the way our Sheba had been. We looked for Joanne but couldn’t find her. Then my little sister—who’d never met Joanne—said, “Oh, look at that dog.” She pointed across the street. It was Joanne and Sheba.
This time Joanne allowed my parents to give her twenty dollars. Dad wanted to take her in to the Cheesecake Factory to get something to eat. She was afraid to leave her cart, which made sense to me. It was her home, and it wasn’t under lock and key the way most of us keep our treasured possessions. We guarded her cart for her while she went in. People looked at us funny, like we didn’t belong, and I wondered if she got looks like that every day.
When Joanne reappeared, she was carrying Cokes for all of us. We talked with her for a long time that night. She said that these streets were her Africa, her Indonesia. Instead of going someplace far away, this was her mission field. Joanne was intelligent and calm. There wasn’t a shred of bitterness in her. And she knew her Scripture. At the end of that night, my parents came right out and said, “Please let us help you get off the streets. You can come to our house. Or we’ll get you a hotel and figure something out.” Joanne smiled and said, “I hope you’ll remember me, but you don’t have to visit. Don’t worry about me. I’m happy.”
And it seemed to be true. Two months later my parents were back in Pasadena, and there she was, wearing a shirt saying I LOVE JESUS, and sitting with her dog. My parents couldn’t fathom why someone would choose that life, but they had faith in her and the message she brought us. The person who we thought needed us the most didn’t want anything from us. She was full of love. She was content. She didn’t want or need anything from anyone. She lived in a park. She followed her calling. God took care of her. (Maybe she was an angel.) Like Mammie says, “All things work together for the good of those who love God” (Romans 8:28).
My mom grew up in a conservative church. For a long time she went to church because that’s what you were supposed to do. Our whole family did. We were alw
ays looking for a good church to visit. Then, when I was in middle school, Brandi brought us to a new church in Franklin. The People’s Church was different. It became a family for us. The members of our congregation hold each other accountable for the way we live our lives, and at the same time the church is a place where I have felt safe and unjudged, especially during those tough middle school years. For the first time, our family started making decisions based on our faith. I feel like we have more of a true relationship with God than we did when we went to church because it was a ritual. The People’s Church really opened my heart. It has made me truly thankful.
A lot of people at our church wear purity rings, which represent a commitment to remaining celibate until you’re married. When Brandi turned twenty-one, she asked my mom for a purity ring, and my mom bought one for her. Brandi has always been independent and good at knowing what she wants and believes. She’s so honest to everyone, including herself. I love her and respect her and think she’s beautiful inside and out. We always talked openly about her ring and what it meant. When Brandi’s boyfriend (whom she plans to marry) comes to visit, he’ll often stay for a week. Every night at eleven they go to their separate rooms. My parents aren’t telling Brandi to do that. She does it because she respects herself that much.
When I got old enough and there were boys in the picture, I asked if it was time for me to get my own ring. My mom gave me one that has a circle on it, to represent the circle of marriage. There’s a little diamond in the center of the circle for me, and when I get married, there will be another diamond added. But until then, it’s just me. And it feels right.
The press might make fun of some people for wearing purity rings, but I don’t pay attention to that. They can think what they want. I have my morals!
I also bring my faith to my career choices. I already told you that our family talks about being light in a dark world—when it comes to my work I try to do projects that I can be proud of. I love that Hannah Montana is a sweet, good quality show that brings joy to people’s lives. As I start doing more grown-up, dramatic projects, I want to stick with what I believe and what makes sense for a girl my age. I want to be a good role model. That’s why I signed on to work with the writer Nicholas Sparks. His books and movies show strong morals, and loving, hard relationships. I can do meaningful work—without compromising my values.
The Happiest Place on Earth
As I’ve said, a big part of my faith is helping others, not out of guilt or gratitude for what I have but because it feels right and necessary. It’s true that my sweet sixteen was a huge, over-the-top affair. We shut down Disneyland on a schoolnight; five thousand people attended the party, and each one paid $250 for the privilege. Hey, girls who bullied me in sixth grade, check this out: thousands of people paid cash dollars to come to my birthday party! But it was nothing like those sweet sixteen extravaganzas you see on MTV.
Before you think I’m a selfish nutjob for charging people to come to my party—here’s the reason: the event raised one million dollars for Youth Service America. All that money went to a good cause. Like I’ve said, if I’m gonna be in the spotlight, I want to use my powers for good.
The evening of the birthday party was pretty choreographed—I knew what was supposed to happen and when it was supposed to happen. But the biggest moment was something that none of us planned or expected. My good friend Lesley, whom I cheered with for all those years, flew in from Tennessee to come to the party. She was staying with me at my house, and right before we headed to Disneyland I said to her, “I’m so happy. The only thing that would make me happier would be for Pappy to be here for the party.” Lesley told me not to be sad. She said, “He’s here. He’s watching.”
Near the beginning of the celebration, at a little reception for the celebrities who were attending, my mom was supposed to give me my birthday present. But as it happened, the party was running late. By the time my mom gave me my present, the celebrities were already in cars for the parade. So the only people left were my mom, Rich Ross and Adam Sanderson (heads of Disney Channel), and Aunt Edi, my mom’s best friend. It was just a small group of people who felt like family.
Then my mom surprised me with a Maltipoo, a tiny all-white puppy who is part Maltese, part poodle. A puppy! I was so excited. Okay, it wasn’t a total surprise. My mom knew I was dying for a puppy, and I had a feeling that wish might come true.
Animals are mysterious, interesting, amazing creatures. You can’t ever know exactly what they’re thinking, but you know how they feel because of the way they treat you. Their emotions are honest and pure. A dog whines when she’s tired. She whines when she’s hungry. She snuggles when she’s happy. She licks your face when she’s happy to see you. She jumps up and down and bites your shoes when you get home. Animals treat you the way friends should. I mean, I don’t want my friends to lick my face. But when friends want to show you how much they care and are excited to see you, they sometimes get embarrassed or feel silly. Animals don’t think they’re better or worse than you are. They don’t get embarrassed. They just love you.
So we were playing with the puppy and taking pictures, and then my mom said, “Sofie, look at the camera Sofie.” I froze in disbelief. Time stood still for a second. Then I blurted out, “Sofie—that’s Pappy’s dog!” My mom hadn’t realized—Sofie the puppy had come from the breeder with her name— but Sofie the dog had been Pappy’s dearest friend, his trusty companion. She was everything to him. I had no doubt in my mind that this fluffy little puppy wriggling in my arms was my birthday present from Pappy. God had sent me a gift from my pappy. When I had that realization, I started crying. I sat there in front of everyone, just weeping, with Sofie in my lap reaching up to lick my tears away.
I’m glad all the celebrities were already shuttling off to the parade. It was such a sweet, special, overwhelming moment that I’m happy I was surrounded by people who know me well. Plus Pluto. Pluto the dog was there too. (Another moment of deep respect for those who can wear heavy costumes with small air holes.) I guess that guy in the Pluto suit is kinda part of the family now. He (or she?) probably thinks I’m a pretty emotional girl. But the truth is, in all the other big moments in my life so far, I usually haven’t cried or gotten superemotional. On that night, though, I kept saying, “Oh my gosh,” and my eyes would well up again. I just could not stop crying. I will remember that moment for the rest of my life.
Right after that was the parade. We started driving down the street, through crowds of kids lining the streets of Disneyland. As if I didn’t have reason enough to be emotional, our car rolled slowly down the street past people yelling my name, screaming Happy Birthday. I didn’t know how to react. I felt kind of embarrassed and stupid, and at the same time I felt like a princess. I was wearing a gorgeous champagne gown beaded with crystal, and pretty aqua blue pumps covered in Swarovski crystal beads. They were real Cinderella shoes. But still . . . I sank down in my seat. My mom nudged me and said, “Honey, wave like a beauty queen.” I said, “But I feel dumb! It’s so weird that all these people are here to see me.”
Embarrassment wasn’t the only emotion I was feeling. Yes, I’ve done concerts in front of thousands of people, but this felt different. It felt so personal, so intimate. I really couldn’t believe so many families were there to support me and celebrate with me. There were reporters in the car with me, trying to interview me, and I could barely answer. I’d start talking, then get choked up, then start laughing at myself. I was laughing and crying the whole ride.
The best kind of laughter is when you start laughing for no reason and can’t stop. In that moment, you forget about everything else. You let go of the world, and let go of control—which we all should do sometimes.
Then we got to the purple carpet. That’s right, purple! I love purple. Remember when I walked down my first red carpet, at the premiere for Chicken Little, and nobody had any idea who I was? Now the carpet was custom-colored for me! Wow.
Sometimes this life I’m lead
ing starts to feel normal. Walking down red carpets starts to feel like an everyday thing. Even if you love it—which I do—the excitement gets consumed by the fact that it’s work. But that night, the unbelievable reality of my life rushed at me. I felt so blessed.
Even though I’ve walked on red carpets before, this time was different, and not just because of the color of the carpet. Everyone there was a friend of mine: Emily, Mitchell, and Moises Arias (who plays Rico). Anna Maria Perez de Tagle and Shanica Knowles (who play Ashley and Amber) both told me they were wearing purple dresses for me. Demi Lovato was there—there were so many Disney people it felt like a family reunion. I did interviews and talked to friends and fans in between. That part was really relaxed and fun.
Then it was time for me to perform. Which meant a new outfit, of course. My wardrobe designer, Dahlia, surprised me with a vest that said “Sweet Sixteen” on the back. Cool! I know it might seem strange that I performed at my own party, but I figured people paid $250 a ticket! I wanted to give back to them.
The show started on Tom Sawyer Island. Dad opened for me. He played “Ready, Set, Don’t Go” and there was a montage of photos and videos of my life up till now. It was so sweet. It doesn’t matter how many times I hear my dad sing that song. I know why he wrote it and I know that it’s real for us every time.
After Dad, I sang, and then—this was the best part of all—Disney presented the million-dollar check to Youth Service America (YSA), and we honored ten of YSA’s “Service Stars,” just a few of the amazing kids who don’t let being young stop them from working hard to make this world a better place. I was so into it—I was jumping up and down like a little girl.
Next my dancers and I got on a boat. (Gosh, it all happened so fast that I was like, Oh, right, the boat!) I sang two more songs as they took us out onto the river. The boats went right up into the crowd. It was a really cool way to perform, floating right up to the crowd and seeing the sparkling lights of Disneyland all around us.
