By Lea Killian
A&E Editor
On Feb. 28, the Jonas Brothers announced their reunion with a new single, “Sucker.” After a ten year hiatus, the band was back on the radio and finishing a new album. The revived fandom prepared for something they never thought would happen again: A Jonas Brothers world tour.
Seven months after the announcement, I found myself at the BOK Center in Tulsa, Oklahoma, waiting on the Jonas Brothers to walk onto the stage.
Long before they came out, there was an undeniable energy in the room. I was surrounded by fans who waited as long as I had, who remembered the shows they performed in high school gymnasiums and mall food courts.
My favorite band returned to the spotlight more successful than ever. Since 2006, they had been a consistent force in my life, but what filled my mind as I stood in the crowd was how, without them, without their reunion, I might have never found myself again.
On May 29, one week before the Jonas Brothers released their newest album, “Happiness Begins,” my four-year romantic relationship ended. Nothing had ever hurt me worse in my life. Every single day felt like an unshakeable nightmare.
I stopped taking care of myself. I went days without eating or drinking. I would drift in and out of my new reality with cuts and scratches appearing on my arms and legs and not remember how they got there.
I dissolved into myself trying to reach for numbness, a relief that I couldn’t find.
I had never been so detached from myself. Everything I knew about who I was, what I believed in and hoped for the future seemed to have been stolen from me.
I didn’t want to graduate if my partner wasn’t going to be waiting for me in the crowd. I rejected the idea of love and even believed that I fundamentally unworthy of it.
I couldn’t face my family or my partner’s. I didn’t want anyone to see what pain had revealed of me.
I was introduced to an emptiness I couldn’t fathom, a permanent ache in my chest that woke me throughout the night for months. It was unbearable ― every last second.
In my mind, there was no going back to who I was. The version of myself that I remembered was not just a stranger; she was long dead, replaced by this person in the mirror: She was hateful and manipulative ― wholly consumed by her fear of abandonment coming to fruition.
I thought I was gone.
Over the summer, I started therapy. I didn’t go hoping it would heal me; I went as a means of survival. I was desperate for relief.
It wasn’t until I managed stumbling through a few sessions that I realized there might be a person on the other side of my suffering who could still be salvaged.
I’ve always grounded my beliefs in the things that I love. Growing up, the books I read and the movies I watched shaped me. They taught me what I needed to know about doing the right thing, being a good person and staying true to myself. Thankfully, those lessons followed me into adulthood.
The Jonas Brothers have always been one of those anchors for me. Even in my misery, “Happiness Begins” was on repeat. Without me realizing it, they were connecting me with a version of myself that I hadn’t met yet.
I had reached a place where my doubts about love and my desperate hope for it to be real could coexist. I wanted to believe in the kind of love they were singing about even if it was no longer present in my life. More than anything, I wanted to feel like myself again. I wanted to remember what it was like to be passionate about my life whether I was still hurting or not.
Time, therapy and meaningful conversations with people I love healed parts of me that I was sure were irreparable. Not many people are lucky enough to experience blinding moments of clarity after feeling as empty as I did, but, as I was about to remember, anything can happen at a Jonas Brothers concert.
In 2019, the Jonas Brothers are everything from their glory days and more. Not only is their newfound happiness as a band incredibly palpable on stage, they have all spent the last decade honing their skills as individual performers.
This tour was a long time coming for both the band and the fans, but what they had in store for us shattered my expectations.
With two stages at the front and back of the arena and a walkway that cuts through the crowd, the Jonas Brothers used the “Happiness Begins Tour” as an opportunity to reconnect with fans by making their production as accessible as possible.
Throughout the show, the brothers performed songs from their most recent album, but dedicated most of the setlist to the songs that got them where they are today.
Songs like “When You Look Me In the Eyes,” “Hold On” and even their first song together as a band, “Please Be Mine,” had the crowd singing and moving as one, reminding me of my first Jonas Brothers concert — the first time I ever felt part of something bigger than myself.
They sang songs from their 2008 film, “Camp Rock” and even took requests from fans in the crowd.
The intricate stages, lighting and nostalgic performances created a recipe for everything a good concert should be, but what stood out to me was the story that unfolded between songs, projected on the jumbotrons above the stage:
Three young boys are playing together. They grow and transition through various stages of their lives, facing pain, heartache and rejection, until they come face to face with their future selves: The Jonas Brothers.
Nick, Kevin and Joe reveal intimate glimpses of the future to their younger selves, guiding them toward the happiness they finally reached as a band — and a family.
For the Jonas Brothers, everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to.
For me, that idea was everything. Standing in that crowd, I was suddenly face to face with my former self.
At the beginning of the summer, I would have given anything to be like her again. I thought she was who I was supposed to be, that healing would mean finding her again.
All this time, I was only meant to guide her.
There is no “self” to whom we can return. There is no wiser, stronger version of ourselves we can attempt to reclaim. There is only the self of tomorrow we do not yet know ― the future self who must be waited on, cared for ― the self who requires every bit of our attention and patience.
I should have loved that version of myself before I even knew her, the version who had already walked through the flames. I should have believed in her strength and her spirit from the beginning. It wasn’t until that moment in the crowd that I realized how far I had come.
When the Jonas Brothers released “Happiness Begins,” I felt as if my own happiness had come to a crashing halt, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
As the band took their final bow, pink and green confetti fluttering to the ground, tears streaming down my face, I allowed myself a moment of gratitude for everything that led me to where I was.
Maybe the Jonas Brothers were only a stitch in the fabric of my healing, but just like the last fifteen years of my life, they were there.
My happiness was only beginning.
