Miles to Go

by Miley Cyrus

  My mom reminded me about cheerleading. She was right—in cheerleading you fall all the time, you fall so often that you practice getting good at falling, and then you fall some more. You never quit. I thought about my cheerleading coach, Chastity, and how she would have said, “Don’t hit the ground.” But I still dreaded being dropped, every single night. I remembered a coffee mug I saw once that had a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on it. Do what you are afraid to do. And so I did. I kept going. I just did it. Now, when I think back on it, I realize that each day of the tour I achieved something, because every day I overcame my fear. The fear of being embarrassed can hold me back from doing things I want to do. I’m holding on to that memory as proof that fear doesn’t have to win.

  I performed almost every single night, which is draining, but the tour was also kind of easy just because it was the same routine every day.

  10-ish: Wake up on the bus

  12:30: Sound check

  1:30: Hair and makeup

  3:00–5:00: Meet and greets

  5:30: Opening band starts

  6:00: Concert starts

  10:00: Back in bus

  Every day revolved around the performance that night. The morning was spent doing sound check and getting ready, then I had “meet and greets” with friends of friends, people who won contests, whoever it was. I love my fans, but the meet and greets were different, mostly executives or other people who wanted something from me—like tickets to that night’s show, which I never had. It’s hard to be excited and friendly to strangers every single day. There was kissing up in all directions, and the whole thing felt like a show, a game with no rules, no winner, and no limits. Whatever time and energy I gave, someone always wanted more.

  My parents were always there for me, of course. For the most part they don’t want to take any of this away from me. This is my work, and they want me to have independence in it. But I can get too drawn into it, into feeling I need to satisfy every request, take every media opportunity, meet every fan, sign every deal. I found out later from my mom that she had decided I wouldn’t do any press on the tour. Not a single newspaper interview, radio show, or TV appearance. I was a little angry—I mean, it’s my career, and I like to be in on those decisions. But my mom knows that it would be hard for me to say no. (Seriously, thanks, Mom—you saved me.) There’s no end to the requests and demands for my time. People will push until I can’t take it anymore. I’m young, and people forget that. Including me. There’s no way I can make everyone happy.

  The days on tour were a whirlwind of obligations, and then I’d do my show, and then, late at night, (when I didn’t fall asleep before my head hit the pillow), thoughts would turn endlessly in my mind. My brother Trace was in Europe. I didn’t have time to visit him. Should I be visiting him? What about my sister? Should I be worried about her? Should I be thinking about the show? My fans? My family? Was I forgetting someone’s birthday? Where was my energy supposed to go? Was I a good person for spending my time this way? There were lots of people working on my tour. There were tons of people coming to each concert. I was the center of it, and I didn’t want to do it blindly, going through the motions because some producers or marketers thought it was a good idea, or because I was going to make money, or even because I like performing and wanted to introduce people to my music.

  My dad says, “Not everyone was called to be a preacher. There are different ways of representing the light. If you can make people laugh and sing and dance and rejoice in this world of darkness, that’s a great thing.” It’s important to ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing and what purpose it serves in the big picture. I ask myself that a lot.

  On The Cheetah Girls tour I had performed for cancer patients. I’ll never forget how it felt to know that kids who couldn’t be happy on a daily basis were at my concert. I vowed to myself to make sure I always performed for the right people and the right reasons.

  After I met Vanessa, one thing was clearer to me than ever before. I knew I wanted to actively help children who needed it. For the tour, I worked with Bob Cavallo and Hollywood Records, one of the companies Bob Cavallo oversees, to give one dollar of every concert ticket to City of Hope, a cancer care center. Making people laugh and sing and dance is an incredible feeling, but I also wanted to give something as big as hope to people like Vanessa. Whether the audience knew it or not, each one of them was (through me) giving a dollar to City of Hope. We were all united in an effort to help people suffering from cancer. When our family first moved to Los Angeles, our goal was to try to be light in a dark world. Now I was doing it. As I performed in concert after concert, I kept that in the back of my mind—the knowledge that what I did that night would go further than what everyone in the stadium saw or felt.

  Despite all the positive things going on, being on the road can get lonely. We were never in one place for more than one night. My “home” was the tour bus. I slept on a built-in bed. Plenty of times I just wanted a break, to go home for real. But I was lucky to have my friends and family on tour with me. People were what got me through it. I tried to think of them as my home. Isn’t that a saying, too? Home is where the heart is?

  I know I talk a lot about my dreams. How can I not, when my life has taken such a dramatic, surprising, exciting turn for the most amazing? The tour was one big gigantic, elaborate, exhilarating, exhausting dream come true. (Except for that one hairy dance move.) I should have known something had to go wrong. It’s inevitable—dreams fade or change eventually.

  No Such Thing as a Hate Song

  Prince Charming and I broke up on December 19, 2007. The hardest day ever. My life felt like it had ground to a halt, but the rest of the world kept right on rolling. I was on tour. People were counting on me, but my head—no, my heart—was dizzy.

  I’ve always used words to connect with people, and I’ve always felt that if I just let the words flow, just said what came to me, it would be from the heart and I would be understood. The day before the tour ended I wrote ten pages, front and back, about why I loved Prince Charming, how I would wait for him, why we needed to be together. When I love someone, I love them with everything in me. But when the love’s not there anymore, what do you do?

  Deep down I knew we weren’t being our best selves. And that was what I wanted—and thought I deserved—in a relationship. To be my best self and to bring out the best in someone else.

  But still . . .

  I was angry when I wrote “7 Things I Hate about You.” I wanted to punish him, to get him back for hurting me. It starts with a list of what I “hate,” (you're vain, your games, you're insecure) but I’m not a hater. My heart knew from the start that it was going to turn into a love song. Why does he get a love song? Because I don’t hate him. I won’t let myself hate anybody. That’s not the way my heart works. It’s a song about how I should hate him but I don’t, and I don’t know why. It’s a song about forgiving, not forgetting.

  There’s a big difference between knowing and feeling. Here’s what I know (so far): I know I’m “only sixteen.” I know that most people when they’re older look back on when they were sixteen and think, “Man, I didn’t know anything back then.” I know that what I want, what I look for in a boyfriend, is bound to change a lot, because I know I’ve got a lot of changes ahead of me still. I know all that. I really do.

  Here’s what I feel: It’s hard to imagine that our love is a story with an end. But you know, at least I’m getting some really good songs out of it.

  Another Angel

  October 31, 2007

  It’s 1:02 a.m. and I’m not able to sleep after the painful news received around eleven that my best friend, my hero, my sister God forgot to give me, my everything was graced with 24 hours to live. I don’t know why this happens and why it will continue—all I know is I will have a new angel watching over me, and her name is Vanessa.

  My friend Vanessa was very ill. (Remember? The sick little girl who looked like Ariel?) They were saying it was only a ma
tter of hours. But I was in denial. When I called the hospital hoping to hear that she was on an upswing, because that’s what I wanted to believe, her parents told me, “Miley, she died.”

  I couldn’t process it. She was dead? But she was so young. I couldn’t accept it. How could she die? How could God feel like her job here was done? I’d never lost a friend before. I was wrecked.

  It was late at night. We were stopped at a Walmart in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t get back on that bus. I needed things to halt. I went out into the middle of a snow-covered field and lay down. The sharp blades of frozen grass poked at my bare arms. I lay on my back staring at a big white sign saying SUPERMART. Vanessa was gone, and I hadn’t been there by her side at the end.

  After a while, Linda, my teacher, and my mom came out to get me. Linda said, “Look how happy you made her. She had a good last few months. When she needed you, you were there.” My mom said, “You knew she needed you, but it seems like you didn’t realize how much you needed her.”

  Mandy Medicine

  It felt like I was losing the people I cared about most. I felt alone and adrift.

  And then came Mandy. (Mandy, how pumped are you that you get a chapter title?)

  I’d known Mandy for a long time—she’d been dancing with me ever since I started performing as Hannah. One night in the middle of the tour we got out of the pool at some nasty hotel where the bus was parked. Mandy was going through a hard time with a friend of hers. I’d lost my first love. Vanessa was gone from this earth. Mandy and I sat on a bed in her hotel room and I said, “Hey, do you want to be best friends?” She said, “Yeah.” It was out of the blue. Random. A joke. But then something amazing happened. Our BF promise took hold.

  Remember how I said that when you’re on tour, away from home, people—friends, family—become your home? I’d been clinging a little too hard to my privacy. Vanessa’s death reminded me to let myself need people. To stop pushing people away. To fight for friendship. Mandy and I act like kids together, like we’re my little sister’s age. A child’s heart is so vulnerable, lighthearted, and fun. From the start we let our friendship stay young instead of being guarded and calloused. And it felt great. Like I was breathing again or that my heart was starting to heal.

  After the tour finished, Mandy and I went on a big YouTube kick. We were hanging out, messing with the video camera while we worked up a dance routine, and just generally goofing around, and we decided to post it to YouTube. I swear doctors should write prescriptions for making YouTube videos. They’re great medicine for a broken heart. At first it was just for fun, and then we were invited to do a “dance-off” with ACDC (the Adam/Chu Dance Crew), so we became M & M Cru and made some videos. That was cool, and it was still just for fun, but it was also lots of work with lots of people. So when that ended, we just went back to the basics, the old Miley and Mandy show, just us, goofing off—answering viewer questions like who our favorite bands are, interviewing my dad and sister. Or making a video of Mandy watching the scary maze game (an online prank), and Mandy freaking out. That might be my favorite.

  My friendship with Mandy is more than videos and hanging out, of course. My little brother Braison is now way bigger than I am, and we had a huge fight, probably about something stupid like him giving me the wrong cell phone charger. Somehow it escalated to the point where he pushed me into the refrigerator and it actually hurt! I’m 5'4 and he’s 5'10. Thirteen years old and 5'10—can you believe it? He’s big. Anyway, I was pretty upset about the fight, and what I really want to say about Mandy is that I know if I need her, she’ll be there. If I need a friend at four in the morning, she’ll be there in five minutes, and she knows the same is true for me. Mandy is older than I am, so she helps me see a bigger picture. When I was upset about Braison, she came over and just stayed with me until I fell asleep. People might think it’s weird, that it’s too deep. But I think if you can’t count on a friend for that, it’s not a real friendship.

  We’re definitely going to have to make sure we line up boyfriends at the same time so we don’t suffer withdrawal from each other.

  Home Again

  I know it sounds unbelievable, but shooting the first Hannah movie was relaxing. Yes, it was a full-length feature film. No, I’d never had a leading role in a movie before. Yes, I was in almost every scene. Yes, sometimes I had to act, sing, and dance simultaneously in coordination with up to 1500 extras. But I’d just spent four months living in a bus, performing for several hours, and sleeping in a different city every night. Then I’d gone straight to recording my album, Breakout. After all that, coming back to Tennessee—home!—where the movie was being shot—well, it was just about the most relaxing thing I could have imagined.

  I slept every night at our farm in Franklin. My family was there. My animals were there. I could braid my horses’ tails and watch the chickens live a little bit of their dumb, sweet lives every morning. Nights when I got to watch the sunset I just sat there and thought, This is the biggest blessing. Forget the movie. Forget the crazy work schedule and media madness that led up to the movie. Forget the demands on my time. Forget getting up and thinking “I need to wear this to look good.” Forget the lack of privacy. When you’re alone in the middle of 500 acres, it’s all so far away. Nobody and nothing can get to you. It’s a slower life. When Emily came to visit, she said, “I can see why you never wanted to leave your farm. It’s so tranquil.” And Emily’s a city girl, through and through. Like I said: relaxing.

  My favorite thing to do when I’m at home in Franklin is to go out on long horseback rides with my dad, the way we always have. Sometimes it seems like our horses are especially careful with me. They walk more slowly. They watch for holes. They’ve tripped before, but never with me. I’ve been riding them since I was so young, it’s like they still think of me as a little girl who needs to be coddled. But during the movie, I was riding my horse Roam and he got startled by a snake in the grass. He spooked and started rearing and bucking.

  Have you ever been in a car accident? You know how it seems to go so slowly? How you have time to think a hundred things in two seconds? That’s how it was when Roam was bucking.

  This may sound obvious, but never let a horse fall on top of you. Horses are big animals. I don’t know, I figure some of our horses weigh a thousand pounds. I weigh around a tenth of that. Who’s gonna win? Who’s gonna hurt whom? It’s easy to yell, “No, Roadie!” at a little two-pound dog. You know you’re bigger and stronger. But when you’re riding a horse, you have to stay in charge even though he’s clearly the mightier beast. Even if you don’t get hurt in a fall, if he steps on you by accident—you’re a goner. My dad’s had his foot broken by a horse. He said it feels like a car rolling over your foot.

  All these thoughts flashed through my head as my horse jumped around and around. But I rode it out, rodeo style. (Wish the paparazzi had been there for that one!) I held on tight and stayed weirdly calm. I thought, This horse will not drop me. We love each other. He’s going to take care of me. He’s going to protect me. He won’t let me fall. Dad jumped off his horse and got me down as soon as Roam stopped kicking. Once my heart stopped racing, we headed back home. I didn’t mention my little adventure on the set the next day. Needless to say, the movie people would not have been psyched if I’d nearly gotten trampled.

  Oh, yeah—Emily’s visit. For two seasons of Hannah Montana, Emily and I had struggled to get along. But we never hated each other. Now here we were, shooting our movie in Tennessee. On one of our days off, she had nothing to do, so she came over to hang out.

  We went out on four-wheelers and drove out to a place on our property that we call the Shack. It’s a falling-apart house that is older than time. There’s antique junk everywhere—guns, medicine bottles, shoes. Emily and I crept up the rotting stairs, really carefully, holding hands. There had been a storm, and it seemed like the wind had blown up a whole new crop of treasures. There were bullets scattered across the floor. A column from an old newspaper
. An icebox. (I guess the wind didn’t stir that one up.)

  Then we saw something fuzzy in the corner. Two fuzzy things, in fact. At first they looked like baby dinosaurs. It was so wild in the Shack, I thought maybe they actually were baby dinosaurs. Or a cross between a duck and a raccoon. Duckoons. Then I remembered that once there had been a hawk or a turkey—some huge bird—nesting in the chimney. These were baby birds! Baby birds that looked like duckoons. Emily and I just stood there and watched them for a long time. We didn’t become blood sisters or swear best friends forever, but it was a great moment to share, away from the show and the movie and all the little squabbles we’d had. We rode home feeling the fresh air on our faces, and I could have sworn I felt something shift between us.

  The Climb

  When I read the script for the Hannah Montana movie, I was really happy. I didn’t want it to be like an extra-long episode of the TV show. A movie should go further emotionally (and plotwise) than a half-hour comedy. The script had more depth than anyone expected, just what I was hoping for. I felt like I got to do much more serious acting.

  During the TV series, I’d become more and more of a Method actor. In Method acting you use experiences from real life to summon emotions for your character. When you have to be sad, you think about things that upset you. I started talking about Hannah as if she were a real person, because I really thought of her that way. She existed in my mind. During the movie, when Hannah is kind of a brat, I acted a little like the bratty, fit-throwing Hannah when I went home. I mean, I didn’t exactly throw fits, but I was quiet and grumpy and exploring the character in my head. And then, in the movie, when Miley was herself again and is eating Southern food and hanging out with her grandmother, I did the same thing.