I'll never forget watching the video to "...Baby One More Time" for the first time. It was so new. So fresh. So darn catchy. And while I soon overdosed on peppy pop and moved on to acoustic guitars and a man known as Bono, I've always had a bit of a soft spot for the schoolgirl with fuzzy scrunchies in her pigtails. It's been ten years. I feel old.
Last night, I inadvertently got sucked into the completely unrevealing quasi-doc "Britney: For the Record." As she quote-unquote opened up for the interviewers and gave us a peak into her personal world, I felt uneasy. It was so orchestrated. So out of her hands. This was a management move. She doesn't have her kids, control of her estate, or even the privilege of going on a date without a chaperone. She went along with the game, smiling as she gave the responsible, grownup answers. She's back in fine form. She's tough. She will survive.
And then she broke. For only a second or two. Her voice wavered. She looked into a lens and cried for help.
I almost cried for Britney Spears last night.
Bebo Norman, always reading my mind, wrote her a song.* It's gorgeous and haunting and optimistic and completely uncomfortable to listen to.
I've called a stranger a trainwreck. I've rolled my eyes at a broken heart. I've both told the lies and bought into them. And perhaps I've failed her.
Britney, I'm sorry.
*The video IS NOT an official video. A fan used his song to make their own tribute to Spears. See him play it live here.
I want to be Bebo Norman when I grow up. And when I learn to play the guitar.