Dear 1997 Me,
You didn’t know it then, but pressing play on your silver 3-disc changeable CD player and hearing the opening piano of Quit Playin’ Games (With My Heart) would start a love story that would span decades…DECADES. A love not just for music, but for connection, growth, and a kind of loyalty only the heart of a teenage girl could ignite, and only the soul of a grown woman could sustain.
Back then, we fell hard. Not just for the harmonies or the choreography, but for them: five boys with soft smiles, matching outfits, and the kind of charm that made you tape every MTV appearance and memorize every word of every song on the imported Backstreet’s Back album you had to dig through Tower Records to find. They were perfect in your eyes. Untouchable. Larger than life.
You thought you loved them then.
But oh, how that love has evolved.
You loved Nick’s boyish grin and AJ’s edgy style because it gave you butterflies. But now you love Nick’s openness, his commitment to growth and family, the way he has fought to become more than the boy on the magazine covers. And AJ is no longer just the rebel; he is a man who has faced darkness and chosen light, showing that recovery, vulnerability, and balance are forms of strength. You have seen Brian’s quiet perseverance, the way he has navigated challenges with faith and humor. You have admired Howie’s steadiness, kindness, and the way he radiates gratitude for every moment. And Kevin, the calm and grounded leader, has shown what it means to stay true to your values while embracing each chapter of life with grace.
They have shown us their human side, the mess, the healing, the becoming, and in doing so, they have mirrored our own journeys.
They are no longer trying to fit the mold the world made for them. They have reclaimed their voice, their direction, their purpose. And you have done the same. Just like them, you grew up and made bold choices about your career, your values, your identity. You stopped conforming to expectations and started listening to your own inner compass.
Back then, we were wide-eyed fans, dreaming of what it might feel like if they knew us. Let’s be real, dreaming of what it would be like if they looked in our direction…Now, through social media, concerts, and immersive fan experiences, they do know us. Golfing with Nick, enjoying a foreign cuisine with Howie, even chatting about personal achievements with Kevin…We are no longer just girls in the crowd. We are mothers, professionals, artists, caretakers, and they see that. We see ourselves reflected in them as they balance their families, careers, and the people they are behind the scenes.
And in this journey, you gained something you never could have imagined in 1997. You gained friendships that would last a lifetime. The fandom brought people into your life who understand your excitement when a new song drops, who share the rush of concert days, who have become your travel buddies, your support system, your sisters. The best part of these friendships? These people see you for YOU. Gone are the days of teenage shame and hiding your true self. You can lean on these friends for real-life needs, vent about work, cry about loss. It is more than music now; it is community.
I still remember going to my first Millennium concert as a young pre-teen girl, clutching my printed ticket and my disposable camera, screaming along to every word, feeling like nothing in the world could top that moment. I remember the glow sticks, the signs, the way the air felt electric when the boys flew in on surfboards. I remember thinking it was the best night of my life.
And now, here we are, on the cusp of Millennium 2.0 opening this week, buzzing with anticipation in a way that feels both nostalgic and brand new. I still remember lining up overnight on the sidewalk to buy tickets for the first Millennium concert, heart pounding, freezing but alive, clutching those seats in the seventh row of the first deck, thinking it was as close as I would ever get. Now, I am getting ready to step into that general admission pit, feet planted just a breath away from the stage, closer than I ever imagined possible in 1997.
And this time, I get to take my children to the show. I get to watch their faces light up, see their eyes widen when the lights go down, feel the beat of the music with them by my side. It feels like the most beautiful full circle, a chance to share a piece of what has brought me so much joy, strength, and comfort with them, showing them what it looks like to hold on to the things that make your soul light up.
The excitement is still there, but it is deeper now, layered with gratitude for how far they have come and how far I have come too. We have both earned the right to stand here, fully present, ready to sing along to every word, holding on to the joy that teenage me first discovered.
We once dreamed of backstage passes and fairy tale moments. Now we dream of connection, authenticity, and the power of music to ground us in who we truly are. And somehow, the Backstreet Boys are still part of that dream, only richer and more real.
To my younger self, thank you for falling in love. For staying up late, for rewinding cassettes, for watching the VHS tapes until you had to get a replacement after wearing them out, for writing their names in the margins of your notebooks. That passion built the bridge to now.
And to the woman I have become, thank you for letting that love evolve, for letting it grow with you. Because it turns out, the Backstreet Boys were never just a phase. They were part of your story. And it is a story we are still writing.
See you in the pit.
Forever and always,
The grown-up girl who still knows all the words