Authors: Janet Jackson
True You (11 page)
In short, I had to move on.
The first thing I felt was vulnerability. I felt unprotected. My father is a strong man, and whatever differences I may have had with his management style, I had been comforted by his strength.
“You’re strong,” said Jimmy Jam, who was producing the record with Terry Lewis. “You’re stronger than you think you are.”
The move to Minneapolis tested that strength. I was happy to be pushed by Jimmy and Terry. I was also able to push myself.
On one level, for all my show business experience, I had been brought up and sheltered in the suburbs of Los Angeles. In Minneapolis, I encountered a whole set of new challenges. Some were not pleasant. At one point, I was stalked by a group of guys on the street.
I had been heading somewhere when I noticed them following me. They began to taunt me and I began to feel nervous. But instead of running, I turned and faced them. I backed them down. I had wanted to run, but something inside me wouldn’t let me do that. I had to confront them. It was a matter of self-respect and self-defense.
Those were the emotions I put into “Nasty” and “What Have You Done for Me Lately,” key parts of the suite of songs that became
Control
.
Through Jimmy, Terry, and the other people working on the record, I made new friends in Minneapolis. One boy was a teenager, as I was, and he saw me as a sister. I liked him a lot. We’d have lunch together and sometimes walk through one of the malls.
I’ll call him Todd. He was in his first year of college and was studying dance. He had recently gotten engaged to a girl back in his hometown. He described her as being “assertive.”
“You mean sexually?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“And that makes you uncomfortable?”
“I’d rather wait.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“She thinks there is. She says this is the move I have to make to prove that I love her and care.”
“And when she tells you that, what do you say?”
“That I’m not ready.”
“That sounds like a good answer. That sounds like you want to be serious about her before you have sex.”
“She says that the only reason I’m hesitating is because maybe I’m gay.”
“Is that true?”
“Maybe.”
A long silence followed before either of us said anything. Then Todd began to speak about his older brother, who had come out to his parents two years before. His parents had flipped out and disowned him. They were religious fundamentalists and convinced that their son would burn in hell. I remember Todd saying, “I don’t know which is the right move.”
We kept walking and I waited a minute or so before saying, “Maybe it isn’t a move at all. Maybe it’s just you being you. You need to take your time and figure out how you feel.”
“I feel a lot of different things,” he said.
“We all do.”
“And it’s hard to decide. It’s hard to say.”
“You don’t have to decide and you don’t have to say. It’s not like you have to make a declaration, especially since you aren’t sure. It’s complicated, and maybe it’s okay just to live with the complications the way they are. I know that’s uncomfortable.”
“Janet, I’m really afraid of what my girlfriend will say if I keep putting her off. And I’m also real scared of what my parents will say if I tell them I have these mixed-up feelings.”
“Sometimes parents are the right people to discuss our mixed-up feelings with, and sometimes they aren’t.”
“But I love my parents.”
“That still doesn’t mean that they’re the right people to hear what’s in your heart right now. They come from a different place and time.”
“I don’t want to disappoint them,” said Todd. “And I don’t want to disappoint my girlfriend.”
“I understand.”
“So what do you think I should do?”
We stopped walking and stood in front of a big department store. The mall was bustling. Everyone was in a hurry.
“I don’t know, Todd,” I said. “Maybe the best thing is just to wait awhile.”
The actual song on
Control
—“Let’s Wait Awhile”—was recorded before I met Todd. It’s a song that I wrote with no particular person in mind. But after that discussion, I connected that song to Todd and millions of young people who might need encouragement to think rather than act, to pause rather than move. This album was the first time I got to really put so many emotions and feelings into words. It was very personal. And people could feel that when they listened to it.
Around the time of
Control
, when I was breaking off my professional relationship with Joseph, I received a letter from a girl who had liked
Janet Jackson
and
Dream Street
.
Dear Janet,
I think of us as friends, even though I know we’re not. You’re an imaginary friend, and that’s good enough for me. We have a lot in common. We’re about the same age
and we both have older brothers who made big successes of themselves. One of my brothers is a heart surgeon; another is a professional athlete; and another runs a bank. There’s a twelve-year gap between them and me. I’m the baby of the family. Our father is a military man and, as a child, we’ve lived all over the world—Japan, Germany, England, and about six different American cities. Living on an army base is strange, and living with a military dad is even stranger. It isn’t that he doesn’t love his children. He does. He loves us all very much. But he sees us as soldiers. He’s our commander. He gives instructions that we must follow to the letter. If we don’t, the penalties are really severe. He even treats Mom that way. Sometimes I wish she would disobey him—just so I could see what would happen—but she never does. She’s afraid. So am I. And so are my brothers. They’re all doing exactly what he told them do. We all have to be the best at what we do—and that’s probably a good thing.
Except that I don’t know what I’m really good at. My dad tells me I need to be a teacher and become the principal of a high school or the president of a college. I get good grades in school, but I’m not sure I even want to be a teacher. I’m good at drawing and am thinking of being an illustrator. Dad doesn’t like that idea. If I date a boy my dad doesn’t think has a future, my future with that boy is over before it begins. Or if I do find someone I like who passes Dad’s test, next thing I know Dad is announcing that we’re moving to a new base.
The strange part is that I actually like moving. It’s been amazing to live in these different countries and cities. I’ve learned a lot about people and culture. I realize that I’m lucky to have these experiences and try not to take them for granted. I know that they’ve helped shape my life in a good way. But I also realize that every time we move, I leave a little piece of myself behind. There’s a teacher I love that I’ll never see again. There’s a group of girls who were hard to get to know, and after getting to know them and forming a bond, I’m leaving. I’m always leaving and I’m always arriving and I’m always starting over again.
The friends I get to take with me are your records and a few books by the writers that I like. That’s why I’m writing you. Whenever I move, I know I’ll gain something, but I also know that I’ll lose something as well. Do you use understand? I have a feeling you do.
I do understand. Moving beyond my father’s reach was probably the most difficult thing I ever did. He had done so many good things for me. I also respected his discipline and sense of devotion to his children. Part of me didn’t want to move to Minneapolis to make this record. But a stronger part of me—the part of me that realized I had to be my own person—managed to prevail. I thought I needed to take control.
I had been making small steps toward my independence for a little while. I remember when I bought my first car. I really wanted a jeep, like my brother Randy. My parents, especially Mother,
insisted that I get a Mercedes. They saw it as heavier and safer. I went along. I was grateful to be able to drive such a luxurious car, but the car didn’t fit who I was.
There were many wonderful rules in my family that I appreciate more today than I did at the time. We were given a sense of responsibility. One of the rules was that you had to be eighteen to have a car and you had to buy your own. Many of the kids I went to school with were given Porsches, Mercedes, and BMWs at the age of sixteen, as soon as they were able to drive. Then and now, I’m grateful that my family instilled in me the desire to work for and earn what was mine. I admit that it sometimes makes it hard for me to receive gifts. I’m more comfortable giving than receiving.
So much of my life is in my music and my videos. If you watch the long-form video of “Rhythm Nation,” you’ll see me getting out of a jeep and going to the club. That was actually my car at the time. By now I had sold the Mercedes and finally got the car that I truly wanted. I was in control.
I remember driving with my brother Mike in his first car, a Rolls-Royce. Mike reminded me of the family rule and said I would want my own car and independence when I turned eighteen, so I should make sure I saved my money.
My brother and I had a deep talk that day about a lot of serious subjects, and he gave me some advice. I wondered aloud when the world might end. Mike said we will never know when that day is coming and we should move ahead with our dreams and life goals. After that conversation with my brother, I knew that at some point I had to take control of my own life. That was a life-changing moment for me. I would have to be completely and totally responsible for me.
Control
was the fulfillment of my very first dreams. I had finally achieved my independence. Years earlier I first heard the Time in concert. In the band were Jimmy Jam, Terry Lewis, Jellybean Johnson, Jesse Johnson, Morris Day, Jerome Benton, and Monte Moir. My mom was sitting next to me and saw how excited I was by the show. These guys weren’t funky; they were
super-funky
, and brilliant musicians to boot. I fantasized about singing with a group like that.
When I got to Minneapolis, these were the guys I got to work with. I was completely comfortable because, in many ways, they reminded me of my brothers. They were good-natured and lived for music. Today when I watch the videos I made for
Control
, I remember being so energized by this new direction. I loved the new music and the new, independent life I was leading.
The success of
Control
was wonderful. The record was an international hit. My popularity soared, and I was suddenly seen as an artist in my own right, distinct from my family’s success. I was gratified. But I was still under the illusion that total control was possible. This is the more complex part of the story.
Gaining artistic and management control was vital to me then and still is now. Working with Jimmy and Terry, I was passionate in writing songs, lyrics, telling my own story, and finding my own voice. I had to do that apart from my past. And yet, as I would soon see, none of us is really in control. If we continue to grasp for absolute control, we’re going to end up in greater frustration and eventually in anger and even rage.
I’m still attracted to control, but I also know that an attraction can become an addiction. The more I have, the more I want. Just
as there is no drink that will set the alcoholic free, no drug to liberate the junkie, there is no amount of control that will satisfy that kind of freak.
Only God is in total control.
Not me, not you, not anyone.
We make plans. We rehearse. We prepare. We seek good advice from good advisers. We organize our lives to maximize our potential. We seek to change in positive ways. We seek to grow.
And then here comes reality. Here comes an unexpected turn of events. A storm. A sickness. A betrayal. A promotion. We find a lost treasure. We lose a treasured friend, or a sister, or a brother. Our career soars, or our career sags.
We work to do the best we can and be the best we can. But can we control it all?
We can’t. And when we finally stop trying, we realize the benefits of relaxation, acceptance, and peace of mind.
In many ways, whether
in control or not, I was still
preoccupied about body
rather than soul. I knew
that had to change.
