You always want what you can’t have

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I spend too much time looking at the past, and I really forget how good I have it.

Today was perfect. I slept in till 11:30, then sat and drank black coffee with an old friend for maybe an hour. (There’s nothing like a friend around whom you can look your absolute worst and yet not feel ugly.) I spent another hour on the phone with my best friend, sitting on the back deck while my cat played in the yard. I didn’t brush my teeth until 2:30 and it was GLORIOUS.

It reminded me of probably my favorite Easter to date — in 2002, when my roommate Paula and I went to church together in the morning, then cooked for a handful of our friends who hadn’t gone home for Easter. That was one of the most laid-back days when I was able to appreciate grace and good friends.

At some point in the past several years, I’ve developed an appreciation for diversity that I had never realized I lacked. Like that day in 2002, last night and today were filled with people … mostly people who aren’t like me in a lot of ways. And it’s … I don’t know, fulfilling somehow.

Heather and I were talking earlier about faith, and ways that we’ve both changed since college. I told her that faith (and thereby life) is much messier than I ever thought, but also so much more beautiful.

It’s just been one of those days where your emotions hover just below the surface, threatening to break through. I was on the verge of tears several times during church tonight … and I kept thinking about how poker, beer and friends (many that I barely know) somehow don’t seem like Easter … but how, at the same time, friendships somehow have a redemptive quality.

“No need to ask where other roads might have led, since they led elsewhere; for nowhere but this here and now is my true destination.” –Ruth Bidgood

Protected: Prettiest city in Alabam (password: my birthplace)

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The dream is this: I find a job in Birmingham. It’s enough to pay my bills on 40 hours a week, plus enough to save a little for retirement.

I move out of my grandmother’s house and into a Southside apartment with Katie. My family is all still within a half hour of me, and my 16-year-old cousin and I can have girly sleepovers with movies and chocolate chip cookie dough.

Living with Katie also means having a close friend down the hall. Susan (well, both Susans, actually) would be just 10 minutes away. Living in Southside means living in my church neighborhood and just over the mountain from my community group (as well as Anna, Jeff and Heath). It means walking to coffee or friends’ homes (maybe). It means deepening friendships and a short drive to work.

The reality is this: It’s not likely to happen, at least, not soon. The one Birmingham job I currently have a shot at is part time (which would be OK, but wouldn’t fulfill the dream. And, after reading the job description, I’m afraid I could be overqualified).

The dream is several years away still, and by then it will probably assume a different incarnation.

Still, it’s nice to dream.

I’m holding on underneath this shroud

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Death isn’t supposed to be scary when you’re a Christian – at least, I feel like it shouldn’t be. We have the promise of eternal life, that when life passes away, we’ll be with Jesus.

And that sounds good, and I do believe that. And yet, when someone I know dies, I find myself wondering: Are they really in a better place? Is there really life after death? Or is the end, the end?

Last summer I wrote two stories about Cassidy, a little girl who was battling a brain tumor. When I interviewed her mother for the first story, it was only days after Cassidy’s grandfather had died in a car accident on his way to visit the hospital. Talking to Suzie about her father’s death was the first time I interviewed someone after the death of a loved one. When I called the next month to schedule a follow-up interview, I heard Suzie’s husband, Sean, shouting in the background: “Be sure that CJ is the one who comes! I want to meet CJ!”

That was one of the best compliments of my career.

Cassidy and her family captured my heart. They entrusted me with sharing their story, which was at once heart-wrenching and hopeful. I got to see the community rally around the family and I saw how the family clung to their hope in Christ through their daughter’s illness.

Cassidy died Friday night. She was 6 years old.

I gasped (literally gasped) when I opened to her picture in the Birmingham News obituaries this morning. I’d kept up with Cassidy’s health in the seven months since she left the hospital using a Web site her family had set up. But I hadn’t looked in on her in several months, and had no idea that she had checked back in.

Among the many, many people thanked in Cassidy’s obituary, her family included The Tuscaloosa News. It amazes me that in what surely must be the toughest time of their lives, Suzie and Sean would think of what I wrote as a blessing. They, and their precious daughter, were the ones who blessed me.

Sleepy sweet home Alabama

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

On days like this, I feel more like a Floridian than an Alabamian. I’m wearing a short sleeve T shirt and my favorite hole-y jeans with the legs cuffed. I slipped on my pink Chucks when I left the house earlier, but now I’m sitting barefoot in my living room, enjoying the breeze from the open window.

But on days like this, when I’m sitting in front of a college football game, I realize I’m more an Alabamian than a Floridian.

As ESPN ran a montage of 2005’s greatest moments in college football, I searched out every shot of crimson and white I could spot. I beamed with pride as images of Brodie Croyle and Tyrone Prothro (the catch!) filled the screen.

And I gasped at the first image of a Seminole. I had forgotten that I have another team.

I know I should be ashamed. I am ashamed! I spent three and a half fantastic years at Florida State, and I enjoyed twice as many football seasons there as I did as a student at Alabama.

But my home’s in Alabama – and now, so are my driver’s license and voter registration. I’m not sure what is required to call yourself an Alabamian, but I’m here, and I am one.


Forgive me for blogging after the fact … I don’t have internet access at home, but I’ve been writing just the same. And I have a new year entry to make, it’s just still in my journal.

I’m wide awake, it’s morning

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

OK first off, there’s this adorable little redheaded girl at the next table over, and she is totally making me want to have children. I want redheaded babies, did I ever mention that? Or well, not necessarily babies, plural, but I’d like one.

That’s probably why I agreed to go out with that crazy redhead that one time, but well, crazy isn’t going to keep me around. After all, I’ve got redheads in my gene pool already.

But enough about the children that I’m not yet ready to have.

I’m soaking in the small town atmosphere in this random city I’ve found. My accent is thickening and I’ve been recognized several times. (Yes. Recognized. They ran our pictures with a short article about staffing changes the first Sunday I was here.) I’ve had senior citizens imply that they want to set me up (with who, I have no idea) and I’ve found every place with wireless internet access (I think).

And so far, I like it.

The novelty will wear off, I’m sure, and there will be days where I’m frustrated with the lack of anything to DO in this town. (Why do you think I’m sitting on the internet on a Friday night?) I’m already frustrated with the lack of furniture options. 🙂 (I’m sitting on the internet because I got tired of sitting on my living room floor.)

But it’s fun. It’s different, and it’s an opportunity — all the things I said it would be before I took the job. I’m still working with the future in mind, though I haven’t written anything that I’m too, too excited about just yet. But then, my first three assignments in Tuscaloosa were about a brick and mortar workshop, a college page story and an eight inch story about Stillman’s graduation. I feel comfortable with this start.

I could stand to find some friends, though.

I could spit on a stranger

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m a little late jumping on this bandwagon …

1.Choose a band / artist and answer ONLY in lyrics of THEIR songs:
Nickel Creek

2. Are you male or female:
You’re trying on a brand new dress
But you haven’t worn the old one yet

3. Describe yourself:
Standing on a darkened stage
Stumbling through the lines
Others have excuses, I have my reasons why

4. How do some people feel about you:
Gray is the color I see around her
She’s just a blur

5. How do you feel about yourself:
Hey what did I do?
I’ve spoken too soon

6. Describe your ex boyfriend / girlfriend:
Honey, I’m a prize and you’re a catch and we’re a perfect match
Like two bitter strangers

7. Describe current boyfriend / girlfriend *or lack thereof*:
Nobody’s happy while feeling alone

8. Describe where you want to be:
It’s foreign on this side but it feels like I’m home again
There’s no place to hide, but I don’t think I’m scared

9. Describe how you live:
You’ve got to chase a dream
One that’s all your own
Before it slips away

10. Describe how you love:
It’s not like I want to get married
I never asked you to kiss me
I just don’t want you to be sorry
You didn’t try

11. What would you ask for if you had just one wish:
I’m just happier being confused beside the fire, as long as it’s with you

12. Share a few words of wisdom:
Where can a dead man go?
A question with an answer only dead men know
But I’m gonna bet they never really feel at home
If they spent a lifetime learning how to live in Rome

Keep me responsible, be it a light or heavy load

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I have been thinking about some big words lately … words like redemption, and freedom, and community, and sanctification. And love, and sin. I could define them for you, and I think I’d probably do an OK job. (Words are my business, after all.) But when it comes down to reality, to life, I’m not always sure what they really mean.

I’ve only been a Christian for six years (just passed my anniversary this week — yes, I am the kind of person who keeps track of such things). But in my limited experience, it seems that the older I get, the more sinful I realize myself to be.

I don’t know whether that means I am more sinful than I was in college or if I’m just more realistic and honest. I tend to think it’s the latter, but it could be both, I don’t know. But it seems to be happening all around me — with my friends, with people I don’t really keep in touch with, with my co-workers.

Sometimes I’ll see someone else’s sin and recoil. I wonder how they could do that, and what’s gone wrong that led them to this point. I wonder how their walk with God is.

And then I look at my own life and realize how completely hypocritical I am.

I guess I always thought I was doing pretty well because so many of my pet sins are socially acceptable. I’m a workaholic in the making — many people would probably see that as an admirable thing. 😉 I’m a bit vain and totally self-centered. (I wish I weren’t self-centered.) But I don’t drink too much, I don’t steal, I don’t murder, I don’t sleep around, and somehow I think this makes me better.

One thing I love about my church (both here and in Birmingham) is that I’m repeatedly reminded of how fallen I am. I always have to laugh that the moment of silent confession is so short, because I have so, so much to confess.

But I am also reminded of Jesus’ grace.

We sang “Come Thou Fount” in church this morning, and it’s one of those that always gets me a little emotional. This verse is my favorite, and only increasingly so with each passing year.

Oh to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander, Lord I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts above

Protected: Even now in death, you open doors for life to enter

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Tuscaloosa decided to hire the other girl for the reporting position. I found out today, and just for the record, I am extremely proud of how professional I was when they told me. (I even smiled. Can you believe that?)

They said she had more “depth reporting” experience, and they really wanted that on this beat. (I haven’t read her stuff outside of the article she wrote on her interview and the stuff she did during her internship as our Washington correspondent, so I don’t know.)

Yeah, I’m irritated. I knew it was coming (I’m smart like that) but I’m irritated. And my first instinct is to turn in my two weeks notice, but I’m more rational than that. I do need to consider how long I want to stay here in a temp position doing something that I really don’t like (it’s hard to schedule job interviews around this crazy schedule, after all) but I’m not going to do anything rash and I’m really not going to do anything until after my interview in Texas next week.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, they DID tell me “well if you change your mind and decide you want to be a copy editor full time, let us know.” They keep RAVING about how good I am at it. (I’m actually a terrible copy editor, I’m a pretty decent designer I guess.) Whatever.

On with the show.

Wake me up when September ends

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m kind of a nostalgic girl anyway, but three random memories hit me today …

1. I’ve had a serious hankering to work in downtown Birmingham lately. I miss the thrill I got from walking down those busy streets on my lunch break. I always felt so metropolitan (OK, or like a little girl playing dress up) when I crossed to the AmSouth-Harbert Plaza for lunch and coffee. I loved browsing the library’s new books, arriving at the check-out counter with arms so heavy laden that I had to carry my loot back to work in a grocery bag.

And well, I miss the work too. I loved that magazine, loved my editor, loved the designers, loved the location, loved what I wrote about, loved getting to write …

Mmmm yeah. Getting to write.

2. The temperature has dropped slightly tonight. It’s not much, given that it’s still September and I live in Alabama, but it’s enough to build anticipation for the coming autumn. I left work for dinner tonight and walked through the parking lot with my eyes closed, inhaling the nearly-crisp air and imagining the trees changing colors.

(My executive editor walked by as I was doing this. I think he thought me a bit strange.)

As I circled through an off-ramp on my way back to work, I had a sudden flashback to an end-of-the-semester hayride and bonfire during my Florida State days. I can’t recall whether it was the end of my senior year or my last semester at FSU, when I was a grad student. All I can tell you is that it was deliciously cold and I was in a loner sort of mood.

I brought my roommate’s dog with me to the bonfire, providing a handy defense mechanism for those introverted moments. (When you’re busy chasing a dog, it’s easy to slip out of conversations unnoticed, or to avoid getting terribly deep with anyone.)

Come to think of it, I believe it was my last semester at FSU. I’m not sure why I was feeling so anti-social — I probably should have been soaking in all the people-time I could get. But maybe my departure was the cause of my melancholy.

3. As I neared the office, “Please” by The Kinleys came on the mixed tape I was playing. Every time I hear that song (which is, well, not terribly often) I recall the night I broke up with my first boyfriend.

We were sitting in my 1990 Honda Accord parked outside his house. I don’t remember why we got in the car, exactly, I only remember thinking that his mother probably thought we were making out instead of breaking up.

I don’t remember what was said or really much of how he reacted (though I know I was bawling and he tried to comfort me, even though he was the one being dumped). What stands out in my mind is “Please” trickling through the speakers … and although it’s a song about trying not to break up, it still reminds me of that night.

I think it’s kind of amazing that I still have a mixed tape from that long ago.

I knew that triple latte meant that Taylor loved me too

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Copy editing has sucked the life out of me.

I suppose I’ve adjusted a bit — I’m more cheerful around the newsroom than I was when I first began (10 weeks ago!). But the schedule continues to kill me, and I don’t make it any easier on myself by committing myself to these insane obligations.

I left work just before midnight Sunday. That’s an almost nightly occurence. But on that particular night, an hour-long drive to Birmingham awaited. (I needed to be in Atlanta the next day, and I figured I might as well make use of those too-wound-up post-work minutes by driving 60 miles closer to my destination.) I crashed at my aunt’s house around 1 a.m.

Morning came too quickly. After mashing snooze several times, I crawled out of bed at 6:12 a.m. and trusted a hot shower to bring me to a state suitable for driving.

That didn’t exactly work.

I fixed my hair and make up, then put my sweats and Virginia Tech t-shirt back on for the drive to the ATL. (Why get all sweaty and wrinkled in my cute interview clothes, right?) I stopped by O’Henry’s for coffee (in my O’Ho’s travel mug!) and a muffin, then set the cruise control for as fast as I could safely travel.

I didn’t feel awake until I crossed the Georgia state line. That’s probably not the safest way to drive.

I spent the day in Atlanta interviewing (one job, one informational) and hanging out with one of my college roommates. After dinner, she and I, and her husband, crashed on their cozy leather couches in front of several episodes of Friends. I fell asleep on the couch with a cat on my stomach before 9 p.m. Eastern.

Yeah. I was tired.

I moved to my bedroom and read a while before turning in for 10 luxurious hours of sleep. Then at 8:55 a.m. my alarm jerked me awake. For the second day in a row, I was confused as to where I was and why exactly I had to wake up. (That’s never a good way to start the day.)

This morning seems like days ago.

I tried the hot shower thing again, to no avail. I was clean but still exhausted (and battling a serious headache). After lunch with another friend, I grabbed a grande latte from Starbucks and headed out of town.

I finished the latte at about mile marker 198 in Alabama, and pulled off at exit 185 for another. (With that information, you’ll certainly understand the upcoming redesign and renaming of this blog.)

And at 2:30 central, I returned to Tuscaloosa and to work, where I quickly grabbed some painkillers and hot tea to keep me from dying at my desk.

I’m scattered and basically wandering through life in a daze right now. I’m not in a good place, but I’m not in a bad bad place, either.

I’m just burned out, and I don’t have energy for much more than watching Friends and drinking lots and lots of coffee.