This day’s been crazy but everything’s happened on schedule

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I don’t have much to say. I just really wanted to use that subject line. 🙂

I had a good, albeit exhausting and discombobulated, day. I switched from reporting to the copy desk this week. (For those of you non-journalists, that means instead of writing, I’m editing for style and grammar as well as designing pages.) The hours are 2:30 – 11:30 p.m., so when I woke up this morning, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. Somewhere along the way I’ve become a morning person, so right now my poor little body is utterly confused.

But a cup of coffee (O’Henry’s African roast) brought me to life. I had lunch with Kate at Cobblestone – it was good to get to know her a little more and to talk about all sorts of things, past and present and possibly future. Hopefully we can do that again. I think we have a lot in common!

Then it was back to work. I am enjoying learning all this stuff, but wow oh wow, I’m exhausted right now. It doesn’t help that I’ve had tummy problems all day, either. 😛 In any case, I think my pages for tomorrow look lovely, even if no one else will pay them any mind.

They’re already asking me if I want to stay on the copy desk permanently (and already realizing that my heart is really in writing). I mean, it’s hard to say after only two nights… but the hours are not my style, how do you have a life outside the newsroom? How do you have friends who have normal jobs? I don’t get that. But this is definitely something I want to learn… I just don’t anticipate falling in love with it. I mean, I’ve been obsessed with writing for almost 15 years.

Crappy crap crap. I just realized I can’t go to RMC on Sunday. I have to WORK.

For now, I think I’ll drift to sleep with the sounds of RMC in my ears…

“How full of doubts I live, though full of grace thou art”

She’ll let you in her heart if you’ve got a hammer and a vice

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I spent a lot of time this weekend with two of my favorite Florida State alumni, and a good deal of that time was spent discussing what we (well, what one of us) want out of life. Heather is trying to decide what’s next for her (besides living in Starkville), and in doing that she’s weighing how those options affect “the rest of her life” — marriage, kids, that kind of thing.

It’s hard to plan around something that you don’t have, though.

Anyway, that got me thinking — what do I want out of my life? That’s a hard question to answer at 24… sometimes I still feel like a little kid! But here’s a laundry list of things that crossed my mind:

Marriage (someday)
A kid or two
A pug (Emma needs a playmate)
Maybe write a book (non-fiction)
Learn how to play guitar
Get a job in Birmingham (that’s on the list to do within the next five years)
Visit a total of 25 states before I turn 25 (I’m at 21 and I have 11 months and two weeks to go… anyone up for a road trip?)
Buy a house and paint the kitchen red
Learn how to grill (although my current method of making guys do it has proven successful in the past)
Freelance enough to actually make a little bit of money off of it
Go to another country
Enjoy my career — and I won’t be any more specific than that at this point, ’cause I don’t really know where it’s going
Buy a kayak or canoe
Go back to Arizona
Develop deep relationships with fellow believers (that’s sort of a continual thing)
Take dance classes
Fully enjoy my 20s for all they’re worth, crazy as they seem (that’s a short term goal all right!)
Learn about national politics enough to make informed decisions
Visit my parents more often
Learn how to diagram a sentence
Put money into a 401(k)
See my little brother grow up (I like watching my sisters grow up too, but they’re a LOT closer in age to me!)

…I think that’s enough goals for now…

Some things you want will just never be right

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I left my parents’ house in 1999, and never once have I been nostalgic for Jacksonville. I wish my parents lived closer to me, of course. (Mom just can’t seem to convince Dad that Birmingham is the place to be!) But I left that city without a glance back.

It seems strange, then, that visiting Birmingham feels like coming home. I realize my roots here don’t run deep — I lived in the ‘ham only eight months before moving back to Disgustaloosa. I don’t have the sort of network of friends here that I have in other places (that is, ridiculously deep and connected).

But man, does it feel good to be back, even for a weekend.

I went to a Barons game last night, just for something different. (We got our butts kicked, but that’s another subject I think.) Then I spent today at coffee shops — three of them, actually. My aunt and I took up space in a couple different Starbucks, then I had some much valued CJ-time at O’Henry’s.

Then it was to my much-missed, dearly-loved RMC for church. I’ve enclosed the prayer we used for confession at the end here… it was like a punch to the stomach. Oof.

I watched daylight fade to dusk on the deck of this amazing house atop one of the “mountains” in town, then spent the next hour transfixed by the city lights and enjoying conversation of friends as it swirled about me. It was so good to see my community group again, to get caught up on what’s happening in people’s lives and to just hang out. I love those guys!

As I sit now in my old room at my grandmother’s house, I feel kind of like I’ve returned to my high school bedroom. I know I was way out of high school when I lived here, and like I said, it wasn’t for that long… but it’s just comfortable, y’know? A lot of my stuff is here — I’ll even be sleeping on my own sheets tonight!

I don’t know where I’m going, only from where I’ve come… and it is a road lined with fond memories and friendships, even amid the potholes and confusion. My God is good.

Our Father, though we take your name on our lips, our hearts are far from you. The words we speak are untrue. When we say “yes,” we don’t mean “yes,” and when we say “no,” we don’t mean “no.” We like to think well of ourselves, and yet we are finding that our hearts are laced with self-protection, malice and deceit. O Lord, for the sake of your name, do not remember us according to our sins, but according to your great love.

When it gets cold outside and you’ve got nobody to love…

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m in a good mood today.

It’s funny, or perhaps pathetic, how much circumstances really affect my mood. It hasn’t been that long since I was keeping track of my mood in my planner, since I discussed how a day can go quickly sour for no apparent reason. And, okay, I know I still have those days. I think I always will, I think it’s just part of being the slightly-insane CJ that I am.

Lately, those days have come most frequently on the weekends. I get lonely sometimes, you know? But I’ve done a very good job of staying busy over the past couple of weeks. The other night I was on the phone with my friend Josh, who also just moved to a new place, and we celebrated the fact that we both have weekend plans. We were very proud of ourselves for not being complete losers. 🙂

I exaggerate, I know. I don’t actually think I’m a loser (well, maybe I do one day out of each year–but not in general).

But as I was saying, today is a good day. I’m on day two of a four day weekend, and that feels awfully nice. I didn’t do much of anything yesterday. I was going to be productive, but I ended up having coffee with Jordan instead. Then last night I stayed home alone with my cat and the dog and just relaxed. I cleaned my room, did some laundry, read a bit… it was nice.

Today, and probably the rest of the weekend, won’t be so low-key. I’m going to the lake with some work friends this afternoon, then to BIRMINGHAM (like that’s unusual!) for some baseball this evening. (Watching, not playing. Of course.)

And just in case you forgot, my birthday is Tuesday.

I might write something coherent soon… but today I’m just in a stream-of-consciousness rambling state of mind.

I mistake my happiness for blessing

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ve become pretty crap about actually talking about how I feel or what’s going on inside my mind. My standard response as of late has been, “Oh, I’ve just been working.” And y’know, that’s part true–work has consumed most of my waking hours and thoughts over the past six weeks. But that’s really another story.

Seriously though, the other night I was in a room of people who were discussing church and what they’d been thinking about to that end recently. And I had thoughts to share but I decided not to. Why? I’m not really sure why, except I guess I kind of thought, “Well, I just met them, maybe they don’t care what I think.” But that’s really stupid because they’re nice girls and generally if you’re talking about something, don’t you want to hear what other people have to say on the matter? (I guess it could also be because I was pretty tired. 🙂 )

I was thinking about all of this last night while I was driving home from the outlet mall in Bessemer. (Again, that’s another story. I’m not really sure why I went, since I didn’t buy anything. But drive time is good thinking time.) For some reason as I was walking to my car, I nearly burst into tears. I was reminiscing on things that happened several years ago and I just got emotional.

When I got to my car, I let the tears flow and I popped in a Caedmon’s mix I made years and years ago. (Well… actually, about the time I was thinking about that got me crying in the first place. Which, by the way, doesn’t make any sense. Do you ever cry without knowing why? I do, about one day a month, so I’m pretty comfortable with it. Sometimes you just need a good cry I guess!)

So there I was, flying down I-20/I-59 with tears alternately pouring down my cheeks and drying up, depending on which song was on. I listened to “Somewhere North” for the first time in AGES and it made me BAWL. I hate that song for that reason, it always makes me sad. By the time I got to “Thy Mercy” and “I Boast No More” I was grinning like a maniac…

Because the truth is, I try to be perfect, and really my motivation is because I want CJ to be perfect. It has very little to do with God. But He accepts me even in my self-righteousness and pride and stubborness. I think I can make it on my own, which is probably why I go through these phases where I refuse to talk about my emotions. But I can’t, because I pretty well suck on my own. Okay, I guess it depends on who you’re comparing me to; I’m not a “horrible person,” but stacked up next to Jesus I’m pretty crap. (Why do I use that word so much? It’s so ugly! But it fits here.)

I’m not sure why I’m vomiting all this in an online journal, because while I was doing all this thinking last night, I thought “maybe I should tell people what I’m thinking/feeling instead of saving it for a long blog post.” But I’m home alone this weekend and so here I go anyway. I think I’m going to try to stop doing this, though. Well. Not that I’ve been doing it that much lately anyway.

Okay, and I’m going to leave you with these lyrics, because this is where I am today. And I don’t care that it’s a country song sung by an American Idol contestant. I LOVE IT. So there.

Sometimes I feel like I need
To shake myself
To wake myself
I feel like I’m just sleepwalkin’
Through my life
It’s like I’m swimming through
An ocean of emotion
But still somehow slowly
Goin numb inside
I dont like who I’m becomin’
I know I’ve gotta do somethin’
Before my life passes right by

I want to cry like the rain
Cry like the rain
Shine like sun on a beautiful mornin’
Sing to the heavens like the church bells ringin’
Fight with the devil and go down swingin’
Fly like a bird,roll like a stone
Love like I aint afraid to be alone
Take everything that this world has to give
I want to live

Sometimes I wonder
Why I work so hard to guard my heart
Till I hardly feel anything at all
I’ve spent my whole life building up this ivory tower
And now that I’m in it, I keep wishing it would fall
So I could feel the ground beneath me
Really taste the air im breathin’
And know that I’m alive

Somethin deep inside
Keeps sayin
Life is like a vapor
Its gone in just a blink of an eye

I want to take every
Breath I can get
I want to live

Everybody’s waiting for me to fall

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I recently ran into someone who always made me feel dowdy and unsophisticated. I’ve always been a little self conscious about my appearance… guys used to make fun of me all the time in high school, and people used to tell me it must be difficult being best friends with someone who was as beautiful as my best buddy was. I always felt like second fiddle.

Well, when I ran into this particular person, they said, “You look great as usual.” This person then turned to the friend I was with and added, “CJ always looks great no matter what. The girl can eat anything and not gain a pound.”

So it was a relatively insignificant encounter, a relatively meaningless statement… but as I left the restaurant that evening, I thought about how much more self confident I’ve become in even the two years since I first met that person.

Part of that is probably because I’ve adopted some of the “cultural norms” of this crazy state. It’s a subtle thing, but I don’t think I dress quite as casually as I did when I first moved here. I probably wear more make up. I’m generally a little prissier, a little girlier… I guess I’m a Bama girl, at least nominally.

But I hope there’s more to my new-found confidence than physical changes. I think I’ve become more generally accepting of my quirks and my personality than I used to be. I’m more focused on my goals in life and less on trying to fit someone else’s ideals. I think I’m kind of a “grown up”–at least, as much as someone who uses the term “grown up” can be. 😉

I still get freaked out when boys tell me I’m hot, though… even if they are junior highers. 😛

Nobody’s happy while feeling alone

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

There are plenty of reasons why I claim Nickel Creek’s “Reasons Why” as my favorite song and one of the songs that tells the most about my life.

I realize it’s kind of a depressing way to describe yourself–read the lyrics for yourself if you don’t know what I mean. And I know I’m mostly a pretty cheerful, upbeat kind of girl. But I have probably more than my share of melancholy moments, and when they come I turn into little miss “woe is me.”

Sometimes I think that’s pretty normal for this stage of life. I’m in my early (almost mid!) twenties and I’m as far from being “settled” as I ever have been. Most days that doesn’t bother me (too much).

But then those moments of discontent come along. Yesterday was that kind of day… sometimes I get in a funk because there’s no one around, but then I’m in such a poopy mood that I don’t want to hang out with anyone. It’s pretty self-defeating and irrational.

My temporary employment is up in three weeks and I don’t know what’s in store next. (I know God’s in control, but that doesn’t mean I always live as though I believe it. So thanks for the reminder, but I haven’t forgotten. 😉 ) I have mixed feelings on the future. On the one hand, I have enjoyed working at the paper. If they offer me a full time job, I might have to take it.

On the other, I really don’t like this city. I know it took me a while to get used to living in Birmingham, too, but I never disliked Birmingham. I was just lonely. I don’t know if I could get used to living here again… maybe I could. But if I had to choose between employment here or there, the job would have to be pretty good to keep me here.

Of course, at this point that’s just wishful thinking… the employer’s aren’t exactly lining up outside my door. I guess I’ll just wait and see…

You can’t jump the track
We’re like cars on a cable and life’s like an hourglass glued to the table,
No one can find the rewind button girl
So just cradle your head in your hands
And breathe
–Anna Nalick

Protected: I’m a part of that… aren’t I?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The first reporting class I took in j-school was JN311, Intro to Reporting. It was mostly what you’d expect of an introductory course: we covered the five W’s and H, made mention of AP style and were required to do some reporting and writing in a lab setting.

But one day’s lesson stood out. In the second half of the semester we talked about disaster coverage. That sort of situation is exactly why I didn’t want to work at a newspaper–you never know when you’ll be called into a delicate situation, when you’ll be interviewing people whose relatives have just passed away.

Our guest speaker that day was (if I remember correctly) an editor from the local paper. Roughly three years earlier, a significant tornado had hit the city and one of the paper’s photographers was among the first on the scene. The speaker recounted the photographer’s experience as he captured this news-worthy but oh-so-delicate event.

My assignment yesterday wasn’t quite a natural disaster in the sense that a tornado is, but it was the first time I’ve interviewed someone days after they’ve lost a family member. I went through the motions of reporting in something of a haze–I wanted to take down every piece of information I was able and to retell the story for the public, but I wanted to do so with gentleness and respect.

My 25 inch (or roughly 800 word) story ran on the front page of our local section today. I poured all I could into recounting the events of this local family: the granddaughter has been in the hospital with cancer (oh, just visit https://sideeffectsofxarelto.org! its so sad to hear about that kind of drugs), and on Sunday night her grandparents and younger brother were in a car accident while travelling to see her. The grandfather was killed instantly and the grandmother is in critical condition. The boy survived without injury.

I blinked back tears as I met friends of the family and wrote the story yesterday… and again today as I began to receive phone calls and e-mails from readers.

As much as I love magazines, as much as I love a good clip… my life and my work are not about me.

What’s the use in all these words

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I clean out my CD collection periodically. I guess part of my obsessive nature is that I don’t like to hang on to music that I don’t really listen to. The money I get for selling them is only a fraction of what I paid, but I take it as the price I pay for impulse buys.

Keane is a good example… I love “Somewhere Only We Know” and my friends raved about them, so I grabbed the disc for $8.99 at Target. But I wasn’t impressed, and I already had the aforementioned single on a Paste sampler, so $3 was worth more to me than a CD I wouldn’t really play. Off they went to my used store of the month.

Today is another clean out, mostly prompted by an upcoming Chuck Klosterman book. But even though there are several discs I rarely play, some of them retain too many fond memories to sell.

Most of my Caedmon’s Call catalogue falls into that category. I never listen to In the Company of Angels, and I skip more than half of the tracks on Back Home. (I rarely even play 40 Acres, and it’s my favorite!)

I feel like I should load my favorite tracks onto iTunes and get rid of the hard copies. Besides the questionable ethics of that, I just can’t abandon the albums. I bought ITCOA after I fell for Caedmon’s. It was summer 2002 and I was stuck on a lonely mountain in southern California. Few of the songs resonated with me, but those that did, I loved deeply.

Robinella & the CC String Band are probably on their way to a new home, charming as I do find their album. The fact is, I never listen to it and the memory it elicits is a particularly bad (though now irrelevant) one. “Man Over” is my favorite track but it also reminds me of the tears I shed over someone’s drunkenness. That’s not something I want around.

Underneath this age is the heart of a child

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

It’s been three years since I graduated from FSU. I remember much of that day vividly, though I really didn’t journal about it. I remember crying when Philip and Stacy left my house the night before because I didn’t know what to expect of our still-young friendships. I remember pulling over on my way to Schoolfield’s graduation party and crying off my make up. I was suddenly unsure about the early graduation I’d so long anticipated. I remember an early dinner at Carraba’s and running from Wescott to the Civic Center after taking pictures. I remember the blisters that made for a painful walk across the stage. I remember a half-hearted visit to Stetson’s.

Then just as quickly as it began, it was over. I was a college graduate, young and uncertain of what was next. I had a graduate school acceptance on one hand and a whole lot of nothing on the other.

I don’t remember when I decided not to go to Alabama, though I remember the fear and self consciousness that held me back. And I can still vividly recall the night when I began to reconsider that decision.

I’d been a graduate for almost six months by then—I was actually one day shy of that anniversary. I knew I couldn’t stay in my current master’s program. I was clinging to memories that had passed and friendships that were changing.

Against that backdrop, a stranger innocently asked why I hadn’t gone to Alabama. Though I risk crediting that simple question with too much power, it was then that I began to take slow, tentative steps toward Tuscaloosa.

It was in a coffee shop in that small Southern city that I celebrated the first year I’d held a bachelor’s degree. That degree hadn’t gotten me far at that point—I hadn’t even decided yet to enroll in the master’s program from which I would eventually graduate. But I was finally at a point where I was willing to take risks (however small). I was only 21 years old.

I guess I have grown up a bit in the years since my college graduation. I’m more confident in my relationships. My friends are still terribly important to me, but I don’t base major life decisions on them anymore. Though they do provide a sense of security, I’ve seen how my relationships grow, change and encourage me regardless of what city and state I call home.

Now I have a master’s degree. I guess that’s the most obvious difference, but its significance is more in the gamble and passion that earned it than in the degree itself. Student loans and writing at the risk of rejection aren’t what most thrill seekers pursue, but they were big steps for a little girl who thought she had life planned out at age 20.

I’m where I dared to dream I’d be. When I took the GRE with little preparation and a runny nose, it was with the hope of earning an education and a job in Sweet Home Alabama. On this day three years ago, I was scared to take that chance.

I think the 20-year-old me would be proud of who her 23-year-old self has become.