All work and no play …

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m in the process of becoming trained as a yoga teacher, and the nine-month-long training includes writing a number of papers. I’ll post them here because, well, that’s what I do. The fifth writing assignment was a reflection on the book “Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are” by Brene Brown.

Earlier today I read a blurb for a New York Times story that grabbed my attention: “One of the biggest complaints in modern society is being overscheduled, overcommitted and overextended. Ask people at a social gathering how they are and the stock answer is ‘super busy,’ ‘crazy busy’ or ‘insanely busy.’ Nobody is just ‘fine’ anymore.” Because I was in the middle of five or six other things, I bookmarked the article to read later.

I’m a goal-oriented, driven people pleaser, and as a result I tend to overcommit myself. Many times those commitments are to good things, things I’m excited to do. But those obligations often steal my joy. I’m more focused on completing the task than I am on enjoying the process.

So as I read Brene Brown’s words about cultivating both play and rest, I was reminded of how quick I am to skew priorities. Much as Brown and her family prioritize sleep, time together, meaningful work and time to piddle, I recognize that my life is much more satisfying when those things take precedence. But I also keep a goals sheet that I refer to frequently.

These things aren’t necessarily counterproductive; most of my goals are directly tied to satisfying work. There was a time when I walked away from my lifelong dream of becoming a professional writer. After two years of putting that goal aside, I realized how much less myself I felt. Pursuing that work is an important part of me. f I were to emulate the Brown family’s “ingredients for joy and meaning” list, that would be near the top.

The danger is when I allow the work to crowd out other, sometimes even more important, ingredients. I’ve realized that in recent years, and my 30s have so far been focused on striving for a more balanced life with more thoughtfully drawn boundaries. Simultaneously, I’m learning that imperfection is OK. Perfection is a myth, a standard that isn’t humanly possible. By allowing myself to let go of others’ expectations for what I should do or who I should be, I’m better able to take ownership of my goals, my time and my life.

What I’m writing: August 2014

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

These are stories I wrote that were published this month.

FROM THE ARCHIVES: The Never-Ending Season: Devoted football fans are Finebaum’s business

finebaum 07This is a repost of a story that originally appeared in the July 2007 issue of Birmingham magazine. Dick Coffee Jr. hasn’t missed an Alabama game since 1946. Hunter Finch tells himself that Auburn players can hear his voice above the din in Jordan-Hare Stadium. UAB graduate Jeremy Harper says the least a fan should do is become a season ticket holder.

Paul Finebaum may not know these men as individuals, but he’s well acquainted with their kind. Read more “The Never-Ending Season” at bhammag.com.

Riding the Rising Tide: Paul Finebaum’s career trajectory has carried him from newspaper reporter to ESPN commentator

finebaumWhen Paul Finebaum came to town in 1980 as a Birmingham Post-Herald sports reporter, he had little idea of where his career would carry him. After decades as a newspaper reporter, columnist, syndicated sports talk radio host and author, this month Finebaum will be part of the launch of ESPN’s SEC Network on both television and radio. Nearly simultaneously, HarperCollins will publish “My Conference Can Beat Your Conference,” co-written with ESPN’s Gene Wojciechowski. The book focuses on the Southeastern Conference’s dominance and the 2013 season in particular. Read more “Riding the Rising Tide” at bhammag.com.

2 a.m. at the Cat’s Pajamas: A 10-year-old chases her jazz club dreams

cats pjsIt’s 7 a.m. on December 23, and Madeleine Altimari is shimmying. In 30-second intervals, the girl attempts to perfect her moves, pausing in between for a quick drag from a cigarette. After each interval, she rates her work on a school-letter scale. She has yet to check off the day’s other rehearsal tasks: singing, scales, guitar.

Madeleine is two days shy of 10. Read more “2 a.m. at the Cat’s Pajamas” at bookpage.com.

Dreamy Tunes: A year of powerful dreams influenced Orenda Fink’s latest album. 

orendaSinger-songwriter Orenda Fink’s music has often been marked by her spiritual influences. That’s been true in her solo work as well as when she has recorded with fellow Alabama School of Fine Arts grad Maria Taylor under the name Azure Ray. Fink’s latest album, “Blue Dream,” was inspired by dreams and spiritual exploration that followed the death of her dog, Wilson. The album will be released by Saddle Creek on Aug. 19. Read more “Dreamy Tunes” at bhammag.com.

My Conference Can Beat Your Conference: Bragging Rights on the Gridiron

finebaum coverWho cares that the Atlantic Coast Conference’s Florida State University won the 2013 Bowl Championship Series college football championship? The Southeastern Conference ran away with the previous seven consecutive titles, saw a conference member finish second in the 2013 series and pitted conference members head-to-head for the 2011 title.

Does all of this sound like a foreign language? Then proceed to the next book review. But if your knee-jerk reaction to the SEC’s accolades is to argue that your conference is unquestionably the best, then bump to the top of your reading list My Conference Can Beat Your Conference: Why the SEC Still Rules College Football by Paul Finebaum and Gene Wojciechowski. Read more “My Conference Can Beat Your Conference” at bookpage.com.

Want more? Visit my “What I’m writing” Pinterest board.

I am depressed and I’m happy

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I burst into tears as I answered the intake questions for UAB psychiatry. “I’m sad, and I’m having trouble getting up off the bathroom floor to work, and I think maybe I need help—and maybe the fact that I’m crying is proof,” I said. The man on the other end of the line quickly identified a psychologist he thought would be a good fit and scheduled my appointment.

I had been self-identifying my depression for 16 years before I placed that call, and before my first appointment ended, my therapist affirmed my diagnosis. “It sounds to me like you have a family history of depression, likely caused by a chemical imbalance but exacerbated by circumstances. I also think you have seasonal affective disorder. Does this sound right to you?” I loved that she gave me space to disagree, but I didn’t need to. Her words—and the treatment that followed—offered freedom.

In the years since, I’ve been on a small but important personal mission to help break through the stigma associated with mental-health issues. It’s hard to say what would have been different if I had sought help earlier. I’m not 100 percent confident in saying that the stigma was all that held me back. But I’ve always been scared to admit imperfection, even when flaws are beyond my control.

I’ve learned that things I thought were simply part of my personality were actually symptoms I didn’t have to live with. (Did you know it’s not normal to cry at least monthly for no apparent reason? I didn’t.) Taking a small, daily dose of an anti-depressant isn’t a big deal; as one friend noted, if I were diabetic I wouldn’t aim to get off of insulin. That shift in perspective is significant, and the symptoms of depression seem to show up when I lose perspective. Twice-monthly therapy appointments have helped me build healthy coping skills. Rather than believe the lies I tell myself, I’ve learned to articulate them to a friend. Although I still face insecurities (hi, I’m human), I know how to deal and don’t let them define me. When I hear how ridiculous it sounds, negative self talk loses its power.

Sertraline and therapy have been a regular part of my life for the past two years, and people find it difficult to believe I am actually depressed. My therapist says I’m in remission, for lack of a better term. Friends say it takes strength to admit when you need help. Although I agree, I wouldn’t have phrased it that way at the time. I simply knew I couldn’t walk through my depression alone.

Depression can be debilitating, but it doesn’t have to be. Let people into your life, and ask for help when and if you’re able.

Would you be willing to share your experience with depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts or other mental-health illness? Email me at cjATcarlajeanwhitleyDOTcom. I’d love to share your experience as a guest post.

Resources:

Oasis Counseling

UAB Psychiatry

Alabama Psychiatric Services

National Alliance on Mental Illness

A reading to-do list

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Lately my life is even more about reading and writing than usual–and let’s be honest, that’s a dream come true. Sometimes people ask why I do so much (full-time magazine editor, freelance writing and editing, teaching, yoga, etc.). But all of these activities tie back in to my greatest loves: reading and writing. Although yoga may not be an obvious connection, it helps me disconnect from the over-active to-do list part of my brain–which in turn leaves me feeling more creative and open to new ideas. It’s a beautiful cycle.

Thanks in part to a schedule made even busier by a number of upcoming book events, I’ve recently started a to-read list (in addition to all of my other lists–did I mention I’m type A?). I’ve got a number of reading and writing assignments due in the coming weeks, and this list has helped me keep my priorities in line. It may seem a bit silly and intense, but it’s working for me.

I wanted to read “The Mockingbird Next Door” by Marja Mills as soon as possible after its release, in large part because of the national conversation regarding whether or not it was written with Harper Lee’s knowledge. (For what it’s worth, I don’t think Mills could have written the book without consent from the Lee sisters.) But I had to finish “The Gifts of Imperfection” by Brene Brown before yoga teacher training (barely made it), and reread “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” before my Harry Potter book club met (success).

It’s a different approach to the way I read, but it’s working. And I’m simultaneously being pointed toward other books that I own but have yet to read; for example, in Mills’ book, the Lee sisters talk to her about Paul Hemphill’s “The Ballad of Little River,” among other books that relay Alabama’s history. I love Hemphill’s “Leaving Birmingham,” and own but have yet to read several of his other works.

Between writing my second book (due far too soon!) and powering through my ever-growing reading list, I’ve decided I need to take a two-week vacation: one week to piddle and read whatever I feel like reading, and a second to write, write, write. I’ve got the vacation days, but I’ve got to clear my calendar of events in order to make this dream come to life.

Recently acquired:

  1. The Art of Creative Nonfiction by Lee Gutkind
  2. Nick Saban vs. College Football by Christopher Walsh
  3. Season of Saturdays by Michael Weinreb
  4. Wolf in White Van by John Darnielle
  5. Songbook by Nick Hornby (one of my all-time favorite books in a snazzy new edition)
  6. Muscle Shoals Sound Studio by yours truly
  7. The Hideaway by Lauren K. Denton
  8. The Brewmaster’s Table by Garrett Oliver
  9. The Oxford Companion to Beer edited by Garrett Oliver
  10. The Mockingbird Next Door by Marja Mills
  11. Ottolenghi by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi
  12. Deadline Artists edited by John P. Avlon, Errol Louis and Jesse Angelo 

Recently read:

  1. The Mockingbird Next Door by Marja Mills
  2. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
  3. The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown
  4. This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper
  5. We Were Liars by E. Lockhart
  6. The Public Library: A Photographic Essay by Robert Dawson
  7. The Leftovers by Tom Perrotta

The big city calls and your daughters are smiling in the windows of apartment buildings

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

As we took in the sound of Gabe Witcher’s bow dancing across the strings of his violin and Greg Garrison’s carefully chosen plunks of the bass chords, I was overwhelmed again by Punch Brothers’ debut album, “Punch.” When I reviewed the album at the time of its 2008 release, I spent six weeks obsessing over it before putting it aside for three months. The music is absorbing, and I needed a beat away from its introspective content.

I had wanted to play this album for my boyfriend since we began dating two years ago; he’s an audiophile and a classical music fan. I knew this album would sound fantastic on his speakers, and I suspected the composition, which takes cues from classical music and jazz, would grab his attention.

After the recording ended, I noted that my interest in attending Alabama Symphony Orchestra performances–particularly the masterworks series–was likely influenced by this album, and most certainly by its primary composer, Chris Thile. Before meeting Put, I attended a handful of ASO special events. But I had never been to what I thought of as a “proper” symphony performance. I wasn’t sure if I’d like it, but I wanted to find out. (Put took me to hear the ASO perform one of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies during our first few months dating. I’ve been hooked.)

In other words, “Punch” was a game changer for me. But it certainly isn’t the only album that holds that distinction. Caedmon’s Call’s “40 Acres” was the first album to make me realize sometimes the best songs aren’t on the radio. It took a while for it to click, but “Abbey Road” was the album that kickstarted my Beatles fan-dom. I don’t know what made me hear the album differently than the first five or six times I played it, but once it made sense, I couldn’t get enough.

This isn’t an exhaustive list, and I know I’m not alone. I want to know: Which albums have been game changers for you?

Today’s subject line comes from Punch Brothers’ “Blind Leaving the Blind: Third Movement.”

Am I what I read?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

In “The Polysyllabic Spree,” Nick Hornby writes, “All the books we own, both read and unread, are the fullest expression of self we have at our disposal. … But with each passing year, and with each whimsical purchase, our libraries become more and more able to articulate who we are, whether we read the books or not.”

It’s an arguable point, but one I identified with immediately. My bookcases are stuffed to overflowing with books I haven’t yet read, and I’m always acquiring more. I’m admittedly, unabashedly a book hoarder.

Sometimes those piles of books paralyze me. I’m so excited by the choices that I can’t decide what to read next. That’s been the case quite often in recent months, and even more so since I returned from Book Expo America; a tidy pile of advance reader copies now lines one wall of my bedroom.

It’s not just that I can’t decide what to read first. If only things were so simple! I’ve also run out of space in which to store all of these books. I have books in my living room, books in my kitchen. I’d store books in my bathroom if there were only a bit more space. I tuck books into the nooks of my secretary-style desk, and I pile books artfully on the shelves of end tables.

There’s a method to my madness, with genres sorted by room and shelves. But my bedroom is now out of control. The bookcase holds Alabama books and writing books, and my most treasured books top my dresser. But I’ve got borrowed books tucked beneath the head of my bed, and books I intend to mail to my nephew at the foot. (Books meant to be mailed to Mom are in the backseat of my car, because who needs logic?) Recent acquisitions were perched atop and nestled beside my typewriter, but that space has overflowed. Now, they’re stacked between my dresser and the wall and, as I’ve mentioned, lining one wall of my room.

I know it’s a bit crazy, but I’ve made my peace with the disarray. If it’s good enough for Nick Hornby, it’s good enough for me.

These are the books I’ve acquired in the six weeks since and including BEA.

  1. Dangerous by Susan Fast
  2. The Objects of Her Affection by Sonya Cobb
  3. Straight White Male by John Niven
  4. Liberty’s Torch by Elizabeth Mitchell
  5. The Walled City by Ryan Graudin
  6. What Do You Do with An Idea? by Kobi Yamada (Read it, loved it, glad he gave me a copy for my nephew, too.)
  7. On Immunity by Eula Biss
  8. Lies We Tell Ourselves by Robin Talleh
  9. We Are Not Ourselves by Matthew Thomas
  10. Neverhome by Laird Hunt
  11. King Dork Approximately by Frank Portman
  12. The David Foster Wallace Reader
  13. Reunion by Hannah Pittard
  14. The Story Hour by Thrity Umrigar
  15. The Great Escape by Andrew Steinmetz
  16. The Giver by Lois Lowry
  17. The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace by Jeff Hobbs
  18. Epilogue by Will Boast
  19. Letters to a Birmingham Jail
  20. Soldier of Change by Stephen Snyder-Hill
  21. File Under: 13 Suspicious Incidents by Lemony Snickett
  22. Chakra Meditation by Swami Sadadananda
  23. Mo’s Mustache by Ben Clanton (Read and ready to send to my little nephew!)
  24. Rain Reign by Ann M. Martin
  25. This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper
  26. So We Read On by Maureen Corrigan
  27. Terminal City by Linda Fairstein (Picked up for my aunt, still sitting in my bedroom. Oops.)
  28. The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton
  29. Fire Shut Up in My Bones by Charles M. Blow
  30. The Republic of Imagination by Azar Nafisi
  31. The Secret Wisdom of the Earth by Christopher Scotton
  32. Goodnight June by Sarah Jio
  33. Wild Idea: Buffalo & Family in a Difficult Land by Dan O’Brien (I actually had to leave my copy at BEA because I couldn’t carry any more books, but I re-acquired it at Church Street’s Book Hangout last week. Hurrah!)
  34. The Elements of Style Illustrated by William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White (Purchased at The Strand)
  35. Writers on Writing (Purchased at The Strand)
  36. Love, Loss and What I Wore by Nora and Delia Ephron (Purchased at The Strand)
  37. Only As Good As Your Word by Susan Shapiro (Purchased at The Strand; this was the one book I bought that I didn’t set out to find. What a happy surprise! I have enjoyed Susan Shapiro’s work in the past, and while on the flight to New York I read a Writer’s Digest article that mentioned her.)
  38. Still Writing by Dani Shapiro (Purchased at The Strand)
  39. The Leftovers by Tom Perrotta (I found this in a freebie pile at the office–we receive more books than we can possibly write anything about–and snagged it because the commercials for the new HBO show had been creeping me out. I’m about halfway through and intrigued.)
  40. Your Fathers, Where are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever? by Dave Eggers (Also found in the freebie pile in the office. I’m intrigued by Eggers and I would, of course, like to have a career in which I too can write across a variety of genres and find success.)
  41. My Conference Can Beat Your Conference by Paul Finebaum (SEC! SEC! SEC!)
  42. The Public Library: A Photographic Essay by Robert Dawson (A library book, but one I’m likely to end up purchasing for myself.)
  43. The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon by Brad Stone (Also a library book, but worth mentioning.)

The dream that you wish will come true

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

0704 Baby Plays Around RelevantWhen I was 10 years old, I decided I wanted to make my living as a writer. Thirteen years later, I saw my name in print at the end of my first paid, professional clip.

My journalism professors at the University of Alabama often encouraged us to pitch story ideas to a range of publications, even if those ideas were developed in the classroom. I’ve never been particularly quick to step up and tell someone why I deserve their attention, and so interviewing folks for those classroom assignments was intimidating. (I still get nervous before many interviews, even a decade later!) Approaching editors about publishing my work was even more so.

But my spring 2004 review writing class, taught by Alabama Public Radio book reviewer and University of Alabama professor emeritus Don Noble, left me with plenty of material. Dr. Noble required us to review something weekly; sometimes our focus was restaurants, sometimes books, other times, music. I sent several of my assignments on to the student newspaper, The Crimson White. And I suspected I could do more still.

Getting published in Relevant magazine was one of my goals, and so I sent an email out into the ether, pitching a book review I wrote for class. After a round of heavy editing, which cut the review from several hundred words to about 50, my first national piece was ready to go. I was interning in Orlando when the magazine finally hit stands, and my friends shared in my excitement. The paycheck wasn’t much ($10, if memory serves), but I was still thrilled to be compensated for doing something I loved.

Ten years later, I still write about both books and music. Although seeing my name in print has become a regular occasion, the thrill never wears off.

The yoga of being there

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I had hoped to attend at least one yoga class while I was in New York last month. I’ve got to review several classes as part of my yoga teacher training, and I thought it would be intriguing to see how things were done in another part of the country. So I asked my regular teacher for recommendations, jotted down the studio and teacher she suggested and tentatively planned to zip from my conference to a little downward dog action.

It didn’t happen.

There are a number of reasons, and what I thought would be the biggest (the studio’s location in relation to the conference, which wasn’t especially convenient) turned out to be the least of my worries. I spent two days on my feet surrounded my tens of thousands of other people. I was wiped by the end of each day, and the last thing I needed was a physically challenging asana practice.

But as any teacher trainee or relatively dedicated yogi would tell you, asana is only one part of yoga.

I had plenty of opportunity to focus on yoga’s other aspects (and, OK, even a little asana) during Book Expo America. I spent a great deal of time focused on my breath, trying to stay calm in the midst of an overstimulating environment. I tried to let outside distractions fall away and turn my focus inward. And I spent a great deal of time in tadasana, or mountain pose, attempting to root my feet into the ground, lift my inner arches and support my spine with my core muscles, even as I waited in line for nearly an hour in some cases to meet various authors.

I love the asana practice, and it’s what drew me–and so many others–to yoga. But there’s so much more happening on my mat than my bending into funny postures. And although my body ached at the end of a few days of BEA, I’m always grateful for the reminder that there’s more to yoga than downward facing dog.

Struggling with perfectionism

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m in the process of becoming trained as a yoga teacher, and the nine-month-long training includes writing a number of papers. I’ll post them here because, well, that’s what I do. The third writing assignment was a reflection on chakras. This assignment was challenging for me because the concepts are so different from what I’m accustomed to. But I also enjoy learning about things outside of my norm, so I’m continuing to study this.

I often wrestle with my perfectionist tendencies. That shows up in the words I use to describe myself and my key traits. Am I Type A, anal retentive, obsessive? Or am I detail oriented, organized and methodical?

I’ve been faced with those labels (yet again) as I go through yoga teacher training. This week I’ve been trying to read “Eastern Body, Western Mind,” a 450-page book that explores the chakras, or energy centers, and psychology. I’m supposed to be concentrating on a chakra for a week, addressing it in some way three times daily.

This has been an especially busy season of life, and so I tried to take what seemed like the easy way out on this one. I have a ton of lavender-scented items around my house, so I would figure out which chakra lavender interacted with and start working on that. A friend shared a chart representing the correlation of different oils to different chakras, making my work much easier. Lavender correlates with the crown and third eye chakras? Great. I’ll pay attention to one of those.

So I did—or I tried to, at least. I slathered myself with lavender-citrus body lotion that first morning. I donned a purple shirt. (I’ll confess, I still wasn’t sure which chakra I was addressing, but I figured purple was a safe bet. I haven’t yet figured out the difference between indigo and violet, but those are the colors of these two chakras.) I smeared purple eye shadow in the creases of my eyelids, and I was off.

I know this sounds like a poorly executed plan. It was. I’ve felt pulled in many directions lately, and I’m struggling to keep up. A couple of busy weeks have meant that I’ve put off my reading and even let my yoga practice slip. After-work commitments and impending deadlines have gotten the best of me, and I’ve allowed them to do so.

On the first night, I came home from work early and changed into a pair of yoga pants. I had articles left to edit and plans yet to make, but I could at least be comfortable doing so. (I opted to keep on my purple shirt for whatever chakra-related energy it might provide.) I slipped back into the busy-ness.

Hours later, I realized I was hungry and past my usual dinner time. But I needed something more than dinner; I needed grounding. As an omelet slowly cooked on my stovetop, I returned to my mat. My practice wasn’t complicated or especially challenging. I used a Yoga Journal-suggested sequence I had programmed into my phone on the ride back from the beach earlier this week (even four-and-a-half hour car trips can be productive, right?). It was 13 minutes without adequate warm up, and I could feel throughout my body the tightness that comes from a sedentary, stressful life. But I was moving, and it felt good.

That movement also prompted a realization: I realized that the cerebral, ethereal energy centers of the crown and third-eye chakras aren’t where my focus needs to be concentrated—at least not in a way that would encourage further development. If anything, I could be overdeveloped in these areas. It’s not like me to shift course mid-journey. I like to make a plan and stick with it. But in this case, I needed to make a change.

Instead, I shifted my attention to my root chakra. Part of my craving for control is surely tied to a desire for security and order in all things. I’ve got that in some areas of my life, but in others I’m experiencing a lot of ambiguity. I’m seeking balance and a healthy relationship with that uncertainty as I continue to face my Type-A personality in all its glory and shame.

After all, that’s why I began practicing yoga.

But even though I know that focusing on being grounded is the right choice for me right now, those struggles have continued to show up. I’ve gone through the motions, donning essential oils, drinking ginger tea and focusing on mountain pose. The entire concept of chakras is so other, though, that I’m having trouble wrapping my head around how all of these pieces tie together. I’ve grown frustrated with myself because I just don’t get it.

Even so, I’ll continue to wrestle with these concepts. Just as yoga is about the journey, not the destination, I suspect that grasping related concepts is an ongoing process.

I have a scar from a container of deodorant

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley
Can you see the little white line? Barely? Maybe? Yeah, so you can see I was right not to worry.
Can you see the little white line? Barely? Maybe? Yeah, so you can see I was right not to worry.

I remember the scene like this:

My best friends Amy, Erin and I sat in Erin’s bedroom, lights out, black light on, black light posters glowing on the wall and Smashing Pumpkins’ “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness” (ed.: thanks for the catch, Renita!) playing over the boom box. It was the middle of another bright, sunny afternoon in suburban Florida.

No, we weren’t doing anything illicit. In the years since, I’ve realized that this set up may sound as though we were up to something. We were merely 14, and therefore a bit odd.

Amy and Erin lounged on one side of the room as I perched on Erin’s dresser, my back to the window. I don’t think we were doing anything particular; we were high-school freshmen, and therefore our time together consisted of a lot of angst about nothing in particular, the occasional dance party (“Pump Up the Jam,” anyone?) and a lot of rock ‘n’ roll. It’s the same story teenagers have acted out throughout the generations.

But on that day, Erin took an ordinary afternoon in a different direction. She picked up a canister of deodorant, intending to startle me by throwing it at the wall beside me. Erin had a great arm.

And terrible aim.

The deodorant slammed into my chin, its wheel slicing through the skin and into the fat below. I covered it with my hand, hurt but mostly startled. When I moved my hand away, Erin saw blood and burst into tears.

Perhaps I should have gotten stitches, but Erin’s mom was a nurse and applied butterfly bandages as her daughter continued to weep. My dad later worried that I’d be so badly scarred that we should consider plastic surgery. I thought the incident was funny, and for years prized the “boo-boo bear” Erin brought me the next day, its chin also covered in a bandage.

The scar is almost untraceable; no one notices it unless I point it out, and they quickly forget it thereafter. But the story of how a stick of Secret Summer Breeze lacerated my chin lives on.

I’ve shared this story a few times over the years, often as a random, context-free fact that no one would guess about me. After a recent comment on my friend Rachel’s blog, I decided it was time to finally write it down. Erin wants you to know that she felt immense guilt. I want you to know that I, too, feel remorse–I didn’t fully appreciate that Smashing Pumpkins album till years later.