Just breathe

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Yoga pants make for great travel attire. As a result, I’ve spent the past two days in yoga pants, lounging on my parents’ couch and bemoaning the fact that I can’t actually practice yoga right now, doctor’s orders. I had a mole excised from my shoulder on Tuesday, and the dermatologist asked me to avoid lifting heavy things and exercise that would put weight on my shoulder or stretch my back, at least for a week. (By the way, the pathology results came back all clear. No need to worry about me!)

As I entered my 30s, I knew I needed to find some form of exercise that worked for me. I have always been thin, but I have rarely been in shape (save for a few years of cheerleading and dance team). I’m a bookworm, not an athlete.

But I’ve had joint pain since I quit cheerleading more than a decade ago, and I knew that healthier habits would benefit me in the long run. In my mid-20s, my appetite suddenly changed from a desire for the junk food that powered me in college to largely natural, preservative-free foods. (And yes, I counted it a blessing. I used to be incredibly picky. I don’t know what happened.) I knew, though, that any sort of fitness craving was not likely to mysteriously happen on its own.

I had been to yoga a few times in the past, and I generally enjoyed it once I convinced myself to get there. I often felt awkward and didn’t know what to wear, a silly insecurity but one that would help keep me from exercise nonetheless. After I was introduced to Lululemon last summer, that was no longer an issue. As I have moved closer to the heart of the city in recent years, my proximity to classes has also increased. Money was one of the remaining obstacles.

Last December I wished for The Yoga Circle to run an unlimited month Groupon. I reasoned that this would give me time to see how I really felt about yoga, and to so so at a reasonable price. The next day, such a Groupon appeared. I began my unlimited month at the year’s start.

And I was hooked. I tend to worry and plan more than is necessary, and yoga proved a perfect fit for my over-active mind. When I’m focused on breathing and settling into a pose, I’m not thinking about my to-do list or budget. (Well, not usually.) The physical benefits have been a bonus; my joint pain has been greatly reduced, and I’m stronger than ever before.

I bought a 16-class package after that initial unlimited month ran out, and I quickly discovered it wasn’t enough to satiate my craving. It’s been a year since I started practicing on my own, and nearly a year since I became a regular at my studio. Today, my yoga pants remind me how eager I am to return to practice. And in the meantime, I might just sit in class and breathe for a while.

The eighth #bloglikecrazy prompt focused on fitness. Today’s subject line comes from Anna Nalick’s “Breathe.”

Everybody come and play, throw every last care away

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ve put on nearly 20 pounds in the past year. Now, I’m not complaining about it. I actually feel better about my body than I ever have because I’m more toned and (generally) eating as healthy as I ever have. My new shape has been formed by yoga and, perhaps, my 30s, good and natural things.

But suddenly, my clothes were all wrong.

Well, maybe not all wrong. But some of my dresses were suddenly too tight through the torso, and none of my pants fit my hips and thighs. I’ve even got a few skirts I probably need to toss aside.

As a result, I’ve spent more on clothes this year than probably any other year of my life. And today, I made several more additions to my wardrobe.

I’m at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving, and they’re just a couple of miles from an outlet mall. Mom and I hit a few stores this afternoon, and what I intended as a quick trip to pick up a couple of shirts resulted in three cute T’s, a blouse, a sweater, a dress, a wool skirt and a pair of pants.

Eesh. I don’t even like shopping.

But here’s the catch: I’ve updated my wardrobe at very reasonable prices (today’s haul originally retailed for about $460, and I paid $135) while selecting classic pieces that should be in my closet for years. I’m not much for trends, and this has been the first time I’ve gained significant weight since high school. More importantly, as I’ve matured, I’ve learned how to better dress for my body. The end result is a more confident, more comfortable Carla Jean. And I’m in favor of that, in any shape.

Today’s title comes from “Let’s Go to the Mall” by Robin Sparkles, and this is my seventh #bloglikecrazy post. Today’s prompt focused on fashion.

Why I vote for books

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

When I started in on e-readers, my girl friends were probably preparing themselves for a lecture about why print will always be better than digital. I’m famously a creature of habit, and already during the weekend we’d discussed how little each of us have changed since college. And there’s some truth to that suspicion; I love print. I love seeing my books gathered throughout my house, each shelf representing different interests and moments in my life. I collect letterpress art in part because I love the literal weight it gives to words. I’ve got a 1920s Underwood typewriter sitting within spitting distance of me, even as I type on this already-outdated Gateway. (I bought this sucker back in ’08, after all. Time moves even more quickly with regard to technology.)

But what my friends probably didn’t expect was a diatribe against Amazon. Yes, I prefer print because I love the heft and beauty of a physical book. There are arguments to be made for e-readers, and if I traveled more often I’d likely embrace them more quickly. But I don’t want a back-lit screen, and even though I like the Amazon Kindle’s e-ink, I’m not willing to support the company’s business practices.

Carrie Rollwagen, who co-owns Church Street Coffee and Books, has written extensively about how Amazon relates to publishing. The Kindle only works with books published through its store, and as I understand it, the company has enough buying power and a strong enough customer base to arm wrestle publishers into selling their product at prices lower than they otherwise would. Yes, it’s awesome to get a discount as a customer, and yes, e-books cost significantly less to produce. But it still takes a writer time to write, and an editor time to edit. These tasks deserve to be compensated, in my opinion, but when a single distributor aims to control the market, I’m not so sure that these people will benefit. (It’s obvious that I’m concerned as a writer, editor and book reviewer. But that also concerns me as a reader. I want great stories, and I want writers to have the time and resources to create those tales.)

So, I told my girl friends, I’m not anti-e-reader. I firmly believe in delivering content to readers in the medium of their choice. Mine happens to be print. And until I find an e-reader that is easy on my eyes without taking advantage of a business I care deeply about, I wouldn’t give e-reading a shot.

Hours later, I walked into Church Street Coffee and was confronted by a Kobo display.

It turns out that the shop has established a mutually beneficial (best as I can tell!) relationship with Kobo, which offers e-ink e-readers while embracing a free market. The Kobo Mini is tiny–it’ll even fit in a small purse–but still readable with easily adjusted font sizes. And it’s affordable; it retails at $79.99, but this Saturday, Church Street will offer the device for $50. It’s easy to buy books through Church Street for the Kobo, and it also has free apps available on other smart phone and tablet platforms.

After learning all of this, I must have looked a bit stunned as I sat down at coffee with one of the aforementioned girl friends. Saturday is American Express’ Small Business Saturday, which means if I spend $25 or more at a local shop, they’ll credit my card $25. “That means I could buy an e-reader for only $25,” I said. “Should I do that?”

My friend insisted that I should, and after I returned to the counter to fill out a pre-order form, I immediately began brainstorming uses for this device. A daily New York Times subscription costs little more than what I currently pay for the Sunday-only print edition. I would love to keep reference books on this device, where they’re both easily accessible and annotatable without taking up inches and inches of space on my shelves. I can think of several magazines, particularly my weekly subscriptions, that don’t necessarily need the glossy pages of print. I’ve got to explore how many of those I can transition to digital so I can cut down on how often I need to drag the recycling bin to the curb.

And as much as anything, I’m excited to use this device to vote with my dollar. I don’t know where the publishing industry is headed, but I believe the content matters, and so do the people selling it. I can’t spend the time researching how every cent I spend affects the local economy or issues I care about. I don’t shop local without fail, and I do keep an eye on how much I’m spending. But I like to put my money where my mouth is. And where my life is; in this case, that’s Birmingham, Ala., and in a book.

The topic for day six of #bloglikecrazy was “Why I vote.” I think many folks are a bit burned out on the 2012 campaign, so I decided to focus instead on why I vote with my dollar. And yes, I’m several days behind because of the aforementioned college roommates visiting. I’d rather spend time with them than adhere strictly to a blogging challenge.

Write me a letter, send it by mail, send it in care of the Birmingham jail

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The Birmingham Public Library archives house a wealth of treasures. That isn’t a secret; I first realized that as home-owning friends turned to the archives for historic photos of their homes. For years, the archives’ Jim Baggett and Kelsey Scouten Bates wrote a column for Birmingham magazine–a column that I enjoyed more for its historic value than for the simple fact that I’m employed by the magazine. I love learning about Birmingham’s history, but I’ve always been a bit intimidated to go down to the archives myself.

Until now. I recently became part of the BPL’s young professional board, and our first meeting included a short glimpse of rare books and a presentation from the archives. The library is 126 years old–only 15 years younger than Birmingham itself–and the books, documents and photographs it’s amassed in that time are impressive. The YP members got a glimpse of high school yearbooks from decades ago (I need to go back and see if they’ve got my parents’ yearbooks), and my friend Javacia and I stepped up close and leaned in when viewing an autographed copy of Harper Lee’s “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

Then we moved on to Baggett, who brought out a collection of scrapbooks of former residents. I think we were all enthralled by the stories of Edith Ward, a Birmingham teen who found freedom through her bicycle. She rode her “wheel” all over the city, a controversial act at the time. Preachers would argue that bikes were destroying young women’s morality because the freedom offered meant the women couldn’t be accounted for.

Baggett also showed us a warden’s docket from when Martin Luther King Jr. was booked in the Birmingham jail. Back to back, we got a glimpse of the ways individuals sought freedom–totally different stories, totally different means, totally different types of freedom. But both are part of our city’s history.

The archives contain an estimated 30 million documents and half-a-million photos. Researchers from 35 to 40 states a year turn to the Birmingham collection for research, some of which has shown up in Pulitzer-prize winning books and award-winning films.

My purposes probably won’t result in such grand acclaim, but I’ve got to return to the archives. My family has been in the Birmingham area for generations. There’s so much to learn about our history, both the city’s and my family’s. Part of the library’s role is to “extend the reach of news and information,” as we were told during this meeting. I’m grateful for every visit, which extend the reach of my own.

Today’s subject line is from “Birmingham Jail” by Darby and Talton. Read more about this and other Birmingham songs in Burgin Mathews’ “Thirty Birmingham Songs.” The fifth #bloglikecrazy topic was to write something from notes I’ve taken at an event. I jotted down these notes with the intention of writing this entry, which probably wouldn’t have actually happened without this challenge. I’ve already carried that scrap of paper around for weeks!

Missed connections?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

While driving to Tuscaloosa tonight, I listened to the latest episode of The Moth podcast, Adam Gopnik’s tale of his daughter’s imaginary friend, Charlie Ravioli. Gopnik is perhaps best known as a New Yorker staff writer, and he and his wife returned from that city after living abroad because they wanted their kids to experience the wide-eyed New York childhood they envisioned.

So Gopnik was a bit concerned when his daughter created an imaginary friend whose New York-lifestyle mirrored that of too many adults (both in that city and otherwise). Olivia would call Charlie Ravioli frequently, only to be intercepted by his answering machine or assistant.

Gopnik began to consider life outside New York, and I’ll spare you the rest because it’s a sweet story better told by someone who lived it. But that tale did leave me thinking about busy-ness and how I’m in the midst of a concerted effort to scale back. I’m taking time away from some things I enjoy in order to pursue my greatest loves, and I’m setting goals such as blogging every day for a month. This project is, in itself, an effort to make time for something I consider meaningful.

And since I’m an information junkie, I constantly come across meaningful information others have communicated, whether via blogs, media or otherwise. Here are a few highlights from what I’ve read or heard this week.

Interesting timing: I read this blog entry about Facebook earlier today, and then tonight happened to listen to “On the Media’s” episode about Facebook, aired just before Facebook’s IPO. This program provides fascinating analysis of media trends week to week, and this episode may have been one of the best I’ve heard. It was also especially interesting to listen to after teaching a class at Alabama; when I was a student there, Facebook was brand new and didn’t roll out to UA students until the week I graduated. Now it’s a regular part of not only my personal, but also my professional life. Those interviewed for this program couldn’t predict a world without this kind of interconnectedness, whether for better or worse.

Today, the UAB medical system announced it won’t hire tobacco users after July 1.

My favorite class in grad school was review writing, and one of the most valuable lessons that Don Noble taught me was that it’s easier to sound clever when writing a negative review. I try not to take the easy way out, and when I teach I tell my students the same. But given that the New York Times was comfortable publishing this scathing review, I’m betting that the restaurant it describes was pretty awful. (By the end, I was laughing so hard I had to explain to my office mates what was going on.) (Oh, and I also re-established my Sunday NYT subscription today! So much more information to come.)

Now, I realized years ago that working in media meant that, in some ways, I’d always be on. But there’s a good novel waiting for me, and plenty of news to consume tomorrow. I think it’s time to curl up and read something that isn’t on a screen.

Standing on a darkened stage, stumbling through the lines

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I was diagnosed with depression earlier this year. Although it took a series of tough events before I decided to seek help, I’ve been self diagnosing since I was 14. When I told my therapist that I should have done something about this at least 10 years ago, she very kindly responded, “You’re here now. We’ll deal with it now.”

I’ve come a long way in the seven months since I received that diagnosis, with the help of therapy, medication, friendship and a growing belief that it’s OK that I’m not perfect. But it’s still hard for me to think about the worst days of this year, when I would email a coworker from my spot on the office bathroom floor and tell her I was crying and needed her to come get me. I knew I was broken.

I wasn’t so good at asking for help the first time I realized depression might be an issue. Although this year was set off by some challenging familial, relational and career circumstances, it hasn’t always been so. (Remember, depression is a clinical condition, not just sadness.) During my freshman year of high school, I was down after my cheerleading squad lost a competition, and it took a long time for my mood to lift. My closest friends didn’t understand, which left me feeling bereft. I would wake up far too early, and then spend the hours until school lying in bed, watching infomercials.

Looking back, I can see that both the transition to high school and seasonal affective disorder were at play. Children don’t have such perspective. And, OK, neither do I when I’m in the throes of my worst moments.

But this year, I’ve started to learn how to cope. I’ve learned to ask for help, and I’ve learned to identify when I’m viewing life through depression rather than reality. Sometimes an issue will seem so big that it’s overwhelming; I have people in my life who will remind me that challenges are surmountable, and that they’re walking through them with me. I’ve always been determined and a perfectionist. Now, I’m balancing those (generally very good) traits with a healthy dose of reality.

When I told an insightful friend about my diagnosis and how life has improved since, he offered one of the most encouraging, profound compliments I’ve ever received. “My expectations for you just increased,” he said. “If you’ve achieved so much while depressed, what else are you capable of?”

I know this: I’m capable of sharing my story with others. Depression is common and often easily treatable, but some people still hold a stigma associated with it and other mental-health issues. Therapy and medication have done wonders for me; my therapist said I just needed a little support. As a coworker said, “You wouldn’t expect a diabetic to go off insulin. That makes up for what his body doesn’t produce. So if you need antidepressants to do the same, what’s wrong with that?” I can’t predict whether I’ll need this medication and a psychologist forever, but I can encourage others to seek the help they need.

Day three’s #bloglikecrazy prompt was to write something risky. I think it’s riskier not to share these challenges. Today’s subject line comes from one of my favorite songs, Nickel Creek’s “Reasons Why.”

I may be leavin’ myself open to a murder or a heart attack

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley
Mac, the world’s best cat. Ever.

I’m not particularly good at Halloween. For most of my life, my costumes have alternated between some variation on a cat and a cheerleader. (The year I went as She-ra was a big leap for me.) This year, I again embraced my lazy costuming and went as, well, myself. A pair of cat ears and my regular attire made me a cat lady. (I let my coworkers determine whether or not I was a crazy cat lady. The vote was a unanimous yes.)

In my “old age,” I’ve gradually accepted and even embraced the fact that I’m a crazy cat lady. I’ve had cats for all but perhaps six months of my life, and there’s a cat sleeping on my feet even at this moment. I’m always quick to pull out a picture of my McCartney Jane, and I firmly believe she chose me as hers at the second we met.

Cat people get a bad rep. But dog people really aren’t much different. So what’s the big deal?

This is what I know: Regardless of the animal who calls you his or her own, pets are soothing and reliable friends. When I’ve gone through hard times (and I’ve faced plenty of them in recent years!), I can count on my cat to run to my side when she hears me bawling and cuddle up beside me as I face the night.

I think the biggest difference between dog people and cat people may be that dogs are so much better suited for extroverts. They typically love to join their owners on an outing; today I was reminded of how comfortable Mac is with the vet, but also of how much she hates the car. Cat people enjoy their pet’s comfort in the quiet of their own home, often with a good book at their side.

Speaking of, I think I’ll pick up the novel currently sitting beside me and enjoy it with my cat at my feet. I’ve always been comfortable in my role as a bookworm, and I’ve been a crazy cat lady for even longer.

The #bloglikecrazy prompt for day two was to defend something that usually gets a bad rap. And well, whether I’ve done crazy cat ladies justice or not, I’m hanging out with the best pet that ever was. Oh, and today’s subject line comes from the Old ’97s song “Murder or a Heart Attack,” which was written about Rhett Miller’s roommate’s cat.

I don’t know why I feel so tongue tied

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

“When you’ve set an intention for your practice, bring your hands to your heart.”

Every Monday afternoon, I return to my yoga mat and focus on what I need in my life. That may be the physical routine that I’m about to participate in. It may be 75 minutes of quiet before I resume what is likely to be a jam-packed week. But regardless of what has brought me there or how long it’s been since I’ve slowed my breath and focused my mind, two words often return to the forefront: Seek peace.

I’m approaching a year of regular yoga practice, and in many ways, it’s unlike anything I’ve done before. I take 75 to 90 minute sessions, several times a week, to slow down and breathe. And I often tell my yoga-skeptical friends that I could walk into that room, assume child’s pose and then focus on my breathe, then leave in a better frame of mind than that in which I arrived.

This slowing down, both of the mind and of the body, has always been a struggle for me. I love information and learning, and I’m constantly filling my world with more, more, more. Just this afternoon I plowed through a stack of New Yorker and New York magazines, moving them from my bedroom floor to the recycling bin in an act of self improvement and cleaning.

Finding that solace in motion is a new act for me; though I cheered and danced in high school, those physical activities filled my mind rather than slowing it down until facing my issues became unavoidable. But even though finding that space in movement is something different, I’ve always been able to sort my thoughts and clear my mind through writing.

I decided I wanted to become a writer when I was in fifth grade. By that point, I’d already written a book and a play or two. (I still have the transcripts, though not in their original forms, around here somewhere.) But I distinctly remember finding myself more through my pen than any other medium when I was 10 years old. I was a pretty normal kid who loved riding bikes, watching Nickelodeon and reciting every word to the week’s episode of Full House, but I best expressed myself in writing.

That’s still true, and that’s also why I periodically turn to this blog. This space is one where I offer myself grace; I’m regularly writing and editing in my full-time job, adjunct instructor position and freelance work. I turn to my journal when I need to sort things out. But expressing myself in a public venue is another way of stretching this writing muscle and challenging my introverted self. That’s why I’m coming up on 10 years of blogging (come March), and that’s why I continue to unveil my heart in a rather public space.

Like so many of my fellow Birmingham writers, I’ve decided to participate in my friend, fellow board member and freelance writer Javacia Harris Bowser’s November #bloglikecrazy challenge. I’ve admittedly jumped on board late; this effort began Nov. 1, and here we are, 11 days into the month. But again, this is a space where I show myself grace, which I must confess is not my strongest suit. I suspect I’ll benefit from accepting a challenge to write (in a public way, no less) every day for a month. I’m not particularly concerned about the date on which I begin this journey.

As I’ve grown older, and particularly since I’ve entered my thirties, I’ve gotten increasingly better at focusing on the intentions I have set for my life, then evaluating the steps I’m taking to achieve those goals (or the acts that are taking me away from them). Yoga is one of the means by which I’ve seen myself become stronger, more focused and more confident. Writing has always been a key part of that, as well. Just as I intend to return to my mat and face what I find there, day after day, I aim to pick up the pen or keyboard and release the words and thoughts I so often repress. I know myself, and thereby am more open to others, when I do.

Today’s subject line comes from Radiohead’s “Myxomatosis,” which is fabulous for so many reasons.