We raise our glasses to puzzle pieces…

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.
2 Timothy 1:7

I’ve been all over the place, emotionally, in the last few weeks. I guess that’s kind of keeping with my personality; my best friend has been really into this Myers-Brigg personality stuff lately, and I am such a feeler. My emotions run deep and sometimes drive me more than they ought.

So I guess it’s kind of normal, for me, to experience these extreme (though not manic) highs and lows. I was freaking out several days ago about work, and now I feel like I could stick it out a few months.

I guess it’s just that, even with all my stress, I’ve begun to feel that this is somewhere I could stay for a while. I feel like I’m really connecting with a few friends and just having a generally fun time with others. I’m starting to develop a sense of community, and that’s desperately important to me. I love that even some of my newer friends will call when they’re worried and offer hug-like thoughts from miles away. I’m optimistic about church, though it’s early yet.

What I’m saying is that, although I don’t know what to expect from week to week, I feel like I fit in west central Alabama. I’ve got at least a dozen people who really care about me in an 80 mile radius, and that warms my heart (cheesy as it sounds). I get a little scared, and I don’t know where I’m going, but I know that He — and you! — will still be there.

And all today’s uncertainties
And all of my impatience
Will just be flecks of color
In the picture that He’s painting
–Tara Leigh Cobble

Protected: It’s alright ’cause I’m moving on

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m feeling better — still disappointed — but better.

Here’s the deal. Yesterday one of the “big bosses” called me into his office to talk about my current job. (For those of you who have missed it, I’m copy editing and designing right now instead of reporting. And I want to report.) So I was putting the positive spin on things — you know, “It’s making me a more well-rounded journalist” and “Though I really want to be on the other side of the newsroom, I want to do the best I possibly can and learn all I’m able over here.”

And then he drops the bomb.

Apparently two or more reporters will have to leave before they hire one replacement.

What?! Why have I been told all along that they would love to hire me if something would just open up? Why am I just NOW finding out that it’s really TWO somethings that would have to open up?

This is all made worse by the fact that they’ve hired people since I began there. They came after me, but I got a temp job and they’re full time. That’s discouraging.

And I was also just feeling so hopeful the day before… the girl who I initially came to fill in for is looking very much like she’s going to leave. I was just saying I could stick it out on the copy desk for a while if I knew that job was waiting for me.

So yeah, this sucks. But I’m still job hunting, and something will happen somewhere. I mean, it COULD happen here still. It’s just more unlikely than I ever thought.

It’s not hard to grow when you know that you just don’t know

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Just when I thought we might be getting somewhere… just when I thought things might be taking a turn for the better… just when I had a little hope about the day-to-day… they burst my bubble and tell me it’s probably just not going to happen this year.

And yes, it’s August. That means five months until they anticipate being able to hire me.

I don’t think I’ll be here that long. At least, without a “real job,” I hope not.

But damn. I want to be.

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. 😛

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.

I have seen you at your worst and I still love you when you’re down

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I started a new journal a few weeks ago. That used to be a pretty common occurence (as evidenced by the 14 journals scattered across my bedroom floor, all from the last five years), but this was my first new journal in almost two years.

When I inked my first words into these leather bound pages, I was sitting in a familiar coffee shop. I guess it’s been almost three years since I worked on a journal entry in that place. The memory is still dear, though… I remember sitting between two friends, writing while they studied… with bellies full of barbecue.

I began my newest journal at a table with two different friends, one old and one new. As I wrote, I wondered how much I’ve really changed in the elapsed time. Though I live in a different city in a different state, I was back in that coffee shop. I’m still friends with several of the people I was with that night years ago. I’m still clueless about what’s next in life.

But the more I thought, the more I realized I have changed in the (almost) three years since I graduated from college. I guess that’s part of why I ended up with these journals scattered across my room tonight. I’ve been flipping through their pages, recalling the over-excited girl I was and comparing her to the woman I’m becoming. (There is no excuse for three exclamation points in a sentence, ever.)

Some of the changes probably aren’t so great–I’m definitely more prone to cynicism now than then. But I’m also more prone to realism. I’m more likely to be honest about my struggles (and I’m more likely to punctuate a sentence correctly).

(My finances were better off when I was an undergrad, though. I thought it was supposed to be the opposite way around?)

I wish the changes were more obvious… I wish I was certain that I’ve lost that chip I carried on my shoulder after I graduated… but on days like today, I’m not quite convinced. When I’m discouraged, though, it’s comforting to look at the journals that hold my story, the friends who have remained by my side (or left and come back or appeared somewhere in the meantime) even when I’m at my worst.

And it’s comforting to know that God has a history of coming through for his people, even when they screwed up… and that he’s opened his promises to even me.

Nothing unusual, nothing’s changed, just a little older that’s all

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m an oldest child–I’m the eldest of four. I’m the typical first born in so many ways. I’m organized, goal oriented and something of a go-getter. When I know what I want, I’m willing to work for it. (That may explain my master’s degree and the $25,000 debt that accompanied it.)

My siblings also fit their expected psychological birth order. Cristin, as the second child, is an attention grabber. Never content to stand in someone’s shadow, she’s willing to leave college and move thousands of miles to chase her dreams. (And I admire her for it.)

Cheryl’s got middle child syndrome. Heaven forbid anyone compare her to us–she’s going to carve her own Cheryl-sized niche in the world. Forget cheerleading. She’ll play flag football. The worst trouble I ever got into was detention for tardiness. She compensated by scroing a few arrests. (Okay, there’s more to it than that–but I’m confident that it was a factor in her rebellion.) She’s creative, funky and truly one of a kind. (And as with Cristin, I admire these qualities in her. Well, besides the arrest thing.)

Chad’s not just another case–he’s another world. Chad land is populated with legos, anime and Hatchemon (his own Pokemon-esque creation). He can tell you every minute detail of whatever TV series is his current obsession, and he knows all the cheat codes for the best video games. He produces his own cartoon movies on his desktop and no doubt will soon be composing their scores on his keyboard.

Sometimes I feel like the boring sibling in comparison. I’m not sure I have a place to call my own. I’m into the journalism thing, but all of my siblings can write. But I can’t act like Cristin, draw like Cheryl, and I’m not Chad. I used to be the “religious” one, till most of the family went and got God. (It’s a distinction I’m glad to share, mind you.) Still I wonder, where is my place? What’s special about me?

I like to think I’m the quietly interesting one (and yes, in my family I am the quiet one), but I’m not sure what that means. I’m sensitive, and I’ve been told that makes me a good friend. I’ve become pretty good at recommending music to others (thouch Cheryl’s still the one whose taste would be considered “cool”). I have the best shoes, but I’m not sure that’s how I want to be described.

Maybe I’m the most vanilla–the boring one. I’ve got the standard college education, I go to church on Sundays, I drive a sedan. I’m “most likely to have a picket fence.” But I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think I’m dull. I’m passionate, I’m a reader, I’m a feeler, I’m thoughtful.

Maybe I’m just the most nuanced. You can pick out these qualities about my siblings almost immediately upon meeting them, but it might take a little longer to find what makes me CJ. (That’s not to say that my siblings are simple personalities. They’re not. But it’s pretty obvious that Cristin is the resident drama queen!)

But I’m still the oldest, so what I say goes. So most nuanced it is, whether you believe it or not.