Brothers and sisters unite, it’s the time of your lives

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

“Who is this guy?” she inquired. “I’ve never heard you talk about him before.”

I paused for a moment, silently running through a list of men my friend and former college roommate would recognize. These days, I rarely mention those guys in conversation, and I speak to them even less.

No, you wouldn’t have heard of him, I thought. Boys don’t stay in my life long enough to register on the radar of far-away friends.

I won’t say that’s good or bad – in different instances, it’s probably some of both. But I’ve never retained terribly long-lasting friendships with guys.

Maybe that’s because I grew up surrounded by girls. (My daddy was the only man in our family of five until the sixth member arrived in 1992.) The boys in my middle and high school classes teased me for any reason they could find. My clothes were all wrong (true), my hair was out of control (also true) or my body wasn’t up to their standards for 14-year-old girls. (Why on earth are you commenting on a little girl’s figure?!)

Whatever the cause, my guy friends never stayed around too long. I didn’t mind until my second year of college. I was left bitter by the disappearing act a pair of guys pulled after one of them got a girlfriend (who is now his wife). I expected our friendships to change; we’d probably spent too much time together anyway. I didn’t anticipate their near-complete vanishing. In hindsight, I realize there was more involved than the girlfriend’s arrival. But at the time, I took it very personally.

Part of the problem – in both that and other situations – may have been the ladder theory in effect. (Don’t click that link if you’re easily offended. The social observations are interesting, but they’re shrouded in potentially offensive language and descriptions.) Essentially, that theory is constructed on the When Harry Met Sally idea that men and women can’t be friends. On one or both sides, attraction gets in the way.

I don’t know if I buy into that 100%. I know some guys who I’ve never been interested in, and I’m fairly certain they haven’t thought of me like that either. But I do find friendships with guys difficult to maintain for that reason. I don’t call them (except with rare exceptions) for fear they’ll think I’m after them. I try to squelch my flirtatious impulses (whether or not I’m truly interested in the boy) because I don’t want to be seen as chasing after him. (Pursue me!) I get nervous spending one-on-one time with them, even when we’re just friends.

That was the case this weekend as I went to catch up with a new-ish male friend. If he were a girl, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to calling him up while I was in his town. Because he is a he, I was jittery and prepared for awkwardness as I crept down a traffic-clogged interstate.

As we lunched at a nearby restaurant, I slowly admitted that my nerves were silly. The truths that he’s a guy and we hadn’t hung out in almost two months didn’t call for the self-centered babbling my awkwardness always provokes.

(I write all this knowing full well he’ll probably read it. That’s okay. It’s like a long-distance, slightly more comfortable exercise in being quasi-normal with the men in my life. Or something.)

Just because we’re different doesn’t mean girls have an exclusive run on worthwhile friendships. (I know some ladies would argue just the opposite!) But as I processed through these and other thoughts about friendship this weekend, I realized just how delicately any man who ever hopes to date me will have to approach me.

Ooh, here comes that self-centered babble again. 😉

Seriously – if I’m this hyper-weird with guy friends, how much more so do you think that applies to dating? It takes a lot of time and patience for a guy to get to know me. Alisa once explained it well to someone: “CJ lets you see what she wants you to see.”

That’s nothing to brag about, but it’s true. I think I’ve been making a bit of progress. At the beginning of the summer, I resolved to act myself. By the time I hung out with my friend Rob in his home state of Virginia, I discovered that he didn’t even know how inept (and often bitter) I feel around boys – and he is one! (I took that as evidence of God making some headway in my life.)

This confessional may even be evidence of such progress. I can put up a strong, devil-may-care front, but that confidence is sometimes (often?) masking insecurity.

I love having men in my life. Their perspective is different than mine – sometimes drastically so. Their interactions with me and others remind me that Jesus died for them, too. 🙂 I don’t know how long these particular guys will remain my friends. Whether it’s for months or for years, I can’t let that affect my opinion of their character or my own self-worth. That remains true whether applied to a fellow on my “friends” ladder or someone on my “dating” ladder.

I just need a reminder sometimes, that’s all.

Purple rain, purple rain

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Do you ever have days when you feel you don’t fit in your own body?

I was having one today. It wasn’t triggered by anything significant; I just felt funky, like I would never amount to anything. Though it didn’t qualify as a full-fledged anxiety attack, I felt a bit anxious about the future.

(Okay, I’ve never had an anxiety attack. But still. I struggle with being a control freak. You know that.)

So what did I do?

I dyed my hair.

Okay, okay, that doesn’t solve anything, I know. But I did pray about my fretful inclinations as I worked the dye into my roots, and I was tired of my dishwater blonde hair. It’s not like anyone can see what I look like when they get my resume, but feeling a bit more pulled together is one step in the right direction.

For better or worse, now I’m a redhead instead of a dirty blonde. (I meant for it to be more brown with a hint of red, but whatever!)

Next up… I think it’s time for a haircut. (Hey, it’s like my own do-it-yourself makeover story.)

Hair color should NOT be comparable to dishwater.The bottle's open - eek!We're halfway done. Now I'm committed.Ewwie gooey!It looks almost goth here. :)This is what it's SUPPOSED to look like...This is what it does look likeTake it or leave it!

I do my little turn on the catwalk

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m not the most athletic or the most spontaneous woman in the world, but I’m generally up for an adventure. A few weeks ago, that meant a four mile hike on a Virginia mountain. Adventure this weekend translated into a night out on the town.

While I drove from my side of town to meet Alicia for a movie, she changed our minds for me. Instead of bumming it in a movie theater, we were dolling up and going out for a little dance music.

I wasn’t dressed appropriately (though don’t worry, I was wearing a trusty heels-with-jeans get up), so I played dress up in Alicia’s clothes. A new outfit and shaved legs later, I was dressed and we were off to the 22nd Street Jazz Café.

Here’s the thing about Alabama: every day is a fashion show. Going to class? Pair your jeans with a sassy top and your favorite heels. Sunday morning demands attire almost as formal as the average business wardrobe. If you look at the south end zone of Bryant Denny on game day, you’ll see the dress required of our cultural events.

The unusual thing about this evening at the jazz café was the range of dress. Everything from jeans to denim skirts to pink skirts with tanks were represented. Alicia and I took our places on the dance floor and lightened the club’s atmosphere.

We were later joined by some friends of her boyfriend and his roommate. The guys obviously knew Alicia was off-limits, so one of them turned his attention to me. I carefully, politely indicated that I wasn’t interested in him or any of the other men who tried to join us on the dance floor. Within moments, they would turn up with other girls.

I tell this story to make two points:

In this atypical atmosphere, no one cared that I was clutching at my lime green pants as I danced. They were a bit baggy in the waist, and my hair and makeup were nothing to brag about. I was as laidback as I could be in capri pants and heels, but the boys came anyway. The lesson? People aren’t always as obsessed with appearances as I’m afraid they are.

The next morning, Alicia and I “debriefed” from the night. She pointed out that I could have walked away with the digits of any of a number of guys, then proceeded to share her philosophy on my dating life. “You’re single,” she reminded me. “You can go on dates with whoever you want, and if you don’t like him, just don’t call him back. Enjoy it!”

But I don’t want to, I said. What’s the point in meeting guys at a bar? They might be perfectly nice guys; after all, I’m a nice gal and I was there. 😉 But you don’t get to know someone by chatting about why you’re in Birmingham and whether or not you want a drink from the bar.

I may not be obsessed with knowing that someone is the “man of my dreams” before I accept a date, but I like to know that he at least has that potential. I know I’m picky, I know I’m less than perfect myself. Regardless of what I’m wearing, my standards are still a bit higher than that… and I think they’ll stay that way. 🙂

I’m sure gonna give you a try

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I asked myself last night, how am I different away from OSP [Orlando Summer Project]? This was the result.

I decided my first week here that I would strive to be CJ, regardless of circumstance. It can be a real temptation for me to seek attention and become a people pleaser by doing whatever is “cool” to a particular group. But I reminded myself that acceptance isn’t based on these people – and if they didn’t like me, I would leave them in August anyway.

What I found instead is that people do like me. They’ve seen me at my silliest and first thing in the morning. We’ve shared secrets and inside jokes. They’ve known me with my make up stripped away and my sins exposed. Through it all, they remain my friends.

So what’s different here? I think it’s the atmosphere, at least in part. This isn’t the “real world.” I haven’t had to deal with people arguing over who has the most time with me. Habits and attitudes of these people encourage me; at school, that’s not always so. They don’t see how I react to professors and academic challenges. I don’t have my own time and space here; they don’t know the me who is quiet.

That’s okay. I’m constantly in flux. The challenges and blessings I encountered at Alabama shaped who I am. Likewise, the weeks I’m spending in Orlando are refining me in other ways. Thoreau said, “We are constantly invited to become who we are.” I pray that’s what I am always doing.

When I leave this city in a few weeks, I’ll take pieces of these people with me. Some of that may be in words or gestures, but some may be in attitude or character. I’m not sure what those changes will be, but this I know: the woman I am on OSP is not the woman I’ll be in Birmingham is not the woman I’ll be for the rest of my life. My prayer is only that each development will make me more like Jesus.

Stop trying to figure it out, deep will only bring you down

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Over the past month, I’ve been rolling an idea around in my head: sometimes failure is easier than success.

I’ll admit that idea doesn’t always show itself in the form of failure, per se. You could substitute “settling” for “failure” with the same result. It may have been easier to go on staff with Campus Crusade for Christ when I graduated from college instead of choosing a different career path. It was easier to kick off my graduate career at the same university I’d been attending for years instead of entering a risky field elsewhere. Conversley, it was scary to drop out of grad school in favor of living with my parents and praying about my next step. I thought I was crazy – and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one! – when I moved to Alabama halfway through a semester to prepare for another academic program.

Though I’ve only two classes remaining in my chosen major, there are still days when I worry I’ve made bad decisions. Journalism is an extremely competitive field; can I hack it? Is my skin thick enough to absorb the countless rejections that I’ll receive (indeed, have already received)? Do I have the talent and drive that it will take to be a success?

The answer is simple. I don’t know. All I know is I’ve got a passion for writing that feels almost as deep-seeded as Jeremiah’s fire in his bones. I may prove unsuccessful in this career, but all I know is that I must try.

I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a (red dirt, kudzu consumed) cliff. Scratch that – I’ve already taken a tentative step forward. Small and uncertain as it is, that step has sent me falling quickly toward a new destination. I see the safety net at the bottom, but it’s not a job or promise of financial prosperity. Instead, Jesus is blocking my view of those things. I don’t know what hides behind him. But I do know, even as my heart leaps into my throat, that he will catch me.

I'm such a dork.
And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19

The night wants to kiss you deep And be on his way

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Tonight I’m in the mood to have a boyfriend.

I don’t know what brought that on, but as it’s become a fairly rare wish, I thought it worthy of mention. I’m not sure when I became so anti-swoony in my attitude toward men. I wasn’t always this way, and I’m afraid it will take nothing more than “Mr. Right” to snap me out of it.

I received my share of condolences this weekend as I attended yet another wedding as a single woman. The funny thing is that I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I don’t pity myself! I’m 22, reasonably attractive and content with my place in life. (Okay, I’m not content with the student loans, but besides that…) I don’t want to be married right now.

Okay, so that’s due at least in part to the lack of interesting, available men around me. I’ve decided that I won’t do much dating in Tuscaloosa. In my year here, I’ve met one man with potential and that didn’t happen.

Sure, there’s plenty of other reasons, most of them logical in nature. But you know what I realized? I don’t want to be identified as “so-and-so’s girlfriend” or “so-and-so’s wife.” I’m CJ, I’m my own person, and I like it that way, thankyouverymuch.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t be caught up in other people’s opinions of me. I can’t let others define my identity. But I’ll be frank here. I know I tend to label some of my friends’ significant others as nothing more than that. We’re getting to the point where we’re far enough separated that I don’t really know the husbands and boyfriends of even my closest girl friends. The stories I’m told and my brief interactions with them help to flesh out the storyline, but in my mind they’re still supporting characters.

More than anything, I don’t want to identify myself as “so-and-so’s girlfriend.” Second to Christ, my opinion about myself is the one that matters most. I never want to find my identity wrapped up in another human being. It should come first from Jesus and second from my personality and interests, I think.

These are probably good realizations to have when I’m (momentarily, temporarily ;)) wishing for a man in my life. I told a friend the other day that I think I’m becoming more self aware… and part of that awareness is realizing potential and current weaknesses. Step two is relying on Christ for strength and change. Even as this fleeting desire begins to pass, I’ve got to keep my eyes turned heavenward.

la la la la la la
And there’s a rare bit of public spiritual reflection for you.

Man! I feel like a woman!

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Today I was challenged to explain what makes southern culture distinctive. It’s a challenge I’ve been issued several times before, and it’s one that is particularly difficult to answer. That level of difficulty is substantially higher when the person questioning has never been to the states in question.

I didn’t provide a complete answer today, but I did offer one piece of information: Southern women, on the whole, wear significantly more make up than the rest of the country.

No, I can’t explain why we do that. Perhaps it’s something of a southern belle mindset. But I’ve noticed that, although I coat my face in more products than many of my Floridian (and other non-Southern) friends, I look bare-faced compared to many of the girls on my campus. And man, have you ever hung out with Mississippian sorority girls? They make me look positively naked!

It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a high maintenance princess. I do my hair (mousse and wax) every day, and my full face goes on every morning. My battle gear includes concealer, foundation, powder, blush and/or bronzer, several shades of eye shadow, eye liner, mascara and lip liner/stick/gloss/all of the above, in that order. The day’s agenda has little effect on this regimen. On a day like today, when I only leave the house to make a grocery run, I might skimp on the eye make up or coat my lips with Chapstick alone. Night events demand touch ups and sometimes a different eye look entirely. (My next make up purchase will be liquid liner, but for now, I’m just wearing the pencil a bit thicker.)

Fellas, if you claim that you don’t like women who wear make up, you might want to stay out of my region. If you prefer southern ladies who don’t wear make up, I know a grand total of two beautiful women to whom I could introduce you. (And one of them is a transplant!) But if you’re into women who take pleasure in playing up their features with a variety of colors and textures, consider a move to the south. We primp and preen, but some of us (ahem, me) tend to do it more for our own enjoyment than for your attention.

Take that for what it’s worth. 🙂

Green eyed monster
This weekend, I treated myself to several make up purchases, including an eye duet (Jungle) from my Mary Kay lady. This is my new green daytime look – light green over the entire lid and up to the brow, dark green in the crease and green eye liner above and below the lid. And yes, I did spend plenty of time today contemplating the success of this look.

Protected: Time won’t be our master/ Who died and made it king?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

One thing that I love about intimate concert venues is the increased ability to understand the lyrics sung before you. Tara Leigh Cobble performed a number of new songs last night. This girl is moving up the ranks of my favorite songwriters – I wouldn’t want to wait till June 8th to understand what those songs were about.

Of course, there’s a flip side to most situations. The disadvantage of last night was that lyrics that exposed my heart did so in the company of fifty strangers.

” I’ve got strength for battles against calendars and maps
And if you say it’s worth it all, I’ll take the first bus back”

I listen to Tara Leigh a lot when relationships are weighing on my mind, because her writing hits close to home. Though (for TLC) it’s more about the difficulty of a love life on the road, “Calendars and Maps” carried me back to a long distance relationship of which I was half.

That relationship is in the past, but I relived a snapshot of it last night. I identified with the words Tara Leigh was singing; I was willing to give the relationship my best. When it ended, I felt as though he was saying I wasn’t worth it.

Never mind whether or not I am worth it (I think I am, although that particular man and I have no business being together). Rejection is a killer, and it brings to light some of our deepest insecurities. One of my issues is that I don’t believe that any man will think I’m worth it.

Jesus does. That’s what matters. Most of the time, CJ thinks so too. (That’s almost just as important!) But for those three minutes last night, I was taken back to a place where someone disagreed… and it was a painful moment.

“‘Cause manliness is tenderness
And a broad shouldered build
Safety is standing there
In the shoes you fill”

This post is private because it’s rather vulnerable (though I don’t think my words portray my flashback adequately). And that last quote is here just because I like it and it’s from the same song.

Keeping time

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ve got a little habit that I’ve only recently realized is strange.

I celebrate the anniversaries of all sorts of things – mentally, at the very least. Let me give you a few examples.

26 April 2004 – 2 year anniversary of college graduation
24 May 2004 – 23rd birthday of the guy I liked for three years in my early teens
4 June 2004 – 12 year anniversary of that time we went to Disney World in sixth grade
1 July 2004 – 7 year anniversary of getting my braces off
25 Oct 2004 – 2 years since one painful DTR, 3 years since another
2 Nov 2004 – 5 years of walking with the Lord
12 Nov 2004 – 9 years since I performed in a NFL halftime show

You get the idea. Some of these events are rather significant; I’ll probably tally the years since my college graduation and since I got real in my faith for decades to come. Although some of the events I remember are silly, the others have served as mile markers for me. I can look at some major points in my life and recognize how far I’ve come since.

I remember the freedom that I felt at Providence Canyon. That was the day that I decided I wasn’t going on staff with Campus Crusade for Christ (two years ago this month). I remember the tears I cried on the drive to Matt Schoolfield’s graduation party. I can’t forget driving through the streets of Trussville and bawling as “Somewhere North” filled my car.

And if I’m wise, neither will I forget the lessons that Jesus has taught me in the time since.

Confidence and ego trips I never took

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Two nights ago, my roommate marched into my bedroom and handed me a book.

“I think you need to read this,” she said. “It’s a really good chapter.”

She had indexed a page with her thumb, so when I took the book from her, I flipped open to that page.

“Breaking Up Without Falling Apart”

Interesting.

I settled in to read for a few minutes before bed, but I only made it through the first 13 pages before I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. Alisa asked me the next morning what I thought, and I told her that I still had five pages or so to go. As I ate lunch, I discovered that those five pages were the best reading in the chapter – or at the very least, the most relevant to my situation.

The authors of this book (Relationships, by Drs. Les & Leslie Parrot) compared the process a person goes through after being dumped to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five phases of grief. I recognized these from a course titled Death & Dying that I took several years ago at Florida State. Never before had I thought of equating them to the end of a relationship, but the analogy hit home.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. In the two weeks that have passed since I was dumped, I’ve experienced all of these thoughts and emotions to some extent. They have come and gone, danced around one another and disappeared altogether – and in no particular order. I’ve thought a lot about the entire relationship, my reaction to being rejected and – of course – the dumper himself.

This is the first time I’ve been rejected by a guy I was dating (or “dating,” as the case may be). It certainly is different than being rejected outside of the context of a relationship – perhaps more so than I expected. But the beauty of this situation is that I have seen growth in how I relate to men.

Some time before this ex of mine, I liked a guy who I was close friends with. That crush lasted from January to October of 2002, and I wasn’t completely over him until February of the following year. I had tried to “guard my heart,” but I didn’t realize how much I had given away until it was too late.

Perhaps it’s a bit easier this time around because I hadn’t liked this guy nearly as long. (I only liked him for a month before we got together!) But I’m more inclined to say that it had a lot to do with sticking to that popularly referenced verse, Proverbs 4:23. I can’t really take the credit for the difference – God is good – but I am grateful for it nonetheless.

I wouldn’t say that I’m 100% over him or that I’m completely satisfied with where things are. But I’m moving into that stage of acceptance.

It’s still hard to remember the good times we had together, because the wounds haven’t healed completely. But they’ve scabbed over now. They’re protected from immediate pain when he’s brought up or when something reminds me of him. I do miss his friendship… but I’m moving on.

(A side note for those who have read this far: You may have noticed that my subject lines are generally song lyrics. I am loving the song referenced in today’s entry! They’re coming to Tuscaloosa on Friday night… maybe I should check them out.)