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Still I judge success by how I’m dressing

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m really content right now. And it just occurred to me how significant that is.

See, lately I have felt even more topsy-turvy than usual. I started a new job a month ago, and I still don’t feel settled into it. (Of course, the whole building is a bit unstable right now – we’re moving into a new building in less than a month’s time!) I’m going through another bout of wishing all my friends lived closer, and in the process I’m forgetting to appreciate the friends who are local. Oh, and I miss my parents. A lot.

But I’m also learning, and in the process, maybe even growing a bit (I hope). Maybe that’s what 25 will be for me – a year of growing, and maybe learning how to deal with things like an adult.

I’m realizing a lot of ugly things about myself lately, chief among them being how self-centered I am. (Newsflash: The world does not revolve around me.) I’m also terribly undisciplined. I have this whole silver platter mentality. Life has always come relatively easily, and I think that’s just the way it should be.

Let’s be real. That’s just not how it is.

But you know, I feel really good about these realizations. I feel like I’m at one of those points where you see your own sinfulness, your own shortcomings … and you see how God is so much bigger.

I’m OK with that. 😉

Be careful with me, ’cause I’d like to stay that way

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I think I’m harder than I used to be. But when I get my feelings hurt, I realize how sensitive I really am. Sometimes I use the sassyness to keep people at arm’s length. I think I’m more sweet than sassy, though. (But I’m not sure.)

I sometimes talk too much and repeat things that aren’t amusing just to fill silences. But I think a comfortable silence is one of the most valuable things two people can share. When I feel vulnerable, I want my closest friends around, even if we don’t do anything.

I’m a daddy’s girl. I used to regularly hurt my mom’s feelings (when I was little) by pushing her away and crying, “I don’t want you, I want GEE!” I hurt my dad’s feelings when I stopped calling him Gee and started calling him Daddy.

I feel guilty when people buy me presents that I don’t like. I cry when I get angry, or sad, or frustrated, or stressed out. Sometimes I think I should leave my stressful profession for a desk job that I wouldn’t take home with me.

I worry too much and pray too little. I’m slow to trust people, but once I do, I’m fiercely loyal. I’m also a little self-centered.

I think driving with the windows down in the rain is a good idea. It’s even better if you can smell the lightning. I’m not athletic and I hate sweating, but I like to play outside sometimes anyway.

I’m not afraid to run through leaves like a child, and sometimes I get so excited about a conversation that I talk with my mouth full. I’m kind of a nerd, and I don’t really have a problem with it.

I’m messy — not in keeping house, but in my faith and in who I am. The older I get, the more I realize how imperfect I am. But that leaves me appreciating grace even more.

Now I don’t want to beg you, baby, for something maybe you could never give

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Wow, so, I don’t know why this post has been saved as a draft for so long. I definitely wrote it in December, just after I started at my last job … which I quit earlier this month, just so you know. Anyway …

Sometimes a girl just hits a threshold where she can’t handle any more talk of weddings, boyfriends or blind dates without wanting a piece of the action for herself.

Usually I am not that girl. In fact, within days of starting this job, one of the sports guys had asked me if I wasn’t the marrying type and then decided that I probably didn’t want children. (He was wrong on both counts, and I can’t help but wonder why he thought he had me so quickly figured out.)

No, usually I’m the girl who complains about wedding and engagement announcements and loudly proclaims how much she is not ready for marriage.

OK, so I’m still that girl. But for tonight, at the very least, I’m also the girl who wouldn’t mind attempting a relationship.

The other night I made one of my typical comments about not being ready to be married and a couple of friends gave me those “really?” sort of expressions. And well, I figure it’s pretty obvious that I’m not ready, given that I have no one who I would want to marry at this point (nor anyone who would want to marry me, but y’know, one without the other isn’t much good anyway).

I read somewhere today that everyone is afraid of commitment these days. I wonder if that’s true. Are we more afraid of commitment than in the past? I am, at least a little bit – I mean, seriously, I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted more than three months.

But I crave companionship as much as the next person, and though it can come in many less romantic forms, the truth is I would like a man to spend some time with. That obviously wouldn’t supplant time with girlfriends (once I make them) or, well, with my cat, because she is the only one who travels with me from city to city on this voyage we call my twenties.

I figure I probably won’t date much while I live in this city, if at all. There simply aren’t that many men to choose from. The attractive ones are usually married or too young for me (I could handle grad students, maybe even a fifth year senior, but junior college guys are just a little green yet.) And did I mention that the first (well, only) place I’ve been hit on in this city was at Wal-Mart?

Dating isn’t everything – if you look at my past history, you’ll realize that I know that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it, especially when a co-worker proffers her newly diamond-laden hand.

I’m not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
–Patty Griffin

I’m holding on to you like a diamond in the rough

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The older I get, the more I enjoy “Friends.”

I’m dangerously close to the age the girls were when the series began, and I so get where these characters were in life. (It actually makes me kind of happy that I didn’t watch the show when it first debuted. I was 13. I totally would not have appreciated it.)

But now I’m in the middle of my 20-something years. I have no money and I’m about to begin the third job of my career. My girl friends and I love to gossip about the guys we’re dating (which I know is completely normal, but we’re doing it now more than ever!).

Until recently, though, most of my closest friends were in other states. When the girls and I got together for a Florida trip in May, we represented five different states. (Paula’s in Georgia, Apryl lives in Virginia, I’m a ‘Bama girl, Heather represented Mississippi and Alison is the only one still in Florida.) Alisa was in California until last week, Megan is in New York, Lara has lived in three states in 2006.

Thank God for IN calling and free long distance.

But I feel like the tide is changing. Susan moved to town and Heather arrives Monday. Katie’s in Montevallo, but we’re considering becoming roommates this winter.

My “Friends” group is starting to take shape.

Seriously though, there have been times in the past several years where I realized I was jealous of characters on a TV show. That’s silly, maybe, but it’s true — and I don’t think I was alone in that. The greatest thing about college was living with my best friends, and I don’t think I could overemphasize the value of having those people nearby. I have tons of friends in this state already, but there’s something great about showing up at a friend’s house and waiting for her in her backyard hammock.

I’m Monica, and now I have my Phoebe and my … other Phoebe. (And maybe a third on the way?) Send Joey, Ross and Chandler on over and I may never move from this city again.

Monica to Rachel at the end of the pilot, after Rachel cuts up her credit cards: Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re going to love it.

PS: I originally started writing this post, with a completely different intent, on July 9, 2005. How about that. And I even remember WHY I started writing it — because Heather and I were in a loud bar and couldn’t hear ourselves and we got to talking about the episode where Joey, Ross and Chandler try to go out and have fun but they’re exhausted and want to go home. So she said, “We’re in an episode of friends… but they’re THIRTY!” So … tonight I’m boring. But I’m trying to clean out my ancient drafts. 😉

He taught her how to run, baby

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m not sure if it’s possible to become athletic at 24 years old, but I’ve decided that I’m going to try.

I’m 5’3 and about 98 pounds. I’m not terribly concerned about getting in shape for aesthetic reasons (although truthfully, I would mind a little more muscle tone). But I am convinced that my metabolism is going to taper off at some point, and I’ll regret it if I’m not already exercising when that happens. Plus I’m something of a hypochondriac, so I think getting in shape will make me feel better about myself and will cut down on the number of ailments I convince myself that I have.

I’ve been toying with these thoughts for at least a year now, but I haven’t done much about it. Last summer my roommate Lydia and I decided to walk in the mornings before work, but I don’t think that lasted a week before we decided sleep is better than sweat.

So this weekend I took a big step: I decided to become a runner.

Now I haven’t always been completely sedentary. I rode my bike all over my neighborhood as a child, and I was on the dance and cheer squads in high school. I love canoeing and kayaking, although I don’t often have the opportunity to go.

But I have always, always hated running.

I’ve decided to work on that because running just makes the most sense right now. I’m a commuter, with a 120-mile round trip drive to and from work. I don’t have much time to go to a gym, and I really can’t afford it anyway.

So even though I would really prefer a dance class or yoga or something involving air conditioning, I decided to suck it up and buy my first pair of running shoes. They were much cheaper than a gym membership, and I figured that if I don’t follow through, I just won’t buy another pair ever again.

I left the store at about 2 p.m. Saturday after jogging in place, testing probably 10 different pairs of shoes. (My friend Adriene kept me company and encouraged me via text message. It was very difficult to surround myself with shoes and not pick out a pair of heels.)

The gray and purple Nikes I selected are about as cute as running shoes can be, though, and I had to talk myself out of taking them on a test run during the hottest part of the day. The next morning I quickly realized why that was a good move.

I am such a wimp. I went a mile that morning, running maybe 2/5 of it and walking the rest. Even that little bit was too much for me; I had to take a break sitting on the curb, and I nearly puked at one point.

Today I altered my approach, using a schedule that had been recommended to Adriene when she started running. I walked 10 minutes to warm up, then ran one minute. After a five minute walking break, I ran another minute, then cooled down with the 10 minute walk back home. Each week I’m supposed to add a minute to my running time, then start deducting walking time until I’m running continuously.

Today still did not feel good – I’ve got to work on my breathing. But it was an improvement over yesterday. And if I keep my eyes on my pretty gray and purple sneakers, they give me a small thrill of enthusiasm as my feet carry me home.

CUTE SHOES!

I’m a hundred kinds of crazy

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Things that make me feel beautiful:

  • Being complimented on my personality, not my appearance, by someone who obviously also finds me attractive
  • Tall, dainty shoes
  • Spending time with four of my favorite women. When we’re together, I feel like we’re just sparkling.
  • My cat’s adoring gaze
  • Gray sweatpants and ribbed tank tops
  • Orange, brown and green
  • Dancing to Patty Griffin’s “Mil Besos” in the solitude of my own home
  • A single rose in a bud vase
  • Folk music
  • Reading books by eccentric writers and wise journalists
  • Freshly painted toenails
  • Messy ponytails
  • Dancing to “Will It Go ‘Round in Circles” in my car where no one can see
  • Hoop earrings
  • Reading in bed instead of being productive
  • Complete honesty with friends
  • John Mayer songs
  • Embracing my quirkiness for all it’s worth (it’s endearing!)

Nothing tastes as sweet as what I can’t have

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The only bad thing about a good weekend is that it makes me miss Tuscaloosa.

Maybe that’s silly, since Friday night I hung out with people that I mostly know from Tallahassee, and we were in Birmingham. (But three of them live in Tuscaloosa, and until next week, one of them lives pretty close to T-town.)

Both Friday and Saturday were spent with friends, though, and that’s something I miss out on with all the moving around I’ve done lately. The two hours I spend commuting each day limit the time I have for socializing, and though it’s worth it to be back in Birmingham, it still takes its toll.

I guess I’m missing something that doesn’t exactly exist anymore — having most of my friends in one city, a roommate to go home to at night and random dog walks. I’ll never have most of my friends in one place ever, ever again (except maybe if/when I get married), and the former roommate I spent yesterday with is getting married in several months. (And well, I don’t have a dog, but I’m really good at borrowing them.)

It’s kind of silly for a good weekend to leave me sort of melancholy (nostalgic, really). But at least I’ll have plenty of thoughts to keep me busy on my drive to Georgia this afternoon.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I know you’ll be there

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I read an article today on Slate that really resonated with me. I would quote parts of it here, but really, you should just go read the entire thing.

http://www.slate.com/id/2140095/

I don’t like writing very much right now. It’s been months since I wrote something that I was pleased with, whether personally or professionally. Instead of a craft that I work at and take pride in, it’s become a chore, a means to a paycheck.

That’s not to say I don’t want to write anymore. I do. Even when I daydream about quitting and doing something else, writing figures prominently. (Today my brilliant idea was that I should become a flight attendant and write about that somehow … travel articles or something. Or travel articles and a book. I haven’t figured it all out yet. But then I realized that Delta isn’t hiring and I don’t want to fly Southwest and Continental wants you to have two years of customer service experience, which I do not. So then I thought I might stick with journalism.)

Journalism is still the love in my life (even when Jesus should be). I’m in this for the long haul, and I think I may have a book (or two) in me yet. But right now I’m in a rut.

And though they have nothing to do with each other, that article also reminded me of the introduction to Don Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz.” I’m tired of resolution – I feel sometimes like everything I write has to have a neat ending, even if it’s just spilling my guts all over the World Wide Web. I want to be OK with uncertainty and unanswered questions.

Sometimes, I want to create them for myself.

I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes.

After that I liked jazz music.

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.

I used to not like God because God didn’t resolve. But that was before any of this happened.

–Don Miller

You always want what you can’t have

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I spend too much time looking at the past, and I really forget how good I have it.

Today was perfect. I slept in till 11:30, then sat and drank black coffee with an old friend for maybe an hour. (There’s nothing like a friend around whom you can look your absolute worst and yet not feel ugly.) I spent another hour on the phone with my best friend, sitting on the back deck while my cat played in the yard. I didn’t brush my teeth until 2:30 and it was GLORIOUS.

It reminded me of probably my favorite Easter to date — in 2002, when my roommate Paula and I went to church together in the morning, then cooked for a handful of our friends who hadn’t gone home for Easter. That was one of the most laid-back days when I was able to appreciate grace and good friends.

At some point in the past several years, I’ve developed an appreciation for diversity that I had never realized I lacked. Like that day in 2002, last night and today were filled with people … mostly people who aren’t like me in a lot of ways. And it’s … I don’t know, fulfilling somehow.

Heather and I were talking earlier about faith, and ways that we’ve both changed since college. I told her that faith (and thereby life) is much messier than I ever thought, but also so much more beautiful.

It’s just been one of those days where your emotions hover just below the surface, threatening to break through. I was on the verge of tears several times during church tonight … and I kept thinking about how poker, beer and friends (many that I barely know) somehow don’t seem like Easter … but how, at the same time, friendships somehow have a redemptive quality.

“No need to ask where other roads might have led, since they led elsewhere; for nowhere but this here and now is my true destination.” –Ruth Bidgood

Protected: Prettiest city in Alabam (password: my birthplace)

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The dream is this: I find a job in Birmingham. It’s enough to pay my bills on 40 hours a week, plus enough to save a little for retirement.

I move out of my grandmother’s house and into a Southside apartment with Katie. My family is all still within a half hour of me, and my 16-year-old cousin and I can have girly sleepovers with movies and chocolate chip cookie dough.

Living with Katie also means having a close friend down the hall. Susan (well, both Susans, actually) would be just 10 minutes away. Living in Southside means living in my church neighborhood and just over the mountain from my community group (as well as Anna, Jeff and Heath). It means walking to coffee or friends’ homes (maybe). It means deepening friendships and a short drive to work.

The reality is this: It’s not likely to happen, at least, not soon. The one Birmingham job I currently have a shot at is part time (which would be OK, but wouldn’t fulfill the dream. And, after reading the job description, I’m afraid I could be overqualified).

The dream is several years away still, and by then it will probably assume a different incarnation.

Still, it’s nice to dream.