Blog

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.

I decided early this week that I’d like to go to a movie by myself. There was a chick flick to come out at the end of the week, and I didn’t have anyone to accompany me. No bother–I thought going alone would be an experience. (Indeed, the sense of adventure from flying solo was more enjoyable than the movie itself. Glad I saved by going to a matinee.)

But I’ve been looking for ways to get to know people in town, so I thought about going to a church singles event tonight. It’s not my church (we don’t have a singles group, which I must admit is part of the appeal). There was to be a band and it sounded better than watching What Not to Wear with my grandma and my cat.

One problem: I was too afraid to go alone (especially with the label of a singles group event!), and I realized I truly had no one to call up and invite. The enormity of my loneliness hit me: I’m not just alone, I’m pathetic.

When did making friends become so hard? I used to be surrounded by them. I literally would have too many people to keep up with on weekends. Overlooking someone as we made our calls was quite likely. What happened?

I’ll be honest: I tend to blame it on the state of Alabama. How lame is that?! But since I’ve arrived here, I’ve only made a couple true blue friends, the kind you can cry in front of and still safe. (And the ways I’ve met those friends were rather unconventional!)

While it’s unreasonable to fault the entire state, I know it can’t be all me, either. There was a three month window when I left Alabama this summer. During that time, I met several people I’ll consider friends for life. Our circumstances were admittedly completely different, but it was enough to know that I am capable of opening up to people.

So what’s the difference? Here there’s not a built in group of people within a few years of my age. It should take a little more effort, but I wouldn’t think it’d be this hard.

I guess I didn’t realize the depth of my need until recently. All fall, I worked two full days a week. I was out of the house, interacting with people. Though it wasn’t in a social setting, there was enough contact with the world beyond my house to keep me from drowning.

Unemployment changed that. I went to Bible study on Wednesday night and realized it was the first I had left my house in two days. My ventures in the days since have been solitary, but at least they got me out of my fuzzy slippers.

All is not right in my little world. There haven’t been any major disasters or glaring indiscretions, but there’s an emptiness inside. I’m out of fellowship–there’s not a body of believers surrounding me–and I feel like I’m drowning in loneliness.

I have a church home locally and I take part in a community group on a weekly basis. (Well, in theory. We didn’t meet for a month.) But I’m not at home there, and I know it’s at least as much me as it is them.

It’s easy to go to church once a week–to slip in the back and leave again without interaction. When I do engage in conversation, it’s so roughtine I ought to make a tape recording. “My name is CJ, I just received my master’s in journalism from Alabama and I’m looking for a job.” This is the sum of my interactions with virtually everyone in Birmingham.

I feel I have nothing to offer–like it’s my fault for being unemployed. I feel like an unproductive member of society. But I know that’s not entirely true. I’m still able to maintain engaging conversations with people who really know me. I can talk for hours about next to nothing.

I know it’s not all me. I even met a couple guys from church at Starbucks the other day. One struck up conversation when he saw what I was reading. We had an enjoyable, though brief, conversation that broke the aforementioned mold.

So I know it’s possible to have deeper conversations and healthy friendships. I just don’t have a lot of that in Birmingham, and it weighs on me. I’m tempted to think finding a job and moving away would solve this problem. But I know it’s not that easy. I have to take risks, resolve conflict, invest in others–because I know the potential payoff is greater than the risks.

It’s one thing to acknowledge that; it’s quite another to do something about it.