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Being Southern is a state of mind

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

While discussing various relations, a friend of mine credited the size of his family to his Italian heritage. I thought it an interesting observation—then I wondered what my heritage says about me.

When you can trace your ancestry back some 200 years and still find yourself in the southeastern United States, I’d say you’re pretty stinkin’ American—and dang Southern. We may currently reside in Alabama—but prior to that we were Georgians—and once upon a time we were Carolinians (of the northern sort—and that’s about as close to Yankeedom as we come!).

Okay, okay—I have heard rumors that our roots are some blend of French and English. We’re very Anglo. (Oh, and when I was young I told people we were part Swedish, ‘cause I thought it sounded cool. And part Cherokee, but that part is true, though miniscule.)

But mostly I’m just Southern, and from what I’ve heard, it shows. Save for my Yankee sister, my family exhibits a Southern drawl. (I don’t hear it, but others insist it’s there.) I’m a diehard football fan, and that was actually a factor in both of my college selections. We can cook, we can eat, and we’ve got that hospitality thing (and its accompanying sets of rules!) down pat.

The weirdest thing anyone has noted about my Southern heritage is my appearance. I didn’t know you could look Southern—I’m not sure you can look Southern! But apparently something about strawberry blonde curls and fair skin screams Southern belle.

Who knew?

Faith can answer Thy demands by pleading what my Lord has done

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Yes, and I must, I will esteem
All things but loss for Jesus’ sake
Oh my soul be found in Him
And of His righteousness partake

I don’t cry a lot over other people’s relationships. In fact, I think I’ve only cried over two relationships besides my own (with the exception of weddings, of course–those don’t count). But on my way home tonight, I was definitely tearing up.

It’s a humbling thing to observe love between a man and a woman. I like to think it doesn’t really exist, though I know that’s not true. (I think the root of that is more in believing lies about myself than anything–but that’s an entirely different blog entry. Every once in a while, things aren’t about me.) It does me good to see that real men do exist, and though they sometimes make mistakes, there are men who are pursuing godliness.

I can’t tell you how much respect I have for that.

You ask me ’bout creamer, you ask me ’bout sugar…

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’ve just made a startling discovery:

I like black coffee!

No great story or opportunity for a little writing exercise here. It’s just a bit of info I thought those who care about my coffee drinking habits would care to know. I brewed too much coffee and filled my favorite mug to the rim. Instead of dumping my precious Sumatra in the sink, I decided to sip it down till there’s room for cream.

It ain’t half bad.

Maybe the black coffee takes the edge off a stressful week. Now that my master’s project has sucessfully been defended and I’m set to graduate in two weeks (!!), I have a moment to relax.

Odds are I’ll be writing before the end of the weekend. But in the meantime, why don’t you entertain us all with a description of your favorite coffee mug?

(Oh–mine is an oversized pink mug with a heart shaped handle and the word “amore.” printed near its base. It may have competition soon with the arrival of my Christmas mugs–but at least they’re all from Alisa. She’ll remain the clear winner!)

I’m all dressed up and ready to fall in love

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

It was 38 degrees out when I left for work this morning.

You know what that means. I grabbed my favorite wool coat, leather gloves (so I wouldn’t hurt my hands on the cold steering wheel) and walked out to brave the day. It was wonderful.

Better still… it means I need to buy new shoes. 🙂 How can I face the winter in pumps and slingbacks? I need some high heeled boots!

Sometimes I’m allowed to be frivolous and girly, okay? 🙂

Something about the handwriting made me save every scrap

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Joey: (looks at a girl walk in) see ordinarily I would talk to her, but my confidence is shaken did I sleep with her? Did I not sleep with her?
–The One with the Sharks

I’ve said before that the older I get, the more I relate to Friends. (That might explain why I watch at least six hours of the show a week.) One of tonight’s (many) episodes resonated on multiple levels. Maybe Joey was talking about confidence in his sex life… but just because don’t have one of those doesn’t mean I can’t relate.

Over the past nine days, I’ve doubted my ability in one of the things I’m best at: writing. When I received a critique from my professor on my master’s project, it was harsher than I anticipated. I began a massive revision of the project, and I think it’s going well. (I have until tomorrow evening to complete it, so we’ll see.)

But in the process, my very foundation has been shaken.

I have three near-complete articles waiting to be polished and submitted. I won’t graduate from the University of Alabama unless these rewrites are successful. After the events of the past week and a half, I no longer trust my ability to determine whether or not these articles are any good.

I fully agree with my professor’s criticism of the series. He offered useful advice. I think I’ve put that to use and transformed this from a ho-hum sophomore in college piece of work to a project fitting for a graduate student.

But what if I didn’t? I cried for over an hour the night I received his e-mail. I went to work the following morning feeling shaky. I’ve had bouts of anxiety ever since.

I’ve battled those fits in the only way I know how: through prayer. I sat in bed after a night of editing and rewriting and turned to one of my favorite chapters of one of my favorite books of the Bible. As I reread an oft-quoted passage in 2 Corinthians, truth hit me anew:

His grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore, I will boast, because when I am weak, then I am strong.

My worth isn’t found in my writing. (It’s a damn good thing, too—this entry will testify that I’m not always at the top of my game!) Performance doesn’t make or break me. I try so hard to have it all together, because I’m a perfectionist, because control is my pet sin. I think I’m doing well most of the time.

That’s a lie. When I think I’m strong, I’m at my weakest, because I’m ignoring my need for Christ. I’m overlooking how the gospel applies to my everyday needs.

When I admit that I’m fallen, I rely on Christ to lift me up. Maybe the series I’ve worked so hard to save will meet my committee’s standards—but maybe it won’t. That frightens me, almost to the point of indolence.

But look at how far He’s brought me. I reflected the other day on the path from Tallahassee to Alabama. I’ve seen God’s hand all the way. Who am I to think He would abandon me here?

(And yes, if you happen to be reading this and it happens to be sometime before, oh, 6:30 p.m. on Tuesday, November 30, and you happen to want to edit my stories… please say so. I’ll be forever grateful.)

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I was listening to The Joshua Tree while I was getting ready this afternoon (yes, I’ve been lazy this weekend) and I thought, “If I were ever to run a personal ad, that would have to be my headline.” And then I realized how odd that thought was. Why on earth would I ever run a personal ad?

Every so often I realize I’m dissatisfied with my life. It seems to happen on a cycle of sorts… maybe it’s every two years. I’m not sure. In any case, I wake up one day with “Why Georgia” sentiments on the mind, and it takes a lot to shake it.

I think it might be ’cause I’m a little bit crazy.

This sense of dissatisfaction took root during spring of my senior year at FSU. I made several attempts to shake it: I convinced a couple of friends to skip class and go hiking in Georgia with me. (For the record, that remains one of my favorite days of my life. I was very satisfied.) I decided not to accept the job I had lined up and started applying to grad school instead. (Ask me sometime about my GRE experience. It was one of the most disgusting moments of my young life.) I spent a summer in California. And eventually, I picked up and moved to Alabama.

It was a good move. I was ready to leave Tallahassee. I don’t know why, but when it’s time, you know it. Though the transition to Alabama was hard (I still don’t think I’m settled there), I knew it was where I needed to be.

Well, I’ve got the itch again, and I don’t know what to do about it. Quite frankly, I don’t know that I need to do anything about it.

We’ll just call it senioritis, though I didn’t know that was an option in graduate school.

In any case, I’ve found myself longing for FSU over the past couple of weeks. More accurately, I’ve been reminiscing about FSU in the Spring of 2002. I have no interest in moving back to Tallahassee, thankyouverymuch. I actually like Birmingham very much, despite its pollution and my lack of employment.

You know what I think it is? I miss the community. I remember my final week as an undergrad… it was filled with precious moments with what were then dear friends. My only all-nighter of my college career took place that week, and involved BBQ ribs, fountain swimming, Playdoh, popsicles, John Mayer and Risk. I passed the hours the following night at a coffee shop while I wrote, curled up between two friends on an old couch. I remember calling a close friend to cry while I was on my way to a graduation party. I was surrounded, both literally and figuratively, by people who loved me.

That’s not the case anymore. I can’t downplay the importance of long distance friends–many of my favorite people live far, far away. But neither can I ignore the value of friendships in the city where I reside.

There’s no easy solution. I don’t even know if I’ll be in Birmingham for longer than a month or two. I’ve got to keep pushing, even though I don’t really want to. And maybe eventually I’ll find a few people who appreciate my special brand of crazy. 🙂

Relevant is my blog

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m in a hurry to get things done…

…and as a result, I probably won’t be updating here for at least a week.

In the meantime, here’s a few reads to keep you busy. See? I have been writing–just not for you. 😉

Read all about the joys and tribulations of my job search

Learn how Derek Webb created one of my favorite “Christian” CDs.

Celebrate my love of all things coffee (well, except mochas–yech!).

Enjoy my ranting and raving about college football (and overlook a small factual error… I’m so embarrassed. To my credit, I did look it up beforehand… I just did a crappy job of verifying. OOPS! Doesn’t change the point, though…)

Stumble in the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The countdown has been on all semester, but today it hits a special mark. I’m dropping to a number of days instead of months until graduation.

So, in 30 days I’ll cross the stage of Coleman Coliseum in celebration of my master’s degree. It’s true that I’ll have attained a level of education that exceeds the requirements of my field—and it’s possible that could be to my detriment at times. Indeed, you can find veterans of the profession who boast only a high school education. Though my degree has come at a high cost, I don’t regret it for a moment.

For all my excitement, I expect many of the next 30 days to pass slowly. I’ve completed my master’s project (though I’ve yet to convince anyone to purchase those 6,000 words for publication). The paperwork for my summer internship has been completed and submitted. My current internship is part time (and is nearing conclusion, itself). So as I told an inquiring friend earlier this week—yes, approaching graduation is exciting—but it’s also fairly boring.

My workaholic tendencies don’t help. I’m attempting to fill my five free days each week with writing, job hunting, f/Friends and volunteering. But truth be told, I long to return to 40 hour work weeks.

They laughed when I rushed through college in three years. “You have the rest of your life to work,” they said. “Slow down and enjoy this time.” They again cautioned me when I aimed to barrel through graduate studies (though for different reasons). “Don’t take on too much at a time or your grades will suffer.”

Turns out I was right all along—the working world suits me. Bring on the 8-5.

In the jungle, the mighty jungle….

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m sitting in Starbucks (surprise!) and the CD playing is so atrocious I can’t concentrate. So much for reading with a latte in an oversize chair.

Look at your calendar. Last I checked, November 17 is too early for Christmas music. (I know this topic is addressed so often it’s become trite. Give me a moment.)

It’s worse still when those untimely tunes are crooned loudly and off key! I know the Christmas décor and products are intended to boost sales. (And I’m highly susceptible to these ploys. Whenever new merchandise fills the shelves, I rush to examine the brightly colored goods. I’m ready to drop $20 on a set of mugs from the last merchandize blitz.)

However, when the music is this painful, I’m surprised customers aren’t running out of the store! The girls studying near me muttered to each other, “This is horrible.” The song they complained about was followed by another that should have been retired years ago. There’s no place for “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in a coffee shop—ever.