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A half-pound of coffee and a reminder of where my value lies…

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Alisa and I are trying to be more conscious of our health, so far as it relates to our coffee intake. We both love our legal stimulant, so we brew at least a couple cups a day. We’re concerned about developing addictions, so we decided to make the switch to decaf. Therefore, when we ran out of coffee this afternoon, I decided to drop by the Starbucks on campus to replenish our supply. (Sidenote: Never purchase Starbucks coffee at the grocery store. I spotted it on sale at Target one week and thought I was getting a good deal. Later, I discovered that I paid $6.50 for a half-pound of coffee that sold for $5.20 at Starbucks.) Decaf isn’t quite as good in my book, so I figured we better invest in some good decaf if this is going to be a successful venture.

After class, I drove across campus to complete this mission. I had a cup of cheap Maxwell House coffee today, and I don’t want to repeat the experience if I can help it. (Music snob? check. Dating snob? check. Food snob? check. Coffee snob? you guessed it – check.) I parked behind the student center, jogged over and climbed the stairs to the level where Starbucks is housed. I breathlessly approached the doors that stood between me and my eight ounces of magic beans. Then, foolishly, an attractive young man stepped in my path.

“A new salon is opening in town,” he told me. “We’re doing a promotional offer for fifty women on campus. Has anyone approached you about this yet?”

I sighed. Anyone who knows me well can testify that I don’t like to spend a lot of money on my appearance. Oh sure – I’m high maintenance enough. 😉 But I am nearly the definition of a bargain shopper. Even my nicest clothes and biggest indulgences were on sale. I don’t go to fancy salons. I’d rather save the money for that pair of pinstriped slacks that I spotted on sale at Gap.

“How much do you spend on a haircut?” he asked.

“Fifteen dollars.” (I didn’t mention that the figure I gave him included tip.)

“Wow – you’re one of the lucky ones.”

He went on to tell me about the gimmick he was promoting. For the cost of a haircut – a $40 haircut, that is – I could experience all of these fantastic salon services! Whoop-ti-do.

The thing is, I briefly considered signing up for this deal. Sure, $40 isn’t so much for the list of services he showed me (which included highlighting and a 25 minute massage, among other things.) But I certainly don’t need to blow $40 on my appearance – at least, not in such a temporary, fleeting manner.

No, but I considered it because I have been feeling uncomfortable with my appearance over the past few days. I thought about forking over $40 – a sum I don’t come by easily – because my hair has looked frumpy. I thought about handing that guy – just a random guy who may not be who he says at all – the equivalent of a week and a half’s groceries because my skin has been breaking out and it makes me paranoid.

You know what? I think I’m a fairly cute girl. I’m generally happy with my appearance. But I’ve felt out of sorts for the past few days, and I considered this as a way to boost my self esteem.

That’s a sad state of affairs. It’s a good thing I didn’t have the $40 with me to give him.

(And for those who were wondering, I ended up spending $5.30 on a half pound of decaf Sumatra. I’ll let you know how it is.)

General Life Update

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

The following post was excerpted from an e-mail I wrote earlier this afternoon. I don’t know whether or not it makes an e-mail less personal if you later publish it for others to see. 🙂 In any case, I wrote it for a specific friend but thought it was worth repeating. He doesn’t read this site, anyway, so he’ll never know. 😀

So, I had told Alisa a couple hours ago that I thought I should hear something from an internship today in exchange for not getting the weekend I had planned. (Yes, I’m a baby, but I thought that was a fair request of God. 😉 ) Well, I got what I prayed for – I opened the mailbox and found a letter from the Raleigh News & Observer, among other items.

I pulled that out, along with a package for Alisa and another for me, and headed back up to the apartment. I opened the package first. I saved the envelope from the Raleigh paper for last, even though I knew what it contained. I told you the other night that I feel like I’m applying for college all over again. Well, college acceptance letters always felt different than rejections – thicker, usually. All this envelope contained was a single sheet of paper, so I knew I didn’t get the internship before I opened it.

Sure enough, the three sentences typed on the company’s letterhead were not encouraging:

“Thank you for your interest in our 2004 summer internship program. We had more than 140 applications and I regret to tell you were not chosen. I wish you well as you begin your journalism career.”

Man. That stinks. Raleigh is one of the smaller (though not smallest) papers I’ve applied to thus far. If I can’t get accepted there, I might as well cross Jacksonville, Charlotte, New Orleans, Richmond and Austin off the list. That leaves Louisville and Quincy, Mass., out of the applications I’ve already mailed. When I was at that party for my program last weekend, one of the older grad students all but told me that I wouldn’t get accepted to any of the places I’d applied. I was pretty discouraged when I left that night, but I hoped she was wrong. Guess not.

The good news is that the Birmingham magazine internship is promising. I don’t know if you remember me telling you about it, but it’s the one that I would start in February and work at 15 hours per week while I’m taking classes this semester. Because it’s a part time internship, and unpaid at that, I feel like my chances are much stronger. Still, the pressure’s on.

If I can get that internship, and receive confirmation that I’ve been accepted to it, before I send out my last few apps, that would be excellent. I think that having that experience would boost my chances for the places I have yet to apply (Southern Progress, Cape Cod, Anniston, maybe Daytona Beach). I really want to get a newspaper internship this summer (or Southern Progress!), and I’m increasingly nervous about it. If I can’t even get an internship, how on earth am I going to get a JOB?!?!?!?

But worse comes to worse, I can apply for the Birmingham magazine internship for the summer, too. It’s not nearly as good as having a 40 hour week experience, but it’s a heckuva lot better than just writing for the school paper. And if I stayed here this summer, I might be able to graduate by August. Maybe.

Am I right side up or upside down?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I was thinking about it when I went to bed last night, and that last entry was really closed. But y’know what? Tough luck. Although everything I wrote last night is true, there’s so much more on my mind than that. I need to focus my vulnerability in sharing with the people who are close to me, though. That does include some of you who read this page… but it doesn’t include the entire world wide web community. So I’m going to keep my innermost thoughts between me, Jesus, and some of my friends… and you can read more when I write more. 😛

Is this real, or am I dreaming?

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

With the dawning of this new year, my heart has been jumping through a series of hoops. 2004 is full of promise (shouldn’t each new year be?) But with those opportunities come risks.

My little heart is on the line – in so many ways. I feel vulnerable, as I am repeatedly opening myself up to rejection. Ten days into the year, I’m looking down the road and quietly panicking.

With every story I write for the paper, I worry that I’ve lost my touch. I’m a wreck until I see my words in print or receive a word of affirmation from my editor. Each note from an interview is meticulously filed away. Should a source bring a lawsuit against me, I want to have as much evidence on my side as possible. My new digital voice recorder offers me increased confidence in the accuracy of my quotes. Yeah, I’m a features writer – I’m not writing particularly controversial pieces. Still…

At one o’clock each afternoon, I begin a series of trips to my mailbox. Until the postman delivers the day’s goods, I parade up and down the stairs of my building. I’ve applied to nine summer internships and received a response from only one. I’m confident that I’ll spend my summer in the city and with the paper that God sees as best — but I’m sure curious about which that will be. 😉 I’m anxious to see if that will be at a paper, or if I’ll be finishing up classes in Tuscaloosa. Graduating a bit earlier wouldn’t be so bad. My only fear there is that I won’t be good enough to get a job.

I have to get a job, you see. Not only do I have to pay off these student loans, but I simply can’t imagine not working. I’m in this field because I’m passionate about writing. I walk through life scrawling out a mental script. As I move along in my education and continue to practice my craft, this desire only grows. It’s a yearning, if you will.

Though it’s the foremost challenge on my mind, securing a summer internship isn’t the only hurdle ahead. My classes this semster are exciting (there’s a topic where I could ramble!), but my professors are challenging. If I can gain their approval, I’m in good shape. There’s a possibility of a spring internship on the horizon, and of course, I ultimately hope to have a job by December 31.

I’ll admit that I sound neurotic. ::shrug:: So be it – sometimes I am. 🙂 I’m confident that each chance I’m taking is worthwhile.

But I’m still scared. 🙂

Heirlooms

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

There are different categories of Christmas music, I think. I would lump “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls” into a carol category. Some of my favorites, like “O Holy Night,” are best described as Christmas hymns. But there are still others that can only be generally labeled as Christmas songs.

Amy Grant’s “Heirlooms” is my favorite of these. It’s a perfect example of why that last category is so broad; I could listen to “Heirlooms” year round.

But Amy chose to include it on her first Christmas album, and it fits. Christmas is a time when both family and reflection abound. In an ideal world, one 24 hour period in December wouldn’t be required for this. But the last week of the year does find me pensive, and “Heirlooms” captures that spirit.

Mingled with my reflections are daydreams of what may come to be. As I spend the holiday with my family of origin, I pray also for the family I hope to mother.

I try not to think about them too often – particularly the man who I’ll lead alongside. I don’t want to ignore today for dreams of tomorrow. But they do come to mind periodically, and especially at this time of year.

Will my babies believe in Santa Claus, or will their father and I focus exclusively on the real Christmas story? When we attend Christmas Eve services, will my family join us? Will his? How will we minister to them, especially during this season?

Even more prominent in my thoughts is the question of my children’s spiritual heritage. Jesus is more than a fanciful myth passed down to me by older generations. Church isn’t an obligation owed to my Southern heritage. Instead, my faith is based in my personal relationship with the Savior who created me.

I intend to raise my children in such a way that His love is made manifest through their father and me. But I don’t want to limit that spiritual heirloom to something that I pass on; I want to pass it up as well.

Up in the attic,
Down on my knees.
Lifetimes of boxes,
Timeless to me.
Letters and photographs,
Yellowed with years,
Some bringing laughter,
Some bringing tears.

Time never changes,
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me,
All that I come from,
And all that I live for,
And all that I’m going to be.
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me.

Wisemen and shepherds,
Down on their knees,
Bringing their treasures
To lay at his feet.
Who was this wonder,
Baby yet king?
Living and dying;
He gave life to me.

Time never changes,
The memory, the moment
His love first pierced through me,
Telling all that I came from,
And all that I live for,
And all that I’m going to be.
My precious Savior
Is more than an heirloom to me.

My precious Jesus
Is more than an heirloom to me.

Nature, not nurture

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

Organization is a trait that I developed in rebellion to my family, not one that was inherited. As such, I wasn’t surprised when my 11 year old brother announced that he had lost the Starbucks card I sent him for his birthday. It’s family tradition!

Though his birthday was over two months ago, we were able to celebrate once again when he cleaned his room this evening. After my parents were satisfied with his efforts, I coaxed him into pulling on a pair of “long pants” and we climbed into the car. (I chose to overlook the fact that the gray fleece pants didn’t match his blue and orange plaid button down. He was clothed, at least.)

My father, youngest sister and I comprise the best musical taste in the family, I’m afraid. After Chad loudly protested the Dave Matthews Band selection that was trickling through my speakers, he proceeded to fill me in on all of the details of Pokemon that I’ve been missing. (Thank God for little brothers – what would I do without a detailed explanation of all of Pikachu’s opponents and compadres?)

I was offered a brief respite when my telephone jangled its cheerful funk tune. A cherished friend kept me company as I parked the car and followed my brother into the coffee shop. I attempted to update said friend on my past week’s events, but juggling that conversation, answering my brother’s questions and ordering my own drink proved difficult. The phone conversation came to an end after only twelve minutes with promise of more to follow. Chad and I settled into a table and opened our books before us. (This is a family trait I’ve gathered – we have bad habits of carrying reading material most everywhere!)

I didn’t get far in my book, but I did learn more than I could care to know about the Pokemon game guide Chad was reading. When he was ready to leave, we carried our books and drinks back to my car. At his insistence, I turned off the radio so we could sing Christmas carols. The four children of our family have been cursed with less than spectacular voices, but we belted out “Jingle Bells” acapella, just the same.

All that to say that after a whirlwind semester, my life is slowing down. The past four months have been filled with emotions and homework, with new friends and continued relationships. I’m always “growing up,” continually changing. Though I’m finally on break, I expect that to continue. 🙂 More tales to follow in the days that come…

Rocky Top, Tennessee

Posted on by Carla Jean Whitley

I’m leaving for Nashville tomorrow afternoon. I guess it just sank in that I’m going, because suddenly I’m wide awake and so excited that I can’t do anything productive. 🙂 I’ve planned most of my wardrobe and I’m washing my jeans now. I emailed in one of my papers, and I’ll drop the other off on my way out of town. Somewhere in all of this, I inspired my friend Apryl to join me in my road trip. 🙂 She’ll be leaving Tallahassee by 9 a.m. Eastern, Tuscaloosa bound. She should arrive here by lunchtime, and by three or four we’ll be headed north. It’s going to be an interesting weekend. 🙂 (I’m going to the Grand Ole Opry! I am SO excited I can hardly stand it!) I promise y’all an update with some substance sometime in the next week. In the meantime, I’m northbound 65!