What this is about

When I started this project nearly ten months ago, I was very apprehensive about many things. About my ability to write everyday. About my ability to be interesting every day. About my ability to be entertaining. About what I might uncover about myself. About the things people might learn about me. About being honest.

A lot of people I know, read my Blog on Facebook. When I write something on http://www.ayeartill40.blogspot.com/, it automatically uploads to my Facebook account. People who are "friends" can read what I have written. I have Facebook friends that I knew many years ago; some who I have not really spoken with in over 20 years. I have Facebook friends from college; people who already know much of my story, and know that I am an open book. I have Facebook friends from work--past and present; many who regularly learn something new about me (TMI?). I have Facebook friends who are, more specifically, family. I have always appreciated the comments people have left. It often inspires me to keep my project going. And, it sometimes gives me other things to write about. Like today.

I'd be remiss if I did not write about the can of worms I opened yesterday, due to my post about cars. Writing everyday has its downsides. Keeping a blog--a public journal--can be risky. I simply sit at my laptop and write. I don't edit myself, I don't workshop my piece, I don't ponder too much on what I choose to share. Maybe some bloggers do. Before they hit the "publish post" button online, they really take the time to review everything. They consider other people's feelings, they contemplate the possible reaction they might receive.

Writing everyday like this is hard. I've put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to stay true to a promise I made. Sometimes I write something that hits people in a good way. Sometimes--maybe more often than I'd like--people don't have any reaction. And then there are the times when people totally disagree with what I have written, and have a negative reaction. Like yesterday.

For those of you who may have interpreted my words like a slam on my brother and his wife, I apologize. I don't apologize for having a difference of opinion about when a child should have a car. As I wrote, I may have a completely opposite outlook in six years from now, when Frederic is old enough to drive. That's the luxury of having an opinion; they can change.

However, I may not have been clear in my message. I think buying my nephew a car is one of the coolest things my brother and his wife have done for their children. Aside from taking them to the happiest place on earth every year for a vacation, the realization of a goal, came true for them this week. And that was the message I wanted to convey in my blog. I wanted to figuratively stand up and applaud their parenting decision. I wanted to pay homage to them by sharing my tale about the three cars I received from my parents. I wanted to, but I did not do a good job at that.

As I wrote, my brother remembers his first car fondly. So much so that he wanted to pass the same thing on to his son. And he did this; they did this. I have not thought about the cars my parents provided to me until my brother said those words: "I remember when I had my first car...the freedom I had. I want that for Kyle." It sparked a good memory for me. In fact, it sat with me the rest of that day and all of yesterday. And for that, I thank him (and my sister-in-law).

I'm not writing this to dig myself deeper into a hole. I'm writing this because it's been on my mind since last night. Since I was made aware of how I made them feel with my words. And when I have something on my mind, I write. And that's what this project is all about. It's about me writing. It's about me exploring things that have happened in my life. It's about the past, and in this case, the present, and it's about the future. I've made a lot of mistakes in my 39+ years. Mistakes I've learned from, and mistakes I've repeated. I'm not sure how people will react to this post. Maybe it was a mistake to write it. Maybe not.