What an odd turn of phrase. Not that that is unusual in English or American English. No wonder it's so hard to learn our language. Grip: to grasp. to seize and hold fast. But how does one "come to grips?" As if one is going out to meet someone or something. And perhaps that is really what it is to grasp something directly or firmly. Going out as if to battle. Marching out in all one's combat gear to grasp something...but to grasp something that is intangible. A concept rather than a person. Which may be why "coming to grips" is such a difficult thing to do. Like pinning gelatin to the wall or holding a wave to the sand.
I haven't written in this blog for more than 6 months. I mean, I've written plenty. In my mind, that is. But I just haven't been able to bring myself to write what I write down, albeit on digital media rather than paper. Paper, I have found, is reserved for writing grocery lists (which reminds me...I need to add toilet paper and facial tissue to the list. But I digress.). There is a reason this blog in entitled thus. I truly am just a writer in my mind. When it comes to "putting pen to paper," (an antiquated phrase that someday will truly be meaningless), I'm a complete and utter failure. And I am "coming to grips" with that. I am "coming to grips" with the idea that I am more "thought" than "action." If fact, I was driven to write today solely because I read a post by a Facebook friend (which is to say we are not "friends" in real life but connected through the internet only because we share multiple "friends" through Facebook but the more I ready by and about him the more I wish we could hang out.). This "friend" is a writer (among other things) by trade. That means he actually makes a living by writing. He is the real thing. And he wrote a post about how writing for him is even difficult but that he has a regimen. And it begins with "Just Show Up and Start Something." I read his post and I started to feel guilty. Supposedly I write. Supposedly. But apparently not. Since it has been more than 6 months since I even wrote anything here at my "writer's blog." And I have no excuses. Well, I have plenty of excuses but that is what they really are. Someone wrote/said once that "what you do is proof of what you believe." And someone named Simon Sinek, who writes and speaks on business and motivation said it and added a word: "What you do is simply proof of what you believe." Simple? Really? Speaking of odd phrases.
And so, I find myself trying to come to grips with the sad fact that maybe I really am not a writer--or a seamstress, or a musician or a gardener any of a number of other things I tell my physician that I do in my "spare time" or with my time. Because if I were ever arrested for being a writer, would there be enough evidence to convict me?