Lori, The Brave?

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• August 11, 2014

brav·ery

noun \ˈbrāv-rē, ˈbrā-və-\: the quality that allows someone to do things that are dangerous or frightening

I’ve been told, by family and friends, strangers after shows that I am brave, based on doing stand-up alone.  Sometimes, it’s in the form of a backhanded compliment.  Like, as if they mean to say, “you weren’t really funny, but you have balls for trying.”  Other times, it feels like a projection of their fears, like they are too afraid to go on stage, or more so, pursue something that takes a lot of time and work, and is unconventional, and you might dedicate your life to it, and not quite “make it.”

There’s a reason I’m writing this blog from the safety of my extremely comfortable tempurpedic bed, perfectly balancing a wine glass on my mattress and not a fire fighter.  Because I’m not brave.  I’m not running into a burning building because one time I burned my arm with the iron, and that shit hurt for like a week.  There have been fleeting moments of my life where I have felt brave.  Usually, in the ocean when I drop in on a wave I know I’m going to eat shit.

When I first started doing stand-up, I wouldn’t eat dinner on nights I performed (not till after the show, anyway).  I used to be so nervous, I thought I was going to be sick.  Then, when I started doing comedy more, I actually lost weight because I was skipping dinners so much.  It took a solid three years to not be scared right before I went on stage.  Still, I had balls then.  I figured I had nothing to lose, so I took so many chances on new jokes.  I’m not as ballsy anymore.  I want my balls back.

Stand-up still scares me.  It’s not going on stage that scares me anymore.  It’s more about turning it into a career, and the uncertainty if this all leads to anything.  Sure, now I can eat a slice of pizza while walking onto the stage.  But I’ll have bad weeks when I’m so down on myself, that I’ll be sick to my stomach just worrying.  When anxiety is running high, you’re missing life.  You’re missing it.  What a terrible sin.

There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.  I think I straddle that line.  I’m just dumb enough to do things that are foolish, but I’m smart enough to make people mistake it for bravery.  Just because I do things that scare me doesn’t me not brave, it makes me not a pansy.  Not being a coward is different than being brave.

All my life, I always wanted to be a badass.  I’d love to be an action star, pretending to be a BAMF (preferably with a light saber… or a pirate sword).  I think I’d fold when it really came down to being brave.  For example, if I were a student at Hogwarts, I would suggest that we turn over Potter to Voldemort in the second year there.  Then, when the shit hits the fan, instead of choosing a side, I would just be like, “listen, I have magical powers, so I’m just gonna live among normal people and rob banks and shit, and live in Hawaii.”

Do I want to fight this crazy bitch pictured above, or chill at that place below?

What drives you?  I never want to live a life that bores me.  I don’t want fear to have a say in what I do or don’t do.  It’s not that I don’t feel it.  That’s not bravery.  It’s just feeding the id.

“Brave Sir Robin ran away.
Bravely ran away, away!
When danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled.
Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out.
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat,
Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin!”

– Monty Python & The Holy Grail