Lucky Number Seven

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• June 26, 2016

When asked why I got into comedy, there are several versions of the story, none more true or false than the other.  The most told is the shortest version: I was a comedy nerd who dreamed of writing for sitcoms.  I tried stand up, and got hooked. Seven years ago, at twenty years old, a college student and really just an introverted kid with early signs of bipolar personality disorder, I had wrote some jokes, and told them on stage, if for no other reason than I was afraid to do so.  I was terrified to pursue a dream of being a comedian and sitcom writer.  But why?  I’ve always been an adrenaline seeking daredevil.  I get off on danger.

Fast forward to seven years later… I remind myself that if I had a conversation with twenty year old Lori after my first set at Stand Up NY, foretelling a TV appearance, opening for people whom I idolize, and even, becoming their friends and peers, I probably would have literally jumped for joy.  Even knowing how heavily defeats outweigh the wins, the younger version of me and the present version would agree… it was always worth it.

Alas, seven years is a long time for a twenty seven year old.  It’s my entire adulthood (if you could call any part of my life that).  It’s a strange time for my career (if you could call it that).  When I was in college, and I set foot on stage, I had really one goal for myself: to be a TV comedy writer.  Now, it seems I’m closer than I’ve ever been and I’ve never felt so far away.  It’s like, if you’ve ever driven towards a mountain, you think it’s so close, but as you continue to get closer, you don’t seem to be making any headway at all.  Standing in limbo feels like an awful fate, until you realize you’re going backwards, and limbo seems alright.

It’s not that I didn’t expect comedy to be a long and difficult road with peaks an valleys.  I’ve gotten heat in the past, and felt the rush, and lost it, and felt the pain of the fall.  I’m fully aware the best is yet to come, but by that same logic, so is the worst.  And this past year has been filled with rejection and slammed doors, and even when the silver lining is getting the opportunity, the rejection still wears on you.

I have a good life, but if there’s anything humans are entitled to, it’s our pain.  I don’t like complaining, because I’m surrounded by a family, and comedy community who supports me, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.  I’m not looking for sympathy, or the type of attention where people tell you to keep going.  That’s not what this is.

In the library of my mind, where I frequent much of my time, there’s a projector screen, and films I’ve made of hypothetical futures.  Like a kid looking through those binoculars with movie stills, I could spend so much time looking into imaginary paths.  It didn’t bother me so much that they were fantasy, or the amount of strife I added to these fictional versions of my life.  A good story is never without conflict and heartbreak.  But now, the projector collects dust.  It would seem that at some time during a depressive episode, I burned the films.  Sometimes, it feels freeing, to look forward and see black.  An infinite dark matter.  To look ahead, and have nothing, is freedom.  But it scares me just the same.

Right now, I’m the brokest I’ve ever been.  Right now, I’m the most uncertain I’ve ever been.  Right now, I’m the loneliest I’ve ever been.  In a way, it’s ideal for a person who thrives in solitude, but there are times when loneliness comes in such a concetrated dose, I wouldn’t mind it if I completely lost my mind.  While manic episodes are nothing but false happiness, I welcome them and embrace the energy and extra levels of dopamine, as if it were my reward.

This is not a letter of resignation, make no mistake.  This is not me signing off, and leaving.  If only it were that simple.  If only comedy was just something I did, and not a part of who I am as a person, as much as I’m a daughter of mother ocean, I’m sister of comedy, and to quit would be as painful as tearing a limb off, and I’m certain if I did that now, I’d look back with regret forever.

The reason people don’t follow their dreams is because they’re afraid of the very place I’m in now.  Don’t underestimate the death of a dream.  The stages of grieving are the same, except denial, anger, bargaining, and depression just continue to cycle.  Perhaps the final stage of acceptance is the key to a more fulfilled life, but acceptance is also the final stage. “Everything will be alright,” is the biggest lie we tell ourselves and one another on a daily basis.  Not all dreams come true.

For everything in a nature, there is an opposite.  For those of us with strong passion, we will swing from highs to lows, lows to highs, and whether or not it’s our fault is moot, but it is a part of who we are.  The satisfaction of a new joke killing is linked to the frustration of bombing at shitty gigs.  There cannot be one without the other.

The days I feel I simply cannot continue to live this way are not as hard as the days when I realize I don’t want to live this way.  The fear and the insecurities are shitty, but that I can handle.  It’s in the stagnant phases where I can see the hands of the clock moving, and I can feel myself getting older, but that ol’ feeling of walls closing in, the feeling of being trapped becomes an impossible burden for my psyche.  It’s the moments of sanity which cause the most amount of pain.  An empty bank account is not as bad as empty calendar, which is not as bad as an empty sense of fulfillment.

No, I will not pray to any of your false Gods.  There are people with far worse problems than a struggling comedian.  This is the life I chose, and whatever suffering I’ve conjured up for myself, I will deal with alone.  I do not regret the life I chose.  I’ve watched so many alternate realities on my projector, and I can assure you, they’re not as exciting as this one.  They don’t have the commrodery of the comedians I call my friends.  They don’t have the inspiration, or hope, or triumph.

There’s a reason people are afraid to follow their dreams.  In all honesty, there should be.  I wasn’t wrong to be afraid when I first went on stage seven years ago.  Where I stand now, I’ve been dressing a wound that will not heal.  I wonder, maybe I’m not cut out for this.  Maybe I’m not strong enough.  Or maybe I am, but I’m just too stupid to walk away.