Not Quite Young

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• May 17, 2021

No year aged me more than 2020. I suspect many people feel the same way. For fucks sake, I even almost look my age now!

Even when I was a scrawny teenager, I was under the impression my 30s would be my prime, not my 20s. I’m not even entirely sure why I felt this way, bypassing the decade that most people envy. It’s not that I didn’t like my 20s and it’s not that I wasted it either. I experienced and accomplished more in my 20s than most people will in their lifetime. I’ve no money to show for it, but if experience weighs more than gold, the life of a New York comic, surfer, part time explorer and writer is almost something to brag about.

But 20s was hard. I won’t lie. There was a lot of uncertainty. Being broke. Finding mental stability between work, life, meds, depression, highs and lows. Lost loves and insurmountable rejections. Wins and many, many loses. To say I have no regrets would be a lie. And I believe people who say such things are repressing something. Everyone has regrets. And by all accounts, you should have regrets. How you react to those regrets, however, are often more important than the mistakes themselves.

Probably one of my biggest regrets is I’ve yet to write a second novel. Granted, I’ve been busy writing all sorts of things, but I reached my goal of writing a novel by the time I was 25, spent a year editing it, and failed to sell it. Which is okay. I don’t consider it my best work.

Last year was a year of hard lessons. How quickly you can lose so much. How easy it is to manipulate and turn people against each other. How indifferent the universe is to our woes.

Early last year, I got in a car accident that resulted in permeant injury (three herniated discs in my neck), the pandemic hit, I lost the all the comedy work I love and half my income, I found out one of my close friends who’s in her 30s had a rare cancer and was given a life sentence, the world got even more grim with sickness, I’d later find a breast lump that turned out to be a harmless cyst but scared the living shit out of me, the country and my friends turning on each other based on their dumbass political beliefs, losing all my money, going into debt, and becoming almost homeless.

The stress, pressure, confusion and hopelessness was a daily cocktail I didn’t want to drink. I lost my appetite and enough weight to make everyone I knew worried about me. The strain of a breaking heart never felt so heavy before. And every time I tried to put the pieces back together, I cut my hands on the shards. Granted, I had my health and so did the people I loved, so it felt petty to feel so downtrodden, and my Catholic guilt that I can’t escape made me feel more shitty. Additionally, I had more free time than I ever had and I couldn’t bring myself to write anything in long form.

And yet, 2020 was not without wins. In the early spring, my sister, her kids and I fled to Florida out of the dystopia that was New York. It was the right call. We spent a month there where I worked and was fed and taken care of by my parents. Even more so, I was taken care of my then 5 year old nephew and two year old niece. Besides working my part time job (which was my only income of about $300 a week), there were no obligations, no where to go. Every morning the kids were smiling and literally dragged you from bed to play with them. Nothing else in the world mattered. Just them and their giggles.

Things got harder at the turn of my 31st birthday back in New York. That’s when I found out about Dani’s cancer. By that point everyone was losing their minds and general “what the fuck is happening” bred drama and dismay with everyone around me, including myself.

Comedy was dead. And there was no sign of it coming back any time soon. I made a new goal, obsession and purpose: being Dani’s boat deck hand and living the best fucking summer ever. So we went to the beach all the time. Drank, swam and enjoyed the sunshine. I suppressed a great amount of anger I hadn’t felt in a long time (anger leads to the dark side). I remember one day at Cherry Grove one of Dani’s friends said something to effect of God being good and having a plan. I thought to myself, “what kind of a God’s plan curses a perfectly healthy 36 year old with a deadly cancer. Fuck your God. I hate your God.”

However, the state of the world and the fear that my friend wouldn’t be here by this time next year allowed a freeing accessibility to truly living for the day. If the sun was glistening on the water, it was mother nature’s invitation to come play. Goddamnit, we did.

The best birthday present this year I could have possibly wished for is that Dani’s cancer went into remission, something doctors called “a miracle” and she is not only with us still but is doing great. So maybe there is some justice for the good. Maybe.

By the time the Fall came, some comedy existed which reminded me why I loved it despite threatening to quit every other day. Best friends Katrina, Mike and Dennis were huge helps as far as daily therapists, support and joking. My bank account diminished as the state denied part timers financial help. For the first time in a long time I had to borrow money from my parents. I loath borrowing money from anyone, including my parents, though it’s not lost on me that I’m in a fortunate position where family can help me without compromising their situation. Even more so, other family and friends offered small loans which I declined but took them up on dinners and couch crashes so I wasn’t so alone.

Just as the world was taking a turn towards normalcy, I got a job offer for a writing gig. This really turned everything around. After years of freelancing, I’d finally have a full time writing job at 31 that I got DURING A PANDEMIC. I was literally about a month away from moving into a cousin’s spare room or a friends basement. I had some debts to pay off but I could keep my home. I could get paid to be creative. Furthermore, I felt like I deserved this. Often, my self worth is questionable and I beat myself up to an unfair degree. This felt right. This felt earned.  I knew I’d be good at it and it was a major step in the direction I wanted to go.

Then came the biggest news of all. My brother was going to have a kid in 2021! A new nephew! I cried rapturous tears when he told me.

So things got better from there. People got better. Dani got better. My mental health got better.

It’s cliche to end a birthday blog with some lessons, but here goes:

Losing hope is giving into fear. Fear wants you to be a coward so fear can gain power. You’re not always going to have the strength to be brave, but remember, as a mentor told me once, “the brave thing to do is the best thing to do.”

We may very well see another pandemic in our lifetime, possibly a worse one— so secure a nest egg (haha), but also don’t forget to live your life. You never know when you’re not going to be able to do things or see people because the world can arrest you at any time.

It’s impossible for there to be enough beauty in this world. Create art. Plant gardens. Make jokes.

Spend time with those you care about and make sure they know it. We know this. We know it. Alas, the most obvious lessons are sometimes forgotten.

Lastly, there’s a very good possibility your dreams are stupid. However, if they mean something to you, if it’s what you think about, desire, crave and fuels that flame inside you— it’s not stupid. Remember this. It is a sin to not be true to yourself.

Thanks for reading my blog and your continued support. I will try to be better.

^ Blaise, the 2021 addition