@loripalminteriTweets by @loripalminteri
While travel gives my life pleasure, experience and in increased sense of purpose, I’m never without some concern before a trip. And, usually, this concern is financial.
As I anticipate my next adventure, the city of love and prized by American literally heroes— Paris— I find myself facing known anxieties. It’s true I’m not so much worried about traveling alone. When I solo travel, I purposely pick places I know are safe for women. I also choose places where I’m not going to do much intermittent travel. Especially in a non-English speaking country, I would get nervous getting on different transportation, which is one of the reasons why I chose Paris because there’s lots to do and see within the city and I really want to experience Parisian life.
I’m not too worried about Parisians being snobs. I know what to expect. Plus, I’m in show business and I’m used to being ignored, rejected or simply treated like I don’t exist. While I constantly crave recognition as a writer, I’ve long relished in my ability to remain invisible, a fly on the wall. Therefore, I will have no problem in Paris being a spectator, influencing no people nor events to occur.
Of course, it isn’t a full blown vacation. I have to work while I’m there, but that’s one of the benefits remote work allows you. Further more, I have a couple gigs lined up which should be fun. I’ve only done comedy outside the U.S. in Ireland.
My pre-travel worries come from looking at my bank account. Which is suffering. No, I don’t expect you to pity me. I was just in Disney World (a trip that probably cost me more than Paris, which yes, is wild). Other bills stacked up but I remain mostly debtless besides my car loan. Though I fail to save any significant amount of money because anytime I build up my account, I find myself restless and planning my next adventure.
So I remind myself as I question if I can swing this, or worry that like in 2020, suddenly my income will disappear, that I’ve never ever, not once in my life, regretted traveling. I have other regrets. Spending money on trips isn’t one of them.
Plus, I’m always convinced the end is nigh. I’m not convinced we won’t be hit by another pandemic someday and that travel won’t be an option, or that nuclear war will happen, or that I’ll lose my jobs again because I picked an unstable career, or that I’ll fall ill and my trips will only be trips to doctors. Yes, so much of life can derail in mere moments, I think it foolish to miss opportunity, when opportunity allows.
It’s just money, I remind myself. I mean, don’t be a fucking idiot about it and fall into debt so you’ll have to call upon loved ones to bail you out… but don’t live life afraid to do anything. It’s too short. Too disappointing. Too boring to live that way. Always, always, if my depressed days taught me anything, set up things that you look forward to.
Sure, there’s a twinge of “buyers remorse” about the plane ticket as the trip nears. But I then remind myself… just two short years ago, I was literally on the verge of homelessness, bracing for being forced to give up my apartment and live in my cousins basement, nearing acceptance of throwing away the career I poured my heart and soul into for my entire 20s/one third of my whole life. And since then, I’ve landed 2 writing jobs, traveled to Portugal, Disney World and now France. Perhaps, when things are good, it’s just best to enjoy when things are good. Because the reality is, they won’t always be. And I don’t mean that in a way that is as macabre as it might sound. If nothing matters at all, then only what matters to you is important in your life. Your life is your life. Go out there and seize it. Especially when you’re still in your prime.
As I pack my bag, I smile. Soon, it will be good bye to New York for now and Bonjour Paris.