results

The first pass:

I have very mild cerebral palsy.

Mild enough that people don’t think “disabled.”

They think:
“That guy definitely knows where to get weed.”

Not dealer energy…
more like assistant manager at a vape shop.

People hear me talk and they get confused.
They go,
“Where are you from?”

And I say,
“New Jersey.”

And they look at me like:
“No… originally.”

Like I used to be fully Eastern European.

I’m in a weird comedy category.

Too cerebral palsy for corporate sales…

not cerebral palsy enough for Netflix inspiration documentaries.

Netflix doesn’t want me.
They want a guy with severe CP climbing Mount Everest with one eyebrow while Coldplay plays.

My documentary would just be:
“Man Slightly Struggles With Stairs.”

There’s actually a trend now of comedians with cerebral palsy getting famous.

Some of these guys have way more severe CP than me.

I’m watching them thinking:
“Damn… I’m not even disabled enough to trend.”

That’s the worst identity crisis:
when diversity casting rejects you for being too functional.

I’m disability beige.

I’m the oat milk of handicaps.

People can’t tell if I’m disabled or just exhausted.

And I KNOW people are trying to figure it out in real time.
You can see the calculation happening in their eyes:
“Is this medical…
or jazz?”

I studied environmental economics in college.

Never used the degree once.

Apparently THAT wasn’t sustainable.

College is amazing.
You spend four years preparing for a career that no longer exists by graduation.

I also minored in animal husbandry.

Which sounds agricultural…

but honestly it just sounds Amish and bisexual.

“Animal husbandry.”
That’s not a degree.
That’s a search warrant.

I fathered three sheep and moved on.
I wasn’t ready to commit.

I got really into Buddhism and philosophy for a while.

Started reading The Tibetan Book of the Living and the Dead…

never finished it.

Please no spoiler alerts.

I’m about halfway through existence.

I became obsessed with spirituality because I wanted inner peace.

Instead I discovered spiritual people are incredibly expensive.

Every retreat costs like three thousand dollars.

At that point I’m not transcending ego —
I’m financing somebody else’s.

You ever notice every guru dresses like they invented scarves?

And they always talk like they know something you don’t.

“The universe reveals itself when you release attachment.”

Okay…
but why is enlightenment held at a Marriott?

I downloaded a meditation app to help with anxiety.

The soothing voice was amazing at first.

“Breathe in…
breathe out…
release attachment…”

Then one day:

“To continue breathing consciously,
please upgrade to premium.”

Even my panic attacks have subscriptions now.

I stopped paying and the app got passive aggressive.

“Breathe in…
breathe out…

…or don’t.
That’s your journey.”

That’s not mindfulness.
That’s spiritual customer service revenge.

I got so deep into spirituality I even did a vision quest.

You know — fasting, isolation, soul searching…

trying to discover my true self.

Turns out…

I love killing stray hikers.

That was a rough breakthrough.

I went into the woods looking for enlightenment…
came out as a Dateline suspect.

I’m fascinated by compassion, transcendence, awakening…

and apparently disposing of hikers.

Turns out my spirit animal has a criminal record.

Turns out my inner journey became somebody else’s missing persons case.

Turns out I’m less “spiritual seeker”
and more “local man interviewed by police.”

The worst part is how calm spiritual people sound describing horrifying things.

“You must sit alone with the darkness.”

No.
Some of us should absolutely not do that.

Some people meditate.
Some people become the reason parks close early.

Turns out solitude was a mistake.

Turns out the coyotes were innocent.

Turns out I became the thing campfire stories warned about.

And honestly?
Maybe the cerebral palsy saved me.

Because if I walked normally,
I’d be unstoppable.

Round three

I have very mild cerebral palsy.

Mild enough that people don’t think “disabled.”

They think:
“That guy definitely knows where to get weed.”

Not dealer energy…
more like assistant manager at a vape shop.

People hear me talk and they get confused.
They go,
“Where are you from?”

And I say,
“New Jersey.”

And they look at me like:
“No… originally.”

Like I used to be fully Eastern European.

I’m in a weird comedy category.

Too cerebral palsy for corporate sales…

not cerebral palsy enough for Netflix inspiration documentaries.

I’m right in the middle.

If disability were spicy food,
I’m medium salsa.

There’s actually a trend now of comedians with cerebral palsy getting famous.

Some of these guys have way more severe CP than me.

I’m watching them thinking:
“Damn… I’m not even disabled enough to trend.”

That’s the worst identity crisis:
when diversity casting rejects you for being too functional.

I’m disability beige.

I’m the oat milk of handicaps.

People meet me and spend the whole conversation trying to solve a medical escape room.

You can see the calculation happening in their eyes:
“Is this neurological…
or did he just smoke something before this meeting?”

I skipped my midlife crisis.

Financially,
it just wasn’t realistic.

I looked into it.
Apparently you need convertible money.

I can barely afford emotional collapse.

I studied environmental economics in college.

Never used the degree once.

Apparently THAT wasn’t sustainable.

College is amazing.
You spend four years preparing for a career that no longer exists by graduation.

I also minored in animal husbandry.

Which sounds agricultural…

but honestly it just sounds Amish and bisexual.

“Animal husbandry.”
That’s not a degree.
That’s a search warrant.

I fathered three sheep and moved on.
I wasn’t ready to commit.

Relationships were rough for me for a while.

I had one girlfriend break up with me because she said I wasn’t stable enough.

I said,
“I’m stable.
I live with my mother.
What’s more stable than that?”

That’s generational stability.

That’s infrastructure.

Dating while living at home is hard.

Sneaking women into the house was always tricky.

It’d be dark…
I’d sneak them up the stairs…
down the hallway…
into my room…

Then I’d gently take their hand and say:
“Can you feel this?”

And they’d say:
“…wood?”

I’d go:
“Yeah.
That’s the ladder.
I’m on the top bunk.”

But I solved that problem.

I moved to the lower bunk.

Mom took the top.

One date I thought taking a woman out on my boat would be romantic.

She was SO impatient.

I’m like:
“Relax…
these things take time to inflate.”

But eventually I did meet my wife.

You know how they say:
“You find love when you least expect it?”

I really committed to that philosophy.

I booked a vacation at a bed and breakfast for German lesbians.

And somehow…
it worked.

Which is honestly the most confusing immigration story ever told.

I got really into Buddhism and philosophy for a while.

Started reading The Tibetan Book of the Living and the Dead…

never finished it.

Please no spoiler alerts.

I’m about halfway through existence.

I became obsessed with spirituality because I wanted inner peace.

Instead I discovered spiritual people are incredibly expensive.

Every retreat costs like three thousand dollars.

At that point I’m not transcending ego —
I’m financing somebody else’s.

You ever notice every guru dresses like they invented scarves?

And they always talk like they know something you don’t.

“The universe reveals itself when you release attachment.”

Okay…
but why is enlightenment held at a Marriott?

I downloaded a meditation app to help with anxiety.

The soothing voice was amazing at first.

“Breathe in…
breathe out…
release attachment…”

Then one day:

“To continue breathing consciously,
please upgrade to premium.”

Even my panic attacks have subscriptions now.

I stopped paying and the app got passive aggressive.

“Breathe in…
breathe out…

…or don’t.
That’s your journey.”

That’s not mindfulness.
That’s spiritual customer service revenge.

I got so deep into spirituality I even did a vision quest.

You know — fasting, isolation, soul searching…

trying to discover my true self.

Turns out…

I love killing stray hikers.

That was a rough breakthrough.

I went into the woods looking for enlightenment…
came out as a Dateline suspect.

I’m fascinated by compassion, transcendence, awakening…

and apparently disposing of hikers.

Turns out my spirit animal has a criminal record.

Turns out my inner journey became somebody else’s missing persons case.

Turns out I’m less “spiritual seeker”
and more “local man interviewed by police.”

The worst part is how calm spiritual people sound describing horrifying things.

“You must sit alone with the darkness.”

No.
Some of us should absolutely not do that.

Some people meditate.
Some people become the reason parks close early.

Turns out solitude was a mistake.

Turns out the coyotes were innocent.

Turns out I became the thing campfire stories warned about.