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Amanda Peet on Getting Breast Cancer While Losing Her Parents | The New Yorker

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Amanda Peet writes, “I admire people who can sit with uncertainty in matters of life and death. I’m not one of them. I suck at mindfulness.”

Save this story Save this story I told my mom everything, even when I gave my first blow job. She never shied away from uncomfortable topics; small talk was anathema to who she was. In the nineties, she and I were both in psychoanalysis while she was also in psychoanalytic training. We discussed our transferences, our dreams, our childhoods. When I showed up for an audition with no makeup and an unbleached mustache, that was success neurosis. When she asked Jack Nicholson for a puff of his cigar in a crammed elevator, it was penis envy. No onion went unpeeled. So it was strange not to tell her

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