Zen & the Art of Swearing
Okay, this really has nothing to do with Zen, but it is about swearing.
I seem to have a split personality when it comes to swearing. I swear in my writing a lot. I swear in my head a lot. But whenever I’m in front of people, I don’t swear unless it’s the necessary part of a joke I’m telling, and even then, when I utter the curse word, it comes out with a bit of a childish, embarrassed emphasis on it, sort of whispering the word as if I’m somehow disappointing my parents, even though they’re far out of earshot.
A certain brother-in-law of mine however (love ya, Mitch!) swears so much, I don’t think he even realizes it. He can’t get a sentence out without at least a couple f-bombs sprinkled in. Doesn’t matter if kids or the elderly are present. And if you’ve been around him enough, you hardly even hear the swearing. In fact, if he didn’t swear for a couple sentences in a row, you’d be like, “Dude, are you okay? What’s wrong?” And he’d most likely answer, “Nothin’s fuckin’ wrong. Why the fuck do you fuckin’ ask?” His swearing isn’t mean-spirited in any way, either - it’s just part of his essence. Mitch without peppering his language with variations of the word fuck would be like Jesse Ventura neglecting to mention he was a Navy Seal. Something would just seem...off.
I was fortunate to have had a great childhood, wonderful parents and siblings, but one memory that I’ll sometimes look back upon with fondness and amusement is from when I was a preschooler over at a friend’s house, and we were out swinging on his swing-set, and we just started swearing. With each swing forward, we’d take turns shouting out a swear word. Damn! Shit! Pee! Hell! I don’t think we used ‘fuck’ but we might have. Aw, heck, why not – let’s say we shouted out ‘fuck’ too. Makes for a more colorful memory.
Anyway, there was something freeing and joyous about that, about swinging on the swing-set and yelling out swear words at the top of our lungs. It was energizing, invigorating – we were in the moment, one with the universe. Hey, there you are, Zen!
Eventually his mom heard us, and I’m guessing he got in trouble (he was called into his house with a stern voice, at the very least.)
But if you’re ever feeling down and out, I recommend going somewhere safe – preferably where no one else can hear you – and just start yelling out swear words at the top of your lungs. An abandoned quarry works well (great echo effect!) as does the inside of your car. Just make sure it’s done with joy – not anger – and I bet you’ll feel better after awhile. And if for some reason you’re arrested for disorderly conduct or causing a public nuisance – you didn’t hear it from me, fuckos!
I seem to have a split personality when it comes to swearing. I swear in my writing a lot. I swear in my head a lot. But whenever I’m in front of people, I don’t swear unless it’s the necessary part of a joke I’m telling, and even then, when I utter the curse word, it comes out with a bit of a childish, embarrassed emphasis on it, sort of whispering the word as if I’m somehow disappointing my parents, even though they’re far out of earshot.
A certain brother-in-law of mine however (love ya, Mitch!) swears so much, I don’t think he even realizes it. He can’t get a sentence out without at least a couple f-bombs sprinkled in. Doesn’t matter if kids or the elderly are present. And if you’ve been around him enough, you hardly even hear the swearing. In fact, if he didn’t swear for a couple sentences in a row, you’d be like, “Dude, are you okay? What’s wrong?” And he’d most likely answer, “Nothin’s fuckin’ wrong. Why the fuck do you fuckin’ ask?” His swearing isn’t mean-spirited in any way, either - it’s just part of his essence. Mitch without peppering his language with variations of the word fuck would be like Jesse Ventura neglecting to mention he was a Navy Seal. Something would just seem...off.
I was fortunate to have had a great childhood, wonderful parents and siblings, but one memory that I’ll sometimes look back upon with fondness and amusement is from when I was a preschooler over at a friend’s house, and we were out swinging on his swing-set, and we just started swearing. With each swing forward, we’d take turns shouting out a swear word. Damn! Shit! Pee! Hell! I don’t think we used ‘fuck’ but we might have. Aw, heck, why not – let’s say we shouted out ‘fuck’ too. Makes for a more colorful memory.
Anyway, there was something freeing and joyous about that, about swinging on the swing-set and yelling out swear words at the top of our lungs. It was energizing, invigorating – we were in the moment, one with the universe. Hey, there you are, Zen!
Eventually his mom heard us, and I’m guessing he got in trouble (he was called into his house with a stern voice, at the very least.)
But if you’re ever feeling down and out, I recommend going somewhere safe – preferably where no one else can hear you – and just start yelling out swear words at the top of your lungs. An abandoned quarry works well (great echo effect!) as does the inside of your car. Just make sure it’s done with joy – not anger – and I bet you’ll feel better after awhile. And if for some reason you’re arrested for disorderly conduct or causing a public nuisance – you didn’t hear it from me, fuckos!
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