#122 – Who takes the heat when we curse?

Last Friday morning, still dark outside, I was riding my bike back home from Muscle Beach via South Pointe when a stray black cat started to nonchalantly cross the walkway.

For context: I’m not the most expert rider, and I was on a vintage road bike we’d gotten for my son when he was 10—decidedly too small for me.

The prospect of crushing the cat made me panic. I took my feet off the pedals and belted out, "Ah!"

The cat, fortunately, paused mid-step and just stared at me (he seemed puzzled), his right paw in the air. Heart pumping, I managed to maneuver and avoid him.

Once the cat was behind me, a familiar Spanish curse phrase, “Me cago en su padre,” came to mind—literally, "I sh*t on his father." Though the words surfaced on my mind, I didn’t actually feel them, so I let them go.

I sat with my pounding heart, the knot in my stomach, and the memory of the cat’s frozen, wide-eyed look. Swearing wouldn’t have changed anything; in fact, it was futile.

And so, if cursing doesn’t help, why do we do it?

You guessed it—it's the Ego.

When we curse at a mishap, it’s actually an attack on ourselves. It’s our Ego whispering, “See? You’re good for nothing! You should have prevented this,” or “You should know better,” or “The world’s against you—better stay in!”

I used to curse a lot, a habit picked up from my family. Growing up, everything in my household deserved commentary – a judgment, in fact. Swearing was part of our daily language.

Any mistake that caused the slightest inconvenience would be met with a curse.

I grew up believing that every incident, inconvenience, accident, mistake, or mishap had a culprit. And if no one else was involved, that culprit was me. So I was either the victim or the perpetrator—never just an observer of a neutral circumstance.

Therefore, never in peace.

What do you notice when you swear and would you feel lighter if you let go?

Love,

Carolina