When at their best, cowboys can conquer anything. From the most unruly steer to the most untameable cowlick, a cowboy knows how to take the reins and drive the wildest beast to the ground. I’m putting that to the test as I dispatch my own inner-cowboy to combat this final mid-life crisis, and vanquish the whole lot of them to my messy past. Perhaps this cowboy era is the last step of moving into the second half of life, and I’m meant to ride boldly into this next phase embracing what no one thought me to be – except for me, because despite a penchant for doubting myself, I’ve always and only been the single person on whom I could count unfailingly and without exception. Cowboy hubris can be dangerous, but I don’t care anymore.
This sort of revolution happens internally for the most part, and the very act of putting it down in writing now indicates that it’s already mostly complete. Certain cowboys carry things close to their chest until they’re absolutely sure of themselves. and even then it often takes some prying and nudging to get them to disclose anything of substance.
A cowboy is a mystery – one that doesn’t want or need to be solved. That drives some people crazy, as if it’s a challenge – as if it had anything to do with them at all. The very best parts of life remain unsolved all the way through the end – the key is learning how to accept the mystery without having to solve it. Some would say you can’t truly love something, or someone, until you understand it/them. I think love can happen without understanding – it just requires a bit more faith. There’s danger in that too, but like I said earlier, I don’t care.
