My dad was nonplussed…
as he looked down at my battle scarred body and bloody face. Tears made little rivers in the dirt, while I stifled wails of pain.
“Cowboy up",” he said. “Stop crying.”
I was ten years old and had just fallen off my bike (again), only to be met with the tougher side of love from my dad.
And he was right.
What the hell?
Fair question. What does getting told to toughen up in a Hallmark moment of childhood pain have to do with anything?
Maybe nothing.
Maybe everything.
But that’s kind of the point.
These little moments, the ones so innocuous we almost don’t even consider them memories, that’s where the gold is.
Self checks
There’s a lot to be said about stoicism, the epicureans, Nietzsche, meditation, and all of the other ways we qualify and quantify our experiences. Lord knows I’ve spent my share of time reading philosophy and pondering the meaning of life.
At some point though, it’s time to start carving out a philosophy of your own.
More and more, I’ve been thinking about where I came from, how I grew up, and how it serves me today.
So I started writing… journaling I suppose.
All I’m really doing is asking myself questions and thinking about them on paper. I’ve been calling them self checks.
See, I’m in my thirties now, and nowhere near where I want to be in life, love, or career. That’s not a bad thing, but it is a thing. A thing worth looking at.
Looking back…
I see that much of my life has been ruled by fear. Or fears.
What if it doesn’t work? What if you go broke? What if mom and dad don’t approve? What if she leaves you? What if, what if, what if.
Like the world’s worst slam poem.
Back to the snotty child: scuffed up and shaken.
I had taken a spill, and more than anything I was scared. It hurt, sure. But I had this fear growin’ that I’d get hurt again, that I’d never learn how to ride this bike, and that I was disappointing my father. Hell, I wanted permission to quit to be told it was okay. To make it stop.
“Cowboy up”
Dad saw all of this, and he knew I was okay. He knew this was a challenge I had to overcome if I was going to ride that bike with confidence. It was a little micro-lesson: the bike doesn’t care how you feel, the bike didn’t hurt you, and the bike doesn’t have power over you. You can have a lot of fun riding the bike, but falls are just part of the deal. Cowboy up, and get back in the saddle.
(Replace “bike” with “life” for the full lesson.)
I fell off the bike of life a little. Not gonna pretend like I haven’t thrown my share of fits about it either. I have. Plenty.
But I’m kinda over it.
Fear doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore. I choose to fear less. To “Cowboy Up” when things hurt and see it through.
It’s been worth it so far.
Ice Cream
Of course we got ice cream.
Dairy Queen Oreo Blizzards.
After falling a few more times, I was zipping up and down the street like Evil Knievel, all thoughts of pain and quitting in the distant (5 minutes ago) past.
There isn’t always going to be a reward, other than the satisfaction of doing something worth doing. Doesn’t mean that metaphorical ice cream isn’t as good as Dairy Queen. It’s cleaner at least.
So where in your life do you need to “Cowboy Up” a little?
For me, I needed to cowboy up and actually write this, knowing the payoff is just having written it. I need to cowboy up in some (a lot of) other areas, but we’ll get to those.
Howdy,
I’m Seth. I’m red-dirt Texan from the oil-rich Permian Basin. Playing football, going to church, reading too much Harry Potter, and exploring the vast nothing of West Texas desert was pretty much my childhood.
My brother Gunnar and I host a podcast called Texish, where we talk about funny little Texas towns and shoot the shit. Y’all should check it out if you want a quick laugh.
When I’m not recovering from back surgery (current state as of 4/2/23), I’m lifting heavy things for fun, reading Elmer Kelton and Murakami, paddle boarding, and exploring the culinary delights of Austin.
Cowboy Up is where I’ll be writing about my efforts to fear less, and live more. Ultimately, it’s for me - to keep me accountable and document the process of getting my life together in my 30s. But I hope someone gets a little value from the process.
Subscribe if you want, and I hope these little “self checks” help y’all as much as they’ve helped me.