I purchased a cowboy hat for our corporate Christmas party being held at an old hotel in Virginia City. It cost me $150. I’ve purchased two suits with matching ties for less than that.
The moment I put it on my head in this authentic western store, I knew it was meant for me.
For nearly thirty years, I’ve felt like a transplant from Madison, Wisconsin, living in “Bonanza” country. It’s as if I hadn’t earned my “spurs” to play like a real westerner. Yet, when I put on this hat, my whole life changed. I looked down at my loafers and knew it was time for some real cowboy boots. I checked out leather vests and red bandanas. The theme song of “Rawhide” came whistling through my ears.
I got totally lost in the moment. I strutted outside to find my horse for the ride back to Washoe Valley.
Instead, my 2008 blue Chevy Suburban was in my parking space.
Partners, when you get up there in years, it’s okay to frolic in your dreams.
I crumpled up my parking ticket, hopped into my Suburban and quietly said, “Giddy-up.”