BUNKHOUSE LOGIC:
THE SPIRIT OF THE COWBOY
Bunkhouse Logic is easy to follow if you understand where its name comes from. Basically, a bunkhouse is where cowboys live. The logic of the bunkhouse is that which guides the cowboy’s life. It’s even more than logic, really, since it’s the unspoken and unwritten code by which the cowboy must live every day if he is to accomplish anything at all.
The code, of course, involves all the tricky and complex aspects of life on a ranch or on the range. But it all comes under the headings of “Activity” and “Inner Mobility.” The cowboy, who was once the symbol of this country in the eyes of its citizens, and who still is a cogent symbol of American life to foreigners, can’t get anything done by sitting inside the bunkhouse and brooding. He can’t get anything done by recalling past slights and how they’ve warped his character and spoiled his chances for happiness. The cowboy accomplishes nothing at all by staying in one place.
The cowboy, the quintessential American and inspiration to a planet, gets everything by movement and activity. He must herd his cattle, making certain that he keeps ahead of them at some points and behind them at others. He must accept as routine the inclement weather: the rain, the heat, and the cold. He sees these elements not as personal enemies, but as facts of life to be endured and triumphed over. The recalcitrant calf is not an excuse for sulking. It’s part of the environment—just like a rude and demanding boss or a vicious, officious receptionist would be. If a woodchuck appears and bites a calf, that doesn’t require that the woodchuck be tortured and punished for what it has done, as if the rodent bore a personal grudge against the cowboy. It’s simply an extremely good argument for moving the cattle somewhere else, just as a spouse who habitually acts abusively does not provide just cause for blood revenge, but is simply an argument for moving on.
The cowboy sees the perfection of his skills in wrangling, roping, herding, cutting, and so forth—not as justification for praise from his mommy and daddy, but instead as a means of survival in an uncompromising world. He knows that he can’t sit in a dimly lit room and complain that he simply can’t bring himself to go out on the range that day. He can and must ride, and the fact that he does so gives him the pride and the will to do it over and over again. This type of accomplishment leads to happiness.
The cowboy knows that when he has arrived at the edge of the prairie where a well has temporarily dried up, it does no good at all to sit by the dry hole and cry about it. The only thing to do is get on his horse and find a watering spot that’s not dry. The cowboy would let his whole herd—and himself—die if he didn’t keep moving. His mobility out there on the sagebrush trail is the exact equivalent of what you need to acquire in the city when you find that your job has turned out to be a dry hole. There’s no sense at all in whining about it to anyone who will listen. The only thing that helps is finding water: the new job, the new city, the new girlfriend, the new opportunity for nurture and growth.
Of course, the kind of geographic mobility that the cowboy has so gracefully mastered on the prairie is not required or available or prudent in modern life. What is needed is inner mobility: the flexibility within your own head to realize that you’ve been doing something wrong, something that leads to obscurity, failure, low self-esteem, and unhappiness. You need the inner mobility to move on to new pastures, where you have a fighting chance of finding happiness and success in work, in love, at home—wherever you want it.
The logic of the bunkhouse requires constant activity, incessant mobility, and emphasis on performance—not excuses. All of this corresponds to an astonishing extent with the practices of the successful. By an extraordinary chance, the skills I observed at ranches in Montrose, Colorado; and Arvin, California, are amazingly similar to attributes I detected in the managing director of an investment bank and the CEO of Dow Jones, in the author of a best-selling saga and the producer of a top-grossing film.
When you study these rules of Bunkhouse Logic, think of the American cowboy. Day after day he bets on himself to win—and he always collects the money. You’ll have a better idea of what the rules entail if you keep him in mind.
Think of the cowboy caring for himself and his cattle in the largely hostile environment. He cannot possibly make his way unless he’s active and inwardly mobile. When you contemplate a change in your life situation, and when you consider how many unknown and possibly dangerous factors there are in the world, think of the cowboy. He guides hundreds of cattle, each with a mind of its own, through a random and dangerous universe. He can do it because he is active and inwardly mobile—and you can be that way, too.
The cowboy faces a swollen stream. He realizes that he has to get across it somehow. That’s you realizing that you have to do something dramatic to get yourself to the next level of the job even if it is risky. The cowboy faces the challenge by actively looking for a wider spot in the river where the water moves less dangerously. You will meet your challenge via the same tactics—activity and inner mobility.
The logic of the bunkhouse is varied and differs from situation to situation, but underlying it all are these two qualities. Think of the cowboy. He can teach you a lot. He’s the romantic symbol of the successful in every area.