I Wanna Be A Cowboy

Part 2 - continued from yesterday's post...

The truth is, I have no idea what motivates people to make the choices they make. For the most part, I'm referring to choices of a more stylistic nature; not what motivates a person to choose the life of a terrorist, or a serial killer. I leave that to the psychiatric professionals. However, I have my theories about the more frivolous stuff; and I will use myself as a guinea pig...

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a cowboy. Yes; a cowboy. I wanted to ride a horse on the range all day, sing lonely cowboy songs around the campfire in the evening, and sleep under the stars at night. No matter that I was a girl, and that I was born a hundred years too late.

I lived in Memphis TN, and I didn't know any cowboys; so why would I want to grow up to be a cowboy? Two things; my dad used to tell me vivid stories about life in the old West. He was (and still is) an American history buff, and I think being a cowboy must have been on his bucket list too. The other thing was television; Bonanza; Gunsmoke; The Rifleman; Wagon Train; Davy Crockett. Westerns were a popular genre in the fifties and early sixties. With only three channels, there wasn't a lot of variety; and I certainly had no desire to be June Cleaver or Lawrence Welk; so cowboy it was.

Then one day, I hung up my guns and started junior high. On the first day of school, I was feeling quite grown up in my pleated plaid skirt, saddle oxfords and twisted ankle socks. Then a group of "cool" girls walked by. They were wearing pencil skirts, and pointy-toed flats with no socks. Their hair was teased, sleek, and flipped up on the ends. Suddenly, I felt like a five year old.

That evening, I asked Mom to take me shopping. We went to the local department store, where I bought a pencil skirt, pointy-toed flats, and a fuzzy pink mohair sweater; no socks. I got a "ratting" comb, grew my hair longer, and flipped the ends up. By December, I was reading Teen and Glamour magazines, and following the popular trends with the rest of the girls.

The British Invasion brought Mod fashions across the pond. Mini dresses and go-go boots were the rage. Jean Shrimpton became my new style muse. I watched her TV commercials for Yardley and took notes. In 1968, the movie Romeo and Juliet was released; the one with Olivia Hussey and Leonard Whiting. I began wearing velvet dresses with satin ribbons and puffy "Juliet" sleeves. In the early seventies, I wore my hair long, straight and parted in the middle, like Ali MacGraw's in Love Story; and dreamed of going to an Ivy League college and cruising around Boston in an MG convertible.

In a less superficial vein, I developed a lifelong appreciation for reading, thanks to an enthusiastic school librarian; and my high school art teacher was my first inspiration for pursuing an artistic career. A field trip to the symphony spurred an appreciation for classical music. And the school cafeteria launched an unfortunate love affair with big, fluffy yeast rolls that has confounded my attempts to lose weight later in life; proving that all choices are not necessarily wise ones.

But what about choices of conscience? What motivates us to make choices based on our sense of morality? Good and bad; right or wrong? And why don't we all have the same set of beliefs? Again, this one is fodder for the experts... 

I think for the majority of us, our choices moral and otherwise are greatly influenced by our parents; friends and peers; teachers; people we admire; religion; politics; celebrities; the media; advertising, etc. We are elevated to a higher plane of existence by great literature, art, and music, created by gifted people who are inspired by other gifted people. We are influenced by all of the wonderful, and sometimes not so wonderful, things that life on this planet has to offer. Then we use our abilities to think and reason, combined with our personal life experiences, to develop into the unique individuals that we are.

Our lives are a sum total of the choices we have made.
- Wayne Dyer