My Ethical Philosophy of Life

When I first read Jim Owen’s 2004 book, Cowboy Ethics: What Wall Street Can Learn From The Code Of The West, I was immediately hooked by then ten principles by which to live presented therein. This “Cowboy Code,” so to say, became especially near and dear to my heart in light of my experiences in life to date. I soon found that through application of this Cowboy Code, I could better process my previous experiences in life and then apply the fruits of this intellectual labor to my present and future endeavors. Ultimately, my philosophy of live was already intact when I encountered the Cowboy Code, but through fully embracing it, I have given my life philosophy a structure by which to express itself in practical form.

Through my grandfather, I became acquainted with a strict code of ethical relativism and norms, though I was often disappointed to find that my application of this code was routinely criticized as too idealistic in nature. I struggled to straddle the often-blurred line between privately held beliefs and public expressions of socio-political ideals. I found myself consistently endeavoring to push past my socio-political comfort zone and towards settings in which I could explore my human limitations. From a young age, it became apparent that I was a fish out of water in an unexpectedly myopic socio-cultural setting, without peers upon whom I could rely for matters of general support or even stimulating conversation toward some productive end. So, just as I had always sought to broaden the parameters of my socio-political and intellectual education, I broadened the horizons of my existence through placing myself in challenging settings; ones in which I knew that I was more likely to fail than succeed.

I began volunteering at Project Hope, a local homeless shelter. It was here that I met Kevin, a homeless man with so much to offer. When Kevin asked me to tutor him for the GED examination, I was initially shocked. Nevertheless, I said “yes” because I understood that I could help Kevin. Like a home-schooled student, Kevin’s life has been lonely. We discovered that we shared this bond of loneliness and as we continued working together, we began to understand each other. Eventually, I began to understand how to relate to people whose lives are different from mine and “Where to Draw the Line” between real and unreal. I then understood the value of making contributions to the lives of others. I saw it as a calling --“Do What Needs to be Done” and, as applied to what needs to be done, “Take Pride in Your Work.” So, I made it my business to ensure Kevin’s success on the GED.

Helping Kevin has opened my eyes to the world, but there were difficult times during which I was unsure of my abilities to genuinely help Kevin. But I knew that we had to “Finish What We Start[ed]” because “When You Make a Promise, [You] Keep It.” I had promised to get Kevin to the end of the GED road and I was determined to do so. I came to find that I had spent so much of my time complaining about how my life could be better that I had never spent the time necessary to actually make it better, though I found myself helping Kevin to this end. And yet, we encountered a bump in our road to success that almost eradicated the benefits of our working relationship when Kevin’s bout with Heroin addiction reared its ugly head.

Kevin’s life might never be as fulfilling as it might otherwise have been had he not dropped out of high school after becoming hooked on intravenous drugs. Passing the GED which would bring Kevin one step closer to the family he lost, including the two kids whose pictures he keeps wrapped up in a rubber-band, along with newspaper clippings and the like. One day, after we had finished a session, Kevin’s behavior seemed erratic. He expressed various forms of paranoia, insecurity and fear and finally asked me whether I might be interested in “a hit.” I asked Kevin what he was talking about and, upon further discussion, it became clear that Kevin not only wanted me to inject into my veins that which he was injecting into his, but also that he wanted me to finance this exercise in narcotics trafficking. “Remember that Some Things Are Not for Sale,” I recalled from the Cowboy Code. Neither my trust nor my money were for sale and I explained that to Kevin. He began sobbing uncontrollably, at which point I recognized in him that which I had seen before in the eyes of the addicted: Kevin was high.

I explained to Kevin the equivalent of what is meant by the Cowboy Code rule of “Live Each Day with Courage” --we must approach each day with full knowledge of the dangers that await us, accounting for reality even when we wish to avoid it. Kevin’s challenge was a daunting one, but in order to overcome it and be better for having done so, he needed to acknowledge the reality of his circumstances: drugs would always be in his immediate vicinity, tempting him to again throw his life away for the fleeting sensation of being high. While I did not explicitly employ the Cowboy Code with Kevin, I reflect on my discussion with him now and realize that I was implicitly relying the values I have since formalized through it. I wish I could say that my talk that day had done more to help Kevin move forward. After all, I had been “Tough But Fair.”

Ultimately, Kevin slipped back into addiction, was formally removed from Project Hope and by the time I showed up for our next session, not even his next-door neighbor knew where he might have gone. Two years later, I was driving along a typically lazy and abandoned stretch of road, which made it easier to spot just about anything ahead of me. As I slowed to 5 MPH, I recognized the patched up bullet holes on the back left shoulder of Kevin’s coat; he had been caught in the crossfire of a gang shooting at 18 and kept the coat as a kind of badge of honor. As I turned the bend to see his face, I began thinking of what I might say to Kevin and how I might greet him or whether we would begin working again together toward the goal of passing the GED. But all this was not to be—the man’s inside the coat was not Kevin, to my surprise. In fact, the man inside the coat did not so much as recognize me and I did not recognize him. At first, I thought that the impact of hard-core drug addiction and abuse might have altered Kevin’s physical appearance. As I would soon discover, I was wrong.

He told me that his name was Eric, though he paused for just long enough to cause me to suspect that his actual name was something else. Like Kevin, he had been out on the streets for some time. Unlike Kevin, he had no interest in taking the GED. I offered to buy him lunch and he accepted. Over the next house, we began discussing my work with Kevin, about whom I was still wondering. In describing Kevin, I could see nothing in Eric’s eyes to suggest that he knew the man of whom I was speaking. I began to discuss the jacket and, in particular, the bullet holes. Eric’s eyes widened a bit and he became nervous, asking if I was a cop. Ultimately, Eric explained that he had come across a man in an alley outside a bar where the bartender would leave leftover scraps outside the backdoor for guys like Eric and Kevin, just looking for as close to a square meal as they could get. That night, there was only enough food for one; Kevin and Eric physically engaged each other for the right to this food and the results were those expected.

Eric couldn’t confirm that he had killed Kevin with the blow to the head with the brick, but he could remember the blood and there was already a fair amount of it by the time he ran from the scene, doggy-bag in hand. I asked Eric if he ever wanted to feel the way he did that day again and, needless to say, he answered in the negative. I proposed that we start working together toward getting him his GED. To my surprise, after what seemed like genuine though, he accepted. I even invited him to my apartment for our first session, right then and there. We arrived at around 3 P.M. and got to straight to work. It was when I opened the refrigerator to get myself a glass of water that I felt the Eric’s switchblade push up against my spinal cord. In the next three seconds, so much passed through my mind: I thought of my family, friends and how I might escape this encounter so as to see their faces again. I also thought about whether to stop doing good things for fear of bad people. All tolled, these three seconds not only saved my life, but also changed it.

Relying upon what I now perceive as the Cowboy Code of ethics, I turned quickly and did what needed to be done; falling back on deeply engrained hand-to-hand combat training, I disarmed Eric and knocked him unconscious with a single blow to the head. The police arrived within ten minutes and I have yet to see or hear from Eric since. I hope that Eric does pass the GED one day. He claimed to have been as old as Kevin was when he would have sat for the GED: 37. As I reflect on these formative experiences, I value the learning process that comes with a life of staying on one’s toes. This life has allowed me to efficiently process the foundational elements of a well-rounded existence: truth, honesty, duty and necessity. I never expected to derive such profound insights into my own existence from so basic a set of rules as the Cowboy Code. And yet, neither did I expect to be attacked by a homeless man in my own home; a home into which I had invited him. But such is the life of an individual engaged with the world in these times—motivations and intentions can change at the drop of the hat and if one’s genealogy of morals is too complicated or convoluted, one risks being easily confused by the daily happenings of life. By keeping things exceedingly straightforward, though not necessarily simple, I have been able to roll with life’s punches.