Rule #57: Believe in Cow Tipping
My father used to tell me stories from his teenage years in Nebraska, where he and his friends would sneak into fields at night and tip over cows.
For those who’ve never heard of “cow tipping,” it’s supposedly the practice of finding a standing, sleeping cow and pushing it over. It was said to be great fun for bored farm kids on hot summer nights.
Dad told me this story at least twenty times, and I believed every word of it.
Now, yes—I know:
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Cows don’t sleep standing up.
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They’re skittish and sensitive to sound, sight, and smell—especially around rowdy, possibly intoxicated teenagers.
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Physicists have proven it would take at least four strong people to move a cow, if it’s possible at all.
But I still choose to believe my Dad’s story. He told it to make me laugh, to give me a window into his childhood, and maybe to make himself just a little more interesting. Whether or not it actually happened didn’t matter. It was his story, and therefore his truth.
In life, we all shape ourselves through stories. Some people have remarkable backstories. Others create them to soften the rough edges of reality. In my business, I talk with people every day, and what I love most are their stories. Whether it’s travel adventures, family tales, or hobbies, I often know that what I’m hearing is part fact, part embellishment—like Dad’s cow tipping. But that doesn’t make it less valuable.
The truth is, everyone carries a little BS (keeping with the cow theme). It’s how we present the version of ourselves we want others to see. My father’s story made him a little more colorful, a little more human, and I loved him for it. And part of loving someone is letting their BS slide now and then. Dad knew I didn’t fully believe his cow tipping, but he also knew my silence was my way of giving him respect.
Life is hard. Reinvention is part of survival. Most successful people I know are constantly reshaping themselves—and their stories—along the way.
As a parent, I’ve heard my kids tell plenty of “creative” stories. The question is always: is this worth calling out, or should I just let it go? After 27 years, I can tell you—I’ve let thousands of stories grow on their own. Not every detail needs to be corrected. Sometimes you just need your own cow tipping tales.
I miss hearing Dad’s version. And for the record, if anyone wants to sneak out in the middle of the night and push a couple cows over, I’m in.
Love, Dad