I was halfway through a mug of diner coffee that tasted like it had been brewed sometime during the Eisenhower administration when the stranger slid into the seat across from me. He was wiry, his face a road map of too many years in the sun, and he wore the kind of grin that made you wonder if he already knew the punchline to every joke you’d ever heard. I was sitting there in a small Wyoming town, killing time after a long day of guiding tourists through the Tetons, and he looked like he’d walked straight out of an old cowboy ballad.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, though he was already settling in.

This wasn’t a rare thing for me. Small towns lean communal like that—someone sees you sitting alone, figures you must want company. Usually, it’s harmless; you swap a few stories about the weather or something mundane, and then you both move along. But this conversation wasn’t like the others. By the time the sun dipped behind the mountains, I realized I’d been handed a lesson I didn’t even know I needed—one I suspect was more about relationships than weather patterns, despite how it started.

The Stranger’s Rule #1: “You Can’t Lasso What Won’t Be Caught”

The conversation began, like all small-town conversations do, with a discussion about cattle. Specifically, he had opinions about how I ought to be spending my summer—apparently, leading tourists through the wilderness lacked the same salt-of-the-earth appeal of roping and herding livestock.

“You can chase a calf all day,” he said, breaking a biscuit into his coffee for reasons I dared not ask. “But unless it’s ready to come back to you, you’re just wasting boot leather.”

It took me a while to figure out that he wasn’t just talking about livestock—or even the stubborn mules at the ranch. No, this was his way of saying something about relationships, the kind of wisdom that tends to dodge Hallmark card clichés but land square in the truth. Relationships aren’t about pursuit, at least not the kind where one person’s doing all the chasing. Sometimes, the harder you try to convince someone to meet you where you are, the less likely they’ll ever get there. It struck me that I’d learned this before the hard way, fumbling through high school romances where I’d worked myself into knots trying to be exactly what I thought someone wanted. I’d have saved myself a lot of energy if I’d taken a page from this man’s peculiar cowboy metaphor: some things—and people—come around when they’re ready.

The Stranger’s Rule #2: “Don’t Ride a Horse That Ain’t Saddle-Broke”

Now, this piece of advice came after his second cup of coffee and a rather alarming story about being thrown from an ornery mustang that no amount of coaxing could calm. And yes, he meant it literally, but there was something in the way he said it that felt more universal. “No sense in busting your body if the horse don’t want to be ridden,” he said. That grin was back, now edging toward infuriating.

Interpretation? Some people, like stubborn horses, aren’t in the right place to be part of something steady or stable. Maybe they’ve got baggage they haven’t unpacked or wounds they haven’t healed. Maybe, like that mustang, they’re just not built for partnership at this moment in time. And here’s the kicker: it’s not your job to fix that. If someone’s not ready for your love—or any love, really—trying to saddle what’s unsaddleable does nothing but leave you winded, frustrated, and maybe a little bruised.

That one hit particularly close to home. I thought about a girl I’d loved once, someone whose wildness was intoxicating but ultimately incompatible with the kind of bond I was trying to build. I’d spent too long hoping I could be what she needed, when all along she wasn’t looking to settle into any kind of partnership. I wanted to go back in time and tell younger-me to save his breath—but instead, I just nodded at the stranger, letting the wisdom settle.

The Stranger’s Rule #3: “Respect the Fence, or You’ll Get Stung”

At this point, I had no idea what turn this story was going to take. “Fences keep things running smooth,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the expanse of nothingness visible outside the window. “Don’t mean you shut everyone out, but if someone can’t respect where your boundaries are, better believe you’re gonna feel the sting.”

The image of an electric fence—harmless to look at until someone tests its patience—was fitting. Relationships thrive on boundaries, whether it’s setting limits about communication, establishing your own personal time/space, or recognizing when something simply isn’t working. But how often do we actually enforce them? It’s like holding your hand over the flame, thinking this time it won’t burn the same way. If I had a dollar for every time I failed to hold firm on my own boundaries because I didn’t want to cause conflict—or worse, because I figured I’d “be the bigger person”—I could probably stop buying instant coffee and spring for the good stuff.

The stranger didn’t specify whether he’d learned this the hard way. Judging by the worn lines in his face, I’d guess he had. But it was a reminder I needed: boundaries aren’t about building walls; they’re about honoring what makes you, you. And the people worth keeping close? They’ll respect your fenceposts without needing to touch them.

What I Took Home in My Saddlebags

Eventually, the stranger wandered off into the sunset—or, more specifically, into his beat-up truck, which I noted still had bungee cords holding part of the tailgate together. I paid my tab and left too, uncertain if I’d just met a prophet disguised as a rambling cowboy or if the caffeine buzz and summer air had made his words seem weightier than they were.

But days later, his lessons stuck with me. If I could sum it all up, it’d come to this: relationships, like a day out ranching, demand equal parts patience, self-awareness, and respect for the unpredictable. You have to know when to loosen the reins and when to set them down altogether. You have to recognize the difference between effort and futility. And maybe most importantly, you have to protect your own sense of self—because you’re not much use to anyone if you’re always bent out of shape trying to fit someone else’s mold.

So, what does any of this mean in practice? Here’s what I’d tell you based on what I learned from my one-man rodeo mentor:

  • Learn to Walk Away: Whether it’s a dead-end relationship or a mule that won’t budge, there’s no shame in stepping back and saving yourself a heap of trouble. Letting go isn’t failure; sometimes it’s smart strategy.

  • Embrace a Little Wildness: Not all unpredictability is bad. Sometimes, the best connections come from moments you couldn’t have planned if you tried. Just make sure you’re not trying to tame chaos where it’s not yours to handle.

  • Respect Your Pastures: Those boundaries I mentioned? Keep them in place. Relationships are partnerships, not opportunities for someone to trample all over what you’ve built.

And finally? Never, ever crack a biscuit into your coffee. Not everything the stranger taught me was gold.

So, here’s to the cowboy prophets of the world—those who wander in and remind us of things we didn’t know we’d forgotten. If you spend enough time out on the range—whether it’s the literal kind or the metaphoric plains of romance—you’ll pick up the lessons eventually. But maybe, just maybe, it’s worth listening when someone with a little more dust on their boots leans over and says, “You might want to hear this.”