I am no superhero or king. But I do confess I miss the days when my wife and little girls thought I might be one, or at least lead me to feel like one. Unfortunately, 2026 has mostly served up to yours truly, a lot of kryptonite, yellow, loud sounds, and insert-your-favorite-superhero-frailtiy-here. I wrote this post a long time ago (along with many others I later chose to not post). Tonight, after earlier in the day feeling like we'd weathered the storm, and despite my best attempts, I fell yet short yet again. And I am tired. So very weak and tired. 

For context purposes, when I was about 12-years old, I watched the TV movie, Elvis and Me. I cried. More recently, I watched the docuseries, Hulk Hogan: Real Amaerican. I fought back tears through most of the fourth installment. The source of my emotion was the same in both scenarios, and probably not for the reasons you might expect.

Elvis sincerely loved Priscilla, yet got lost in his larger than life reality and simply could not repair all that was broken between them. Also gone with that relationship was his daughter, Lisa Marie.

With Hulk, Linda was the love of his life, and he too got caught up in his alter ego lifestyle until he one day found himself in a place where that love was broken and beyond any hope of repair.

Relationships once rooted in love turn sour. Children grow distant and leave the values you sought to root within them. A father's family--his dream--has been slowly, yet quickly, lost. Gone in an instant. And that father is left questioning EVERYTHING.

Regret. Turmoil. Lament. Pain. Anger. Saddness. Failure... Loser. Worthless. Pathetic. Poser. Shallow Coward. Selfish Idiot.

Ever been there?

I think of my own parents. They had a tormented relationship that had virtually every card stacked against them. It may be why I am so sensitive to the relationship factors of Elvis and Hulk's stories.

THEY WERE KINGS. THEY HAD IT ALL.

Yes, they owned the world and they had it all. And yet they fared no better than my parents, who (honestly) never stood a chance. I can't help but wonder if I have been a fool to think I could do better than my parents, let alone Elvis or Hulk!

I think of God, when Adam and Eve chose to distance themselves from their three-stranded relationship with God.

The crushing pain.

The loss.

Even He has been restoring it ever since. What hope is there for me and my house?

It's easy to suggest that both Elvis and Hulk relentlessly pursued fame and fortune at the sake of their marriages and families. While true, I would suggest we lesser knowns -- mere mortals -- do the same for our own careers. We do it for our own hobbies, desires, identities, and addictions.

We feed our egos and make idols that pull us from the important people in our lives.

And that brings me to today. To Elvis, Hulk, and... Me. I am no king of anything. I can't claim to be a cultural icon. But I can relate to Elvis Aaron Presley and Terry Gene Bollea. The men who brought their better-known personas to life.

WE PUT ON A LOT OF MASKS IN LIFE

...and we do it while curating the character we want people to see or know about us at work and in other social contexts. Few know us intimately enough to understand who we are at our cores. In the course of our lives, as we're exploring these alter egos, it's easy to distort who we really are and lose our way.

Elvis and Priscilla did not make the distance. It estranged his relationship with his daughter, Lisa Marie. I have no doubt this was his biggest regret that Elvis Aaron Presley carried to his grave.

Hulk and Linda did not make the distance. It estranged his relationship with his kids--especially his daughter, Brooke.  I have no doubt this was the biggest regret that Terry Gene Bollea carried to his grave.

Are you seeing warning signs in your own relationships because you're too wrapped up in the "other personas" you portray in your life instead of the truly meaningful (real) roles? Even if you are not, don't wait for them to appear.

That may be too late.

It's hard to admit, but I am not the best father, and I am not the greatest husband. I am selfish. I am emotional. I can be proud of what I believe I have done for my family, and the work I have put in.

Perhaps too proud.

It’s easy to judge the famous for losing their families to their egos—but "mere mortals" do it every day for far less.

Perhaps I am always working too hard to do the actual hard work.

I have cried a lot this year. I don't cry. Barely even got choked up when either of my own parents died, in fact.

But when a dream feels broken, and when that dream feels like it is literally on life support, you die inside. And even the hardest of hearts become mush.

I am struggling with loss of all that I cherish--even though it isn't materially gone.

Helpless, I cling to my God.

And I can't help but wonder, when our 41 will come?