I wake up with sore feet, unpaid bills, and a head full of noise.
I wake up human — flawed, tired, sometimes defeated before the day even starts.
But then something shifts.
It’s never a dramatic lightning bolt moment. No theme music. No cape flying in the wind. It’s quieter than that.
It’s when I see my wife smile even though she’s just as tired as me.
When my kid laughs like the world is still good.
When my son calls me “Dad” and I know he’s counting on me.
That’s when it happens.
That’s when I feel my back straighten, my chest expand.
I’ve been broke, betrayed, and pushed aside, but I’ve also been the guy who fixes the mess when no one else will.
The one who keeps going when everyone else stops.
That’s my power. Not flying. Not super strength.
I’m just showing up.
Again. And again. And again.
People see the wins, but they don’t see the bruises.
They don’t see the late nights, the rejections, and the plans that fall apart.
They don’t see me questioning if I’ve got what it takes — and still doing it anyway.
When I feel like a superhero, it’s not because the world believes in me.
It’s because I do.
Even if it’s only for today.
The Climb 
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