Introducing the Inner Voice of Clark Kent on my 65th Birthday

 

Please humor me—today is my 65th birthday, and last night, despite months of sleep training, all the voices in my head decided to speak up at once. A new one emerged, and it intrigued me enough to keep me from falling back asleep. Hence, a sleep score of 44. Yikes.

The voice belonged to none other than Clark Kent.

He showed up after the usual cast of inner voices had their say. My mind drifted to a Halloween eight years ago, when a photo was taken of me dressed as Clark.

Still hovering in a dream state, I couldn't quite make out what he was trying to tell me—or why he had chosen my birthday to make an appearance.

Maybe it had something to do with a conversation at my day job yesterday. A woman waited patiently to speak to me. She said she had been trying to find me for a while, just to say thank you. I had been there at a critical moment when her daughter needed help.

Her words reminded me of something I’ve long suspected:
My role in life is to be Clark Kent.
A regular guy doing his best to help others find their way.

If I have a superpower, it’s pointing people to the source of my strength and energy. I’m wired for continuous learning and daily growth. But I’m also human. My kryptonite is facing the loss of loved ones—friends and family who’ve been taken too soon by poor health and death. For much of my life, I’ve been pretty good at hiding those deep wounds.

But the voices in my head? Last night, they weren’t letting go until I acknowledged the unresolved pain from long ago.

It’s ironic—yesterday’s story was about training your inner voices. I’d been feeling like Superman with a streak of solid sleep scores. And then Clark showed up, well past curfew.

At least Lois slept peacefully while I tossed and turned.

Later today, our adult children will arrive for a barbecue and evening fireworks. As for Clark—and the other voices—I’ve promised to sit with them for as long as it takes to disarm the kryptonite. That may be impossible for a mere human, but what is possible is learning to live with grief… to cope… to heal, even if slowly.

So from Clark (and me), here’s our wish for you:

May you live long and prosper.
And Happy Fourth of July.