The Day I Killed Superman (and saved myself)
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or most of my life, I suffered from a terrible disease called "Yes."
“Yes, I can help you with that,” “Yes, I’ll attend that event of yours,” “Yes, I can do that,” yes, yes, yes. If someone asked, the answer was always yes.
I used to think I was just being a helpful guy, taking pride in being there for everyone, all the time. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Help others when we can? In my mind, I was Superman. Superman can save the world. He’s fearless, always available, and not constrained by the confines of 24 hours.
Superman is almost invincible. And I wanted to be invincible too. But even Superman has a weakness—Kryptonite.
One day a few years ago, while working on my second re-write of Wintality, I felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety. I had a million projects that needed my attention, hundreds of messages and emails from fans I hadn’t replied to, and four events to attend in the coming days—friend’s parties, business launches, charity events. On top of that, I was behind schedule on the second manuscript for my book.
And I just lost it. I broke down.
I was exhausted. My brain wasn’t working. My body was sore for no reason. I sat on the couch all day. I didn’t answer my phone, didn’t check emails or messages. I didn’t respond to anyone. I just sat there hurting over the sad realization that I wasn’t Superman anymore. I couldn’t carry the load.
It was depressing. First, I thought, “Am I losing my edge? Am I just getting older?” A flood of questions and doubts rushed through my mind. I stared at my reflection in a blank TV screen.
“What happened, Superman?”
After what seemed like hours, the reflection seemed to answer my question… You killed me.
Nah, that couldn’t be true. Could it?
But as I thought about it, I realized it was true. Superman can only be killed by Kryptonite. And unknowingly, I had been injecting myself with Kryptonite. The Kryptonite that killed the Superman version of Baylor was my constant “yes.”
Saying “YES” to everything meant I was saying “NO” to myself. In trying to help everyone else with their dreams, I was quietly telling myself that my own dreams didn’t matter, or that I’d get to them "someday."
The very thing I was telling others to do—follow your heart, do what you want to do, focus on yourself—I wasn’t applying to my own life. In that moment, I realized what a hypocrite I’d been. Not intentionally; my heart was in the right place, but my actions weren’t. And our dreams don’t care about excuses or intentions, only actions and results.
I walked over to the mirror and stared at myself. I apologized to Superman. I told myself I never meant to be my own downfall, never meant to hit myself with that dreaded Kryptonite.
But it was too late. Superman was dead, and I had killed him.
I made a promise to myself that day: to say "YES" to me. That promise meant I’d have to say "No" to things and people that didn’t align with my purpose. It meant I’d have to battle my heart and my pride, which desperately wanted to be there for everyone else. It meant I couldn’t and wouldn’t be everywhere all the time.
But I realized that in fulfilling that promise to myself, I’d ultimately be able to help far more people than I ever had before.
And with that realization, I smiled. Deep down…
Superman’s heart started beating again.
If you want to take your team, event, or conference to the next level, book Baylor to speak. For more mindset motivation, check out his 10-minute-a-day podcast, Shark Theory. Purchase Baylor's self-development books here. Mindset Matters: Let's make yours unstoppable.