Superman is dying. We didn’t realize it. We thought all he was doing was waiting around for Lex Luthor to strike, and then he’d fly into action.
But when the world isn’t in actue danger, Superman is working, in his mind. He is ideating and prioritizing and acting and planning and checking and doing and adjusting and observing and orienting and deciding and acting. There is no time lose.
And yet, being here, on Earth, super-man. Man. He’s just a man. Maybe he can fly faster than a speeding bullet. Maybe he’s more powerful than a locomotive. But his heart. Did you know he has a heart? It needs to beat with a passion. It needs to sustain him. To remind him why he is here.
Moving fast and taking it all on his own, capable shoulders, he became a hero. Yet, he has not slowed. He has not taken a break in almost 100 years. He’s died in at least one universe. But in this one, in ours, a dimension where Superman is a metaphor, so many of us are trying to be Superhuman. Our virtue, our strength of will is so strong. There are many of us. We want to save the world. But we will only do it if we survive. If we finally integrate the part that can drive us. Our passion, our emotion, our feelings are another source of strength. It just takes time and effort to master.
We have already learned some mastery. In the moment, when confronted by danger, our training and our mastery of emotion allows us to fight. We see this in sports, and war, and crisis. We fight despite the fear. It lessens, as we master it, we box it up. Yet, the most difficult fights can’t be won in a day. They are lifelong pursuits. Justice. Safety. A better world for our grandkids. We keep the fear, the emotion, boxed up. We don’t slow down. We need to go faster. The problem is bigger than we once thought. There is another, new problem.
We must learn, Superman’s heart and passion and emotion, is an asset. It can sustain us. It can power us.
In this alternate dimension of metaphorical Superhumans, we must make time to feel. We must support the other Superwomen and Supermen, for they may need to step away from the fight to learn this side of mastery: the side of not quenching the fires, but of stoking them and living at that new level of emotion.
Set aside the pill bottle, beer bottle. Call off work. Tell a friend what you’re doing. Sit with a friend. Sit in the feelings. And when you have relearned to feel, remind yourself, I’m Superman (Or Superwoman or SuperWhateverYouIdentifyWith). 
 I wanted to write “I’m fucking Superman,” but if you get the inflection wrong, you might read the word fucking as a verb, which changes the entire meaning. If true, congratulations! I’m still looking for my Superwoman.