Why am I such a failure?

Because I’ve failed at damn near everything.

Bad contracts — and I knew they were bad. I signed them anyway. Desperation will make you shake hands with the devil and smile while doing it. I didn’t have leverage. I didn’t have options. I had fear dressed up as opportunity.

I started things I didn’t finish.
I made investments that made zero sense.
I confused motion for progress.
I made survival moves and tried to call them strategy.

I burned bridges. Some deserved it. Some didn’t.
I failed at building businesses.
I failed at basketball — not because I didn’t work, but because the outcome didn’t match the fantasy I was sold.
I failed at protecting my mother the way I believe a man should. That one never leaves.

I failed at my marriage to the most beautiful soul god put on this earth. I wrecked her. I stressed her out. I confused her.

Failure wasn’t an event.
Failure was my environment.

It crushed me.
It isolated me.
It stressed me out to the point where my body felt like it was constantly in fight-or-flight.
It dropped me into depressive pits where motivation didn’t exist — only obligation.

And yet…I’m still here. Still standing. Still breathing. Still dangerous.

I lived like a homeless nomad. No roots. No safety net. Just airports, contracts, and chaos. Basketball dragged me across the planet like a weaponized passport. Countries I never dreamed of seeing. Cultures that slapped my narrow thinking in the face. Food, people, languages, silence — all of it rewired my brain.

That life stripped me.

No comfort.
No predictability.
No excuses.

You either adapt or disappear.

I learned how to talk to anyone.
How to survive with nothing.
How to rebuild identity when it gets ripped away.
How to keep moving when your confidence is shattered but your body still works.

That life didn’t make me weak.

It made me trained.

I came back bruised — financially, emotionally, psychologically.
But I also came back with reps. Scar tissue. Perspective.

Somehow, through all the dysfunction, I still mad money.
Still built relationships.Still built a family.
Still hit goals that outsiders would clap for — even while I was internally calling myself a dumb jock.

That’s the part people don’t understand.

You can be failing internally while still progressing externally.

So maybe I’m not a failure.

Maybe I’m just forged wrong for comfort.

Maybe every bad deal, unfinished idea, dumb move, and emotional decision was just weight on the bar.

No hype music.
No motivational quotes.
Just pressure.

I’m not writing this from the mountaintop.
I’m writing it from the middle of the grind.

Still rebuilding.
Still reprogramming.
Still putting plates back on the bar.

Failure didn’t kill me.

It conditioned me.

And if you’re reading this feeling broken, behind, embarrassed, or lost — good.

That means you’re still in the game.

Failure isn’t the opposite of success.

It’s the training ground.

And some of us were built to survive that first.

Michael Kennedy

Athletic Entrepreneur

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