Surprise, surprise. Deepak Chopra was an Epstein buddy. Cesar Chavez raped women and minors. Many big names appear in the files in what seem to be incriminating ways. Powerful men and yes, women, too, overlooked, ignored or even took part in nefarious activities.

Horrific things happened. And maybe still are going on.

Yes, our idols have feet of clay.

Most idols do have feet of clay. We just don’t like to look down.

Our very human tendency is to build people into more than they are. We admire them. We long to be like them. We elevate some above the rest of us, smoothing out their rough edges, polishing their stories until they gleam. We turn them into symbols of what we value: talent, morality, strength, brilliance, purity.

In doing so, we create something that was never entirely real to begin with.

Because the truth is, no one stands that tall without cracks. No one.

And don’t I know it. Because I’ve lived long enough to see some of my idols collapse. I haven’t had many. (I’m talkin’ to you, Lewis Hamilton..)

Feet of clay is such an evocative phrase, although some in the younger generation don’t know it. It suggests something that appears solid from a distance, at its foundation, is actually fragile and human. It can crumble.

And that’s the part we resist. We don’t want our heroes to be compromised. We want them to be better than us, cleaner than us, immune to the contradictions that define ordinary life. Immune to evil.

But they aren’t.

They are gifted, yes. Accomplished, often. Sometimes even extraordinary. But they are also impulsive, flawed, insecure, self-protective, occasionally selfish—just like the rest of us. The difference is not in their humanity, but in the spotlight that magnifies it.

And so the cycle repeats: elevation, idealization, revelation, disappointment.

We feel betrayed when an admired figure behaves badly or reveals something less than admirable. When the cracks show. But what we’re really reacting to is not their failure—it’s the collapse of the story we told ourselves about them.

We wanted them to carry something for us: hope, virtue, certainty. We wanted proof that someone could transcend the messiness we struggle with every day.

When they don’t, reality can bite.  It feels personal.

This is the way many feel when they hear allegations in the Epstein files. Many find it difficult to believe that their idols might be child predators. They refuse to believe it, even when evidence is powerful.  Who wants to admit they were wrong and their idols actually have feet of clay?

But maybe the real problem isn’t that our idols have feet of clay.

Maybe it’s that we insisted on putting them on pedestals in the first place.

It’s deeply human to want to believe in greatness. That belief inspires us, gives us direction, reminds us of what’s possible. But when admiration tips into idolization, we stop seeing clearly. We trade truth for illusion.

We’re left disillusioned—not because people failed us, but because we asked them to be something no human being can sustain.

What if we did it differently?

What if we allowed people to be impressive and imperfect? What if we admired without worshipping, respected without projecting, appreciated without needing someone to embody our ideals completely?

It would change the way we see others—and maybe the way we see ourselves.

We, too, have feet of clay. We’re all a mix of strength and weakness, light and shadow, intention and misstep. And yet, we keep going. We keep trying. We keep becoming.

Maybe that’s the more honest kind of reverence—not for perfection, but for persistence. Not for illusion, but for truth.

Not for idols, but for humanity.

And humanity is what we aim for as we ask that those of our idols who have committed horrific acts be held accountable for them.