You are. Never forget that. 
If you think you aren’t, tell that to 16-year-old me in this photo. This punk rock me. Standing in front of a microphone with long flowing hair, flanked by Matt Luksetich and Ryan Flanagan, singing my head off Jim Morrison-style with my high school band The Eviction Committee.
Tell that punk kid he’s not a rock star, and he’ll say, “We’re all Rock Stars, man.”
To get up every day in the middle of the tsunamis of life. To look out at the horizon and see a hopeful flame when all around is dark. To hold the hand of the suffering, to smile when you feel broken, to dance when you have shaky legs, to sing when you have a shattered voice, to find your spirit when your soul is broken. That is being a Rock Star.
So, get up on that stage of your life, under that spotlight that burns so bright like the sun that rises and sets, and rock out like it’s the final song of the final concert of your life.
Then, do it again. ‘Cause baby, you’re a Rock Star, and I believe in you.