Walking on Air

Obviously created by AI.

There was a TV show that aired from 1980 to 1983: The Greatest American Hero. I was five years old in 1980, and we had just moved to Brazil, so I never watched the show. Maybe I caught a dubbed version in Portuguese at some point, but I honestly have no memory of it. And back then, theme songs didn’t really register with me at all.

Years later—how many, I’m not even sure—I was probably listening to the radio when a song called Believe It or Not came on. I didn’t know where it came from or what it was connected to. I just knew I liked it. It was upbeat, kind of ridiculous, and had this bouncy, over-the-top energy—in the best way.

Let me pause here to say that my musical tastes have never really matched my age. I’ve always been into the “wrong” genre—music from the Great American Songbook, Yacht Rock, Easy Listening. I like other styles too, but the Carpenters played a big role in shaping my musical education. (You can read about that here.)

(Side note to the side note: my kids love to tease me when I’m playing my “old people music” as the soundtrack to my daily life. I don’t know—I like what I like.)

So it makes sense that I would have been tuned into an Easy Listening station when Believe It or Not found me. I don’t remember the first time I heard it—it just sort of was. It felt familiar even though I couldn’t place it. I had no idea it was the theme song from an old show I’d never seen.

By all accounts, this song shouldn’t be as good as it is. It’s not “cool.” It didn’t define an era of music. It was the theme to a goofy, short-lived show about a reluctant superhero. Honestly, it feels like the kind of thing that could’ve been a throwaway.

But—believe it or not (yeah, I went there)—it took off.

The show only ran for three seasons, but the song? It outlived all of it. It climbed the charts in 1981, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 and staying in the Top 40 for 18 weeks. It became more popular than the show itself. And it still turns up on Easy Listening stations. (Though, let’s be honest—is anyone still listening to the radio?)

The song itself is an 80s bop. Stylistically, it’s got this overly-caffeinated anthem energy. It shouldn’t exude this much positivity and still be good—yet, here we are, unabashedly delivering a dose of “not only have you got this, but you’re going to kill it.”

Musically, it fits right in with artists like Christopher Cross or Toto: clean, smooth, and unapologetically melodic. But this song isn’t about escapism (I’m looking at you, “Africa” and “Sailing”). It’s about making it—against all odds—and somehow coming out on top.

When you think of a superhero theme song, you probably imagine something big and dramatic—like the triumphant trumpets of John Williams’ Superman theme or the techno-beat intensity of Knight Rider. The opening lines, however, are not what you'd expect from a “superhero” show:

Look at what's happened to me
I can't believe it myself
Suddenly, I'm up on top of the world
It should have been somebody else

The first stanza sets up something good happening—something unexpected—and it’s made a real difference. So unexpected, in fact, that you don’t even feel like it should be happening to you. Like, surely this was meant for someone else. And then the chorus kicks in, and it’s just full-on celebration:

Believe it or not, I'm walkin' on air
I never thought I could feel so free
Flyin' away on a wing and a prayer
Who could it be?
Believe it or not, it's just me

The phrase “on a wing and a prayer” means doing something with very little chance of success—holding on by luck, hope, or sheer willpower rather than skill, preparation, or resources. Whatever it was that happened (and in the case of the TV show, the main character is granted superhuman powers—and promptly loses the instruction manual), it’s not about being ready. It’s about stumbling into something bigger than you expected—and somehow staying in the air. You’re overwhelmed, not exactly sure what you’re doing, but suddenly, you’ve got this lift. You feel free. Not because you planned it, or even earned it, but because it happened anyway.

I would say the main thing I love about this song is that when it shows up on my playlist (I, for one, am not listening to the radio anymore), it’s impossible not to sing along.

No—not sing. Belt it. At the top of your lungs. Especially the chorus—freeee-ee-ee, drawn out like I’m doing a full solo performance in traffic. Windows up, dignity gone.

It’s ridiculous how good it feels. Like a shot of dopamine straight to the heart.

There have been moments in my life—real ones—where something good happened, and my first reaction wasn’t celebration. It was confusion. Like, how is this mine? Surely this was meant for someone else. But then I look around, and I realize: I’m here. I’m doing it.

The older I get, the more I get that “just me” energy. Not bold. Not perfect. Just showing up, doing the work, and somehow ending up in a better place than I expected. I know how I got here—I worked for it. But it still catches me off guard sometimes, and I’m learning to stop questioning whether I deserve it.

I love that a 45-year-old song has outlived the show it came from and still finds a second life in us.

Because sometimes, the most honest response to joy is disbelief.
And sometimes, walking on air isn’t a metaphor.
It’s just... Tuesday.

Is it cheesy? Absolutely.
Am I belting it anyway?
You bet your Easy Listening playlist I am.