2026.09.DisappearingMoment: Put Me In Coach

This past weekend, a friend and I took a road trip to visit another friend in Richmond, VA. I spent four glorious days with two smart, strong, straight, cis women. It felt like every conversation had the same subtext: we are children. Men, especially, and everyone else, too. We are ashamed, explosive, and isolated stress-responders. The things we want and say, the way we dress and eat and entertain ourselves. We are the parade of men in The Husbands (see below). We are the seedbed of pettiness and tragedy. (Which my congregation, Kol Tzedek, inhabited and exorcised during High Holidays this month.) Juvenility is pervasive and uncompromising. Our parents and siblings and supervisors see us with kindergarten-level nuance. We mainline schadenfreude and righteous indignation. We dull and heighten. We pay people to touch us, listen to us, change our appearance, remove us from ourselves. From the children we wish we never were and want to escape and reclaim. We are calling out, demanding…