A few Christmases ago, I found myself reflecting on time and relationship. As one does during the holidays, I was on break from work and filling my days off with seeing as many people as I could.

I’ve always loved the holiday season. In my mind, the holidays represent a lot of what humans got right: generosity, time spent together, and sweet treats. 

Having worked in politics for a few years, it’s become very normal for friends, family, and strangers to come to me with questions they have about the political moment. I’ve had friends from high school who I hadn’t spoken to in years ask me who to vote for in elections, family assume I can speak on behalf of the entire Democratic Party, and strangers call me names on the internet after seeing my former jobs listed on my Facebook profile. 

“You can say you’re sorry and it had nothing to do with me but it’s not like you took my bike away. This is my mother—that I have no memories of. I was robbed, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

When I used to dream of being a “grown up” at 16, the challenges I thought I’d face were obvious. Taxes felt like they’d be a bore, bills appeared like an organizational nightmare, cooking dinner every night seemed like a problem best solved by Taco Bell, and making a dentist appointment myself sounded like a procrastination waiting to happen. 

You finally sit down next to your partner at the end of the day, exhausted and barely able to keep your eyes open, and then it hits you: you haven’t really looked at each other in weeks. Not in the way you used to at least.

I recently attended The Everygirl’s Camp Everygirl in Marble Falls, Texas. 100 women of all ages and backgrounds came together to experience an adult summer camp, and I was lucky enough to be one of them. 

If it were up to me, the “cool girl” mentality would die faster than the whipped coffee trend from 2020.  Countless articles have dissected where and why the “cool girl” mantra started.

It’s January 2024, and I’m sitting in the meditation room of a retreat house in southern Portugal. The moon is full, my eyes are closed, and I’m breathing with intention. I’m not alone. 

You may be wondering why a man is writing for a women’s magazine. Or maybe you weren’t, but you found the title of this piece intriguing.