Then there was Janet Mock, author of the book “Redefining Realness,” on the Piers Morgan program early this month, trying to explain that the on-screen headline, “Was a boy until age 18” was problematic, particularly in the way it defined gender through genitalia alone. I thought her response to Mr. Morgan was poised and articulate: “I was born a baby,” Ms. Mock said. “As soon as I had enough agency in my own life to grow up, I became who I am.” It’s clear that the terrain is changing.

After serving as consigliere to the writers creating “Transparent,” I can affirm that their desire to create a show that is respectful and representative of trans experience is genuine. They asked me lots of difficult questions, and I tried to answer. (What was it like to cross dress, back before my transition? My answer: It was like Beatles heaven. You know that moment in “Day in the Life” when Paul sings, “Somebody spoke, and I went into a dream,” and John sings the word “Ahhh” for the next 12 bars? It was like that.)

I’m sympathetic to Ms. Soloway, the director. She has had to take some pains to justify the casting of Mr. Tambor, who, let’s face it, is no Janet Mock, a woman who, in addition to being a good writer, happens to also be drop-dead gorgeous. Many viewers will find it hard to see Mr. Tambor as more than a “man in a dress.” But not every trans female who comes out is going to be instantly seen as the woman she knows herself to be, in spite of what is in her heart.

And it’s this, I think, that justifies the casting of Mr. Tambor in this instance, and that makes the quandary of the character so deeply moving. That “Transparent” depicts a schlumpy, older person rather than a gorgeous fashion model is good for both trans and cis folks alike. It captures the surprisingly universal problem of being defined only by our biology, rather than our spirits. It should make us stop and think about what it means to be a man, or a woman, and the struggle that so many people face in trying to live our truth. This isn’t a problem unique to transgender people; it’s the same for all of us.

I remember my days of struggling to “pass” in the world. Once, I went to L. L. Bean, in Freeport, Me., to buy some jeans. It wasn’t a good gender day, and other shoppers kept casting glances at me with mingled shock and dismay. In the afternoon, a mother holding her child’s hand walked toward me, and the boy’s eyes grew wide. “Mom,” he said, in a voice of astonishment, as they passed me. “Who was that?”

I am still grateful for the mother’s reply. “That,” she said, “was a human being.”