Millennial Life: The Room Where ... What Happens, Exactly?

If there has been a recurring theme that has kept popping up for me in the last few weeks, it's this: We should probably get some adults in this room to get this worked out. And then it dawns on me: Oh, that's me. I'm the person who is going to have a hand in making some of these decisions.

It's similar to the feeling you get when you finally get discharged after having a baby. Sure, the nurses will roll you out in the wheelchair for insurance purposes, but once you actually have to buckle a newborn into the base of a car seat, you wonder, how exactly did I prove myself worthy of being the caretaker of this new human? One full of budding potential, and a very real soft spot on their head.

As a newborn city council member, I'm not only toddling around the best I can but also already locked in as an established caretaker who should be able to fix things. I'm trying, but at less than 30 days in, the jury is still out. There's been a sense of urgency on my end, a challenge to learn as fast as possible, break as little as possible, and understand what might be possible -- regardless of what has been done before.

One of the opportunities I'm taking to learn will require some travel. New Mexico is having its 30-day legislative session in Santa Fe -- oh, you've heard of that city, right? -- and I'm driving up to represent my city, which is five hours away and one that people in the northern part of the state tend to forget about.

Then, an email ping last week showed an invite for a meeting with the governor. Addendum to that email: Please have those with fancy uniforms wear those fancy uniforms. Oh, dear, we are serious, aren't we?

Well, I don't have a uniform, but I will rock some power blazers. And maybe obsessively flat iron my hair while I stress out about being in the rooms where it happens, a la Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton. Sure, there's likely still a component of unprocessed imposter syndrome I have floating around, but there is something else nagging at me.

The uncomfortable fact is that very few people grow up in ways we think of adulthood as children. We hope that there are people in control and that they have our best interests at heart. But control seems like a vaguer concept as an adult. Yes, some people can turn off water valves in case of a mainline break, but are they tweaking the lights to ensure that you, yes you, will wait longer in the turn lane after work? It's likely less nefarious and slightly more complex.

Except, someone did have control and decided to eliminate Sonic ice cream cones. That's some corporate power shenanigans that are hard to explain in a drive-thru with an expectant 8-year-old.

Much like quick-witted negotiations to suggest a different location for soft-serve ice cream, you grow into things that carry responsibility. There's a power in realizing that maybe it is on you. You're bringing that folding chair Shirley Chisholm was on about when someone pulls you aside, notes your nicely flattened hair, and says, "Hey, there's a nameplate in front of your seat over there."

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.