Millennial Life: Is This the Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

I gathered my thoughts in an adjacent room, filled with the light of the sun already mostly set on the horizon. The bodyguard stood as a barrier between me and the throngs of people schmoozing at the mansion. He had tilted his head my way as I sat down against the window to take an introvert breather.

This was the formal living room, with the artwork carefully curated. Even the piano had a tented description plaque placed just so on the dusted and polished top. However, I wanted to know what the room where the governor watched TV and threw her shoes in the corner look like.

Her shaggy black cat, lounging peacefully on what was likely a priceless chair, told some of that story. However, what I pictured as her basement den -- perhaps with a pinball table? -- was not on the tour.

I was part of our local chamber of commerce's events at the capitol, in theory advocating on behalf of my city, but in reality, with about 28 days on the job, it was a learning process. How did cities advocate for themselves? What would my role be in the process? Why was I, of all people, there?

I hadn't been on the council when the priorities were selected, but we had a list with terms such as "mobile integrated health." What physical things could be created from the minds of people that could be translated into enough of a reaction from legislators or the governor to allocate some of the state's budget surplus derived from oil and gas monies? It's heady stuff, but it's clarified by watching lobbyists and ordinary people advocate for change.

I sat in a committee meeting for a representative supporting a bill about income-based discrimination. In short, if you tried to rent an apartment and had Section 8 housing vouchers, the landlord could not discriminate against you paying with that voucher. Throughout the state, landlords flatly advertised against taking vouchers, and committee members who were both representatives and landlords told tales of how people with vouchers made terrible tenants.

In the face of that, an older woman got up to speak, explaining she was disabled and when her landlord retired, she needed to move after 30 years. Would those 30 years of being a good tenant be overshadowed by how she paid? A young man, with his mother he referenced still in her seat, spoke about how Section 8 helped their single-parent family, pausing to apologize that he had a hard time speaking in public. The committee rumbled low phrases of encouragement.

"You're doing great," said the chair.

Opposition came in and voiced their concern. One man stood for sophistry, placing stacks of documents on the desk before the committee. "Most landlords were mom and pop operations," he explained. "Would your mom know this legalese?" He tossed a packet down -- "Or how about this?" -- another packet against the table -- "Orr how about this?" the last packet waved.

The bill failed. People filed out before a committee member could voice why she voted against it. It was disappointing, but it was democracy.

Back at the mansion, I sighed and got back up from my spot in the curated corner of the formal living room, having taken my fill of sanity and selfies. I surveyed the busy dining room and had a fellow attendee come up and tell me that he had heard I was brilliant.

Oh no, I thought and may have said quietly. "But, what do you know what you should be doing?" he paused for dramatics. I waited.

"You should smile more," he said.

That was also disappointing, but not surprising. And precisely one of the reasons I should be 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.