Too Young for This, Too Old for That

There’s a certain hilarity in being a 22-year-old managing editor for a small-town paper. It’s not just the job title that makes me chuckle—it’s the moments that remind me I’m somehow both "too young" and "too old" all at once.

This week, I attended the Davenport City Council meeting, a staple in my routine now. I’m making it a point to show up to every local meeting, not just because it’s my job, but because, oddly enough, I enjoy them. Where else can you witness democracy in action while being playfully reminded of your age?

At the start of the meeting, I stood up to take a staff photo for our Neighbors guide, feeling like the poster child of enthusiasm. Just as I was about to sit back down, I noticed a high school girl from Davenport also attending the meeting, diligently completing an assignment for her class. Seeing her there made me feel ancient. She was there to learn about civic engagement; I was there because this is my life now. It was a sobering and hilarious reminder that I’m not in high school anymore—even if it still feels like graduation wasn’t that long ago.

Then, the trouble began. Someone made a joke about movies. Naturally, as a film degree graduate, I couldn’t resist chiming in. That’s when I called a 1980s movie a “classic.”

A mistake. A grave one.

The laughter was immediate. I thought I was on solid ground—after all, to my generation, those films are classics. But to the council members, it was a reminder of just how young I am. I doubled down, trying to explain our Neighbors guide, comparing it to the White Pages. That’s when one council member asked, with a raised eyebrow, “You know what the White Pages are?”

“Yes,” I said confidently. “You can search phone numbers online!”

I’d like to think my answer balanced youthful naivety with a sprinkle of wisdom, but who am I kidding? The council got their laugh, and I left feeling both the youngest and oldest person in the room.

If that wasn’t enough, I had a conversation this week with my best friend’s little sister that sealed the deal on how time is moving faster than I can process. She told me she wanted an American Girl doll for her birthday—not just any doll, though. She had her heart set on Isabel and Nicki, part of the company’s new historical and classic collection. If you’re familiar with American Girl dolls, you know they usually have backstories tied to major historical events: the slave trade, the Great Depression, the Spanish flu. But Isabel and Nicki? Their backstory takes place in the 1990s. I was born in 2002. Let that sink in.

Fast forward to this weekend. After helping the ever-so-charming rancher Dalton feed cows, we were relaxing over coffee when I bent over to pick something up. That’s when it happened: a nasty pop in my knee, followed by soreness and existential dread.

Dalton didn’t miss a beat. “Geez, you’re getting old,” he said, smirking.

Here’s the thing: I laughed, but he wasn’t wrong. That knee pop wasn’t just a sound; it was a message. Maybe I am getting old—or maybe I’m just entering the phase of life where you feel old while still being, objectively, young.

Imposter syndrome loves to creep in at moments like these. I’m only 22—soon to be 23—but here I am, the managing editor of a paper, attending council meetings, writing stories, and trying to keep up with charming ranchers and their quick wit. It’s hard not to feel like a kid pretending to be a grown-up, like one of those old movie scenes where two kids stack themselves under a trench coat, wobbling awkwardly as they try to convince the world they’re a real adult. Some days, I feel like everyone can see through the disguise, but I keep showing up, hoping I look the part long enough to actually grow into it.

But here’s the truth I’m learning: no one ever fully feels like they’ve arrived at “adulting.” Whether you’re 22 or 52, life is a learning curve. And while I may not always know what I’m doing, I know I love this job, this town, and this stage of life—knee pops, movie gaffes, American Girl doll revelations, and all.

To my older readers, I hope you’ll laugh with me, because I know you’ve been here before. To my younger readers, get ready—life comes at you fast. But if you’re lucky, it also comes with great stories to tell.

And if anyone has some parting advice about growing old—or just a fun message to share with me—I’d love to hear it!