An essay in Bookforum reminded me of the Monica Lewinsky scandal and strangely, how young she was. I am 23 years old now, older than Lewinsky was when the affair began and a few years younger then when it became public. It is a nauseating realization. Fourteen years later, I wonder how Lewinsky was considered anything other than a child, or rather, a new adult, one who was still growing and learning because she could have only understood the world from two decades of perspective. The other side of that however is the stunted maturity of my generation. To be 22, 23 in the 90s feels like a different thing now. At 23, I still feel not there, as if I’m playing at adulthood and maturity, rather than owning it.