In “Little Women” (2019), one of my favorite films, the formidable Jo March (Saoirse Ronan) kneels on the wooden floor and buries her sullen face into her older sister’s striped skirt. “I can’t believe childhood is over,” she admits, gazing into the distance. Her sister, Meg March (Emma Watson), responds, “It was going to end one way or another.”
This striking exchange carries additional poignancy this week. Tomorrow is my 22nd birthday, and if popular culture has taught me anything, it is all downhill from here. In “The Substance” (2024), a fading star uses a fictitious drug to create a perfect, youthful version of herself. In “Friends” (1994-2004), Rachel Green (Jennifer Aniston) laments her 30th birthday while the gang reflects on their own fearful reactions to the milestone. And, of course, in “Little Women,” adulthood lingers on the horizon like a dark, brooding storm.
Across film and television, youth remains a prized possession. In these depictions, to grow old is not a privilege, but a ritual that exposes our ordinariness, our inability to swim against the rough current of time. In music, this pessimism persists, but so does a keen acceptance and welcome perspective. From Taylor Swift’s exploration of adolescence to John Mellencamp’s fable of early adulthood, singer-songwriters have long shed light on life’s one constant. So, on my birthday eve, I present five treasured tracks about growing up — because if SZA doesn’t have it all figured out yet, why should I?
‘20 Something’ by SZA (2017)
More often than I care to admit, I have wondered with dismay whether these are truly the best years of my life. Competing for scarce jobs, navigating new friendships and losing family members as I stumble through my early 20s has been a far cry from the riotous, enviable decade pop culture promised. But as clinical psychologist Meg Jay from The Atlantic affirms, this expectation “says more about Americans’ idealization of youth” than it does about what it means to be young nowadays.
The R&B and neo-soul powerhouse, SZA, does the opposite. With her music, particularly her debut album “Ctrl” (2017), she captures exactly what it feels like to be young today: overwhelmed, unstable and tentatively hopeful. The closing track, “20 Something,” finds SZA facing the final moments of her 20s. As her thick soprano glides atop a crisp electric guitar, the singer aches to do more, to be more and to know more while still clutching her youth with a clenched fist. “How could it be? Twenty-something / All alone, still not a thing in my name / Ain’t got nothin’, runnin’ from love, only know fear,” she sings.
In the midst of SZA’s anxiety, the simplified production centers the track — no violent drum beat signals the end of adolescence, no piano calls for stillness, no synthesizer distorts reality. “20 Something” is neither a glamorous nor a cathartic take on a tumultuous decade. In its unadorned complexity, the track is a true representation of early adulthood — a prolonged time of often subtle beauty.
‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac (1975)
With such grace and maturity threaded through every line, it is difficult to imagine that Stevie Nicks wrote “Landslide” at just 27 years old. Perched on the precipice of professional and personal change, Nicks peered through her window into the snow-covered Aspen mountains. In under 10 minutes, she composed what would become one of Fleetwood Mac’s most popular ballads and one of my favorite tracks on the passage of time.
Despite her relative youth, Nicks imbues “Landslide” with the melancholic maturity of a weathered woman. Her raspy voice rests atop the sparse soft-rock instrumentation like a thick fog sits on tall tree branches. Only Lindsey Buckingham’s steady guitar picking cuts through the haze.
Nevertheless, what is most striking about “Landslide” is Nicks’ performance. In her solemn yet unceremonious storytelling, Nicks transports the listener: She invites us to sit at her side, to glance across the blanketed hills and find our reflection staring back. “Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides / Can I handle the seasons of my life?” she croons, drawing “life” into several syllables. The words do not rush from her lips, but instead cling to her mouth as if they, too, are scared to be sent out alone.
Even as Nicks wallows, she wavers — acceptance, perhaps even optimism, seeps in. In the final moments, Nicks finds comfort in the uncontrollable. “And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills / Well, the landslide will bring it down / Oh-ohh, the landslide bring it down,” she sings.
‘Stoned at the Nail Salon’ by Lorde (2021)
Although Lorde seems to have forsaken her own advice with the critical introspection of “Virgin” (2025), some elements of her prior album “Solar Power” (2021) remain poignant. In particular, “Stoned at the Nail Salon” emerges as one of the strongest and strangest explorations of change in her bountiful discography.
“Got a wishbone drying on the windowsill in my kitchen / Just in case I wake up and realise I’ve chosen wrong,” Lorde admits at the onset of the track. In her typical fashion, Lorde draws upon unusual imagery to muster unconventional wisdom. Yet unlike on “Ribs” (2013), “Green Light” (2017) or “What Was That” (2025), what Lorde locates on “Stoned at the Nail Salon” is not loss — it is ambivalence. She approaches her mid-20s with caution, hesitant to revel in any joy but desperate for contentment.
On “Stoned at the Nail Salon,” Lorde is aimless. “Well, my hot blood’s been burning for so many summers now / It’s time to cool it down, wherever that leads,” she sings. Through her language, Lorde ties a familiar knot in the listener’s stomach. Yet, even as she crafts unease, she attempts to dismantle it. “’Cause all the beautiful girls, they will fade like the roses / And all the times they will change, it’ll all come around,” Lorde muses. “’Cause all the music you loved at sixteen you’ll grow out of / And all the times they will change, it’ll all come around,” she later adds. With these gentle warnings, Lorde confronts her own fear of fading away.
Over and over, Lorde approaches harsh realizations, only to dismiss her anxieties with the defeated refrain, “I don’t know / Maybe I’m just / Maybe I’m just stoned at the nail salon again.” In this lonesome game of cat-and-mouse, Lorde captures the sense of dread and doubt that develops as time passes.
‘The Circle Game’ by Joni Mitchell (1966)
In an iconic scene from “Uptown Girls” (2003), 22-year-old Molly Gunn (Brittany Murphy) takes 8-year-old Ray Schleine (Dakota Fanning) on a spinning teacup carnival ride. As the girls whirl round and round, the neon lights of the fairground paint streaks in the sky. Although shielded by strands of blonde hair, their dark eyes find one another in a calming clash of the past and present.
“The Circle Game” by Joni Mitchell offers a similar collision of comfort and unease. The bright folk-rock production creates a lullaby-like tone, similar to Nanci Griffith’sreflective “Goodnight to Mother’s Dream” (1994) or The Chicks’ wistful “Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)” (2002). Like the carnival lights, the bright instrumentals warm the track, but like the fast-whirling ride, Mitchell’s lyrics are unrelenting.
In just under five minutes, Mitchell charts the growth of a young boy into a young man, dancing between omniscience and willful ignorance to capture every angle of adolescence. She watches from a distance, singing, “Yesterday a child came out to wonder / Caught a dragonfly inside a jar.” Then she enters the scene, singing, “We’re captive on the carousel of time / We can’t return, we can only look / Behind from where we came.”
The shifting perspective enables Mitchell to appear as both a fellow captive and wise commander. This duality surfaces in the final verse, in which Mitchell foresees the boy’s final chapters. “So, the years spin by and now the boy is twenty / Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true / There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty,” she sings. With these remarks, Mitchell returns to the chorus once more, if only to remind the listeners of her own mortality: She, like all of us, will go around and around in “the circle game.”
‘22’ by Taylor Swift (2012)
Although “22” is not by any means my favorite Taylor Swift song, I would be remiss if I did not include the popular 22nd-birthday track in this edition of Cat’s Collection. In all sincerity, I have not been able to listen to “22” since my senior year of high school. As a member of the Class of 2022, the anthem played tirelessly at spirit events and graduation parties. But alas, here we go again.
“22” begins with fast-paced guitar strumming and pronounced percussion, dropping the listener into a rowdy evening in 2012: “It feels like a perfect night / To dress up like hipsters / And make fun of our exes / Uh-uh, uh-uh,” she sings. With cheeky lines like these, “22” feels like a time capsule of when angst met aesthetic on Tumblr, when Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” (2012) dominated the charts and when Lena Dunham’s sitcom “Girls” (2012-2017) premiered on HBO.
Although some of Swift’s references may have expired, the sentiment remains timeless. On “22,” Swift captures the absurdity of young adulthood. “We’re happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time,” she sings, recounting the puzzling nature of this time. On one hand, she is young, wild and, if you believe the rumors, dating Harry Styles. On the other hand, she is changing, an often uncomfortable act. As in many tracks on “Red” (2012), Swift’s voice retains the traces of her Nashville twang even as the track yields pop production, revealing a struggle to redefine herself so early in her career. As Swift admits, “It’s miserable and magical, oh, yeah.” In her early 20s, Swift faced career-defining decisions and public scrutiny. While such celebrity qualms may not be relatable, her forced optimism and occasional self-deprecation strike a universal nerve — or, at the very least, mine. I don’t know about you, beloved reader, but I am “feeling twenty-two.”
Catherine Goodman (26C) is the Managing Editor of Arts & Life and Editorial Board. She is a double major in English and Art History. She plans to pursue arts and culture journalism, with a special interest in criticism and feature writing. When she isn't listening to music or writing her column, you can find her baking specialty cakes or playing with her dog, Apollo.
