As I reflect weeks after my twentieth birthday, the varieties of music that I have listened to have changed as I have grown up. However, I have never really had albums that resonate with me and my life. They have all seemed surface level to me, and while I might enjoy the beat and lyrics, emotional reactions are few and far to come by.
That is, until The Great Divide by Noah Kahan. From “End of August” to “Dan”, the album is nothing short of a masterpiece.
As an eldest daughter, I think oftentimes the idea of growing up isn’t talked about enough. Seeing my younger brother go off to college and my youngest sister enter her sophomore year of high school is challenging for most, but for someone who has been there for their entire lives, it holds a special place in my heart. The Great Divide album symbolizes how through different challenges and paths of life, there is a moment of grief, where you might not know the other person or peoples that you grew up with.
Now in my third year of college, the only times that I really live with everyone in my family is during breaks and summer, and with that limited amount of time, I do feel that I am missing out on a lot of my siblings’ lives. Through means of communication via social media, I can somewhat connect but it is not the same as we were younger, and I find myself mourning that as I continue to build my life outside the comfort of my own home. Listening to this album evoked an emotional response, and if you want to cry then I highly recommend this album.
Being the eldest daughter carries an unspoken duty. You are the first to cross every milestone, the role model and are the prototype of adulthood. For years, my identity was tied to being physically present. Driving my siblings to their activities, spending time with everyone and organizing birthday presents were all parts of my job growing up. After moving into college to my own independence, I realized that life back home kept moving without me.
In “End of August” Kahan opens by capturing the quiet reality of inevitable change, singing:
“Drawin’ of a place, oh, we’re a photo for the fridge / Woah everythin’ you see out here will die / Oh, it’s a matter of time / ‘Til it’s fields of ice and reflector lights” (Kahan).
Those lines hit with an overwhelming ache. My siblings and I used to be a living, breathing unit; now, we are all off doing our own things. Our photos on the fridge from a long time ago, and the “fields of ice” for when we are spending our winters away at our own schools. I am watching the people I practically helped raise turn into wonderful people that keep growing, with or without me there.
To every eldest daughter sitting in a dorm room listening to The Great Divide, feeling the ache of a home that is changing without you: your grief is real. Mourning the childhood you left behind doesn’t mean you aren’t ready for the future; it just means you loved the role you played in theirs. And that, it is the most beautiful and haunting thing you can imagine.