Susan Cherie Beam

It’s 5:17 PM on a Saturday and I’m ugly-crying over Noah Kahan’s “You’re Gonna Go Far.” It’s been my usual response to this song every time I see it on TikTok playing over an image of a loved one no longer with us – usually with typed dialogue asking first if they’re loved ones are “mad at them” for leaving this world too soon. Cue tears. Every. Single. Time.

Granted, I’m still mourning my father’s death, so I’m sure that has something to do with it. In true-to-myself-fashion, I really wanted to learn more about the song, so I spent far too long Googling things like “you’re gonna go far song meaning” and “what does kahan’s song you’re gonna go far mean?”

The answers were  interesting – but before jumping into them, I think it’s useful to point out a common theme: a really good song, one that has staying power in the cultural zeitgeist, is one where listeners can have their own experience with it, their own reaction to it. As someone who will never claim that her eight years of clarinet in the school band (first chair, in fact) gives her the right to claim to be musically educated, I believe it. Play The Lion King’s “The Circle of Life” and I’m 10 again, loving Simba and Nala.

Back to Kahan’s song: initially, I stumbled on an interpretation of it where it claimed to be a someone speaking to their love who was leaving for a better opportunity, and the complicated feelings that can come with a long-distance relationship (will we survive?). Lyrically, it makes sense – the speaker wishes for a “red light” to linger a few minutes longer; the second verse references the singer being older than local college kids, while the chorus assures their love that all of those “home” things – that unique sound of the birds you’ve been listening to since childhood – will still be waiting for them.

Next, I fell down a Reddit rabbit hole of interpretations related to death itself – from suicide to miscarriages to cancer deaths of childhood friends. The repetition of “We ain’t angry at you, love/You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost” seems to set this tone – especially with the pronoun of “we” and the possible anger that can come as a result of the mourning process.

But then I found an article from USA Today noting that this song had become the graduation song of 2024, with parents and graduating seniors referencing it as song that signals that end of childhood – the stability of home, the understanding that things must change and evolve, the packing of bags and the leaving for new adventures, the feeling of driving away from your child and the empty nest waiting. What a beautiful sentiment – the expression of faith and support in a loved one’s future success, and the assurance that you’ll be there for them. They were your “greatest thing,” and now the world gets to know that, too.

As for me, I have a different take – thanks to a mixture of fear, narrow-mindedness, and my own overly-sensitive and people-pleasing nature, I never did get to follow my original 18-year-old self’s plans: to leave smalltown USA, to study at NYC, to take a semester abroad, etc. In the end, I gave in to my own fears and insecurities as well as perceived pressure from my parents to take safer routes – and sometimes I wonder: what if I had gone?

But what if I can still go? I think that’s the key question. It doesn’t matter that I’m in my 40’s – what if I just commit to being “wherever you are” and worry about the rest later? What if I have my own truth about the song.

Isn’t that what a good song does?