Growing Sideways

This is a quieter, more interior piece — where some of Kahan's songs push outward into sweeping folk-rock, this one stays almost uncomfortably close. The production is intimate to the point of feeling like overhearing something: acoustic guitar, minimal arrangement, a sense of the room. The tempo is slow and deliberate, pauses treated as meaningful rather than empty. Emotionally it sits in a specific kind of restlessness — not the dramatic crisis of a breakdown but the low-grade dissatisfaction of someone who keeps choosing familiar dysfunction over unfamiliar growth. Kahan sings about moving sideways through life rather than forward, and his vocal delivery embodies that stuckness: controlled, a little resigned, occasionally cracking open at the edges where the resignation meets something rawer. There's dark humor threaded through the lyric, the kind of self-awareness that doesn't translate into self-improvement. It doesn't resolve neatly. The song ends still in the same place it started, which is exactly the point. This is for the 2 a.m. hours when you're being honest with yourself about a pattern you can name but haven't broken, sitting in a kitchen that feels smaller than it used to.