Nothing, not even the semi-stasis of a pandemic, can stop the twinge of growing pains. For some, the feeling is delayed — college transitions to Zoom University, meals still have the fragrance of home cooking, the faces seen in “grocery store[s]” and restaurants remain the same — but eventually, there always seems to come a time when everything familiar recedes into the rear view mirror. One last “sunset drive” around the cul de sac where you used to score field goals in front yards, past the high school where you sang at open mic coffeehouses, then it all becomes a speck, vanishes. It’s a cliché that has been iterated time and time again — the point of divergence, drifting paths in Desperate Housewives, Alessia Cara’s “Four Pink Walls,” (the melody even sounds a bit like “driver’s license”). But Mia Giovina doesn’t need an epilogue or another song to move on; she looks forward, drives on, embracing the open-hand horizon: “I don’t hate Jersey / But it’s not good for me.”