I find the name of the band, One Direction, to be frankly ironic. With impeccable timing as media’s attention of Justin Beiber had somewhat wound down, the five-member boy band stealthily wriggled their way into the spotlight. Our generation grew up listening religiously to Backstreet Boys and *Nsync and for over a decade, there hasn’t been another young, male, five-member boy band to garner near as much attention. America needed more than solo pop-artist Justin Beiber, ensconced in his glamorous teen love affair with Selena Gomez, to keep them entertained. At that point, One Direction did only have a single path: up.
Enough of Hollywood, back to me, a twenty year old lacking the luxury of a singular direction in life. After dropping my previous desire of pursuing public relations, I’ve experienced a blessing and a curse. Also a blessing and a curse is my twice daily, forty-five minute commute to work in which I am locked in a small place with the vibrations from Southern Rap music on full blast and my crippling thoughts about the future.
I don’t have one direction, I have 4,309,584 and am entirely confused about which way to go. I freak out daily and then realize I’m twenty years old. Let’s let this stuff just take its course like it should. Good thing I won’t be going into the boy-band business. Who want’s to go to Dimples tonight?