For the Right Reasons by Sean Lowe Page B

to fit all those clothes for all those climates in two bags. As we drove to the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, I called Dad.
    “You busy?” I asked.
    I could tell from his voice he was in a public place.
    “I’m in the locker room at the gym, getting ready to work out,” he said. “What’s going on?”
    “I’m on my way to the airport and just wanted to tell you good-bye. I won’t be able to talk to you for several weeks.”
    “Your mom and I have and will continue to pray for you, son,” he said. “I love you, and I know God will use you somehow in all of this.”
    When I hung up the phone, my mind raced. What was I getting myself into? What would it be like to have cameras following me around all the time? What would the other guys be like?
    But the one thing that kept coming back to me was the text Andrew sent me when I was auditioning in Los Angeles.
    Mark my words: you’re going to win .

four
    A NOT-SO-MEMORABLE FIRST IMPRESSION
    The producer smiled, with her hand outstretched. “Hand it over.”
    I arrived in Charlotte about three days before filming was to start, and the first thing I had to do was give up my phone. The producers wanted to control every aspect of our lives, for obvious reasons. They didn’t want to invest time and money into our potential relationships with Emily, only to have their investment ruined by former flames wooing us away via e-mail, phone, or text. Also, they didn’t want any confidential information leaking out to a hungry press.
    For many people, this was the hardest moment of all—handing over the one thing that connects you to friends, family, and—really—the world. But I couldn’t wait to get rid of my phone, which had haunted me for months. Every time it rang after the collapse of our company, it meant bad news or a terribly uncomfortable conversation. After things settled down with that situation, it became my connection to work e-mails. I was thrilled that I no longer had to respond to the constant noise of work communication . Good riddance , I thought as I turned off my phone and handed it to the producer.
    Though I was glad to be free from my phone, it meant there was no easy way to kill time while I was on The Bachelorette . My hotel room had nothing for entertainment but a minibar and a hotel television. I’d been on Sagi’s dietso long I wouldn’t touch the minibar, and watching television got old after about an hour. I sat on the bed, looked out the window, and wondered if any of the guys I saw walking in from the parking lot were my competition. Looking back, I realize those days in the hotel room alone were a big part of the show prep. When I’m bored in normal life, I would’ve checked scores on ESPN, read the news, or texted my friends. But there, alone in my room, my only real option was to think about Emily. Would I like her? Or, more importantly, would she like me? Would I meet her daughter? What would it be like to date a mom? What should I say to her when I got out of the limo?
    My thoughts were interrupted only when staffers would come and grab me to do various tasks—extremely awkward tasks. The first thing I did was take a written psychiatric evaluation.
    When you get mad, do you ever think of hurting animals?
    How do you feel when you lose twenty dollars?
    After I answered five hundred questions, I had to meet with a psychiatrist who traveled with the cast. She read my questionnaire and asked me a few more questions.
    “So what’s the verdict?” I asked at the conclusion. “Am I normal?”
    She didn’t declare me “normal,” but she did give me the go-ahead on the show. Then I underwent an extensive background search.
    Have you ever been involved in pornography?
    Have you ever sent anyone nude photos?
    Have you ever been convicted of domestic violence?
    To ratchet up the awkward a few more notches, the producers had to make sure we had no sexually transmitted diseases. As the nurse drew my blood, I thought, What have I