For the Right Reasons: America's Favorite Bachelor on Faith, Love, Marriage, and Why Nice Guys Finish First Read online

  I loved football and everything that came with it. Anytime I was introduced by people, they’d say, “This is Sean. He plays football at K-State.” It was flattering, but I wanted to be more than a jock. I always envisioned myself as a businessman or some sort of entrepreneur.

  The only problem was that I couldn’t quite make myself go to bed after my mandatory study halls. There were so many fun things to do. If guys weren’t knocking on my door or blaring music in the rooms next to mine, I’d come up with other distractions. Frequently I’d flip on the television and get interested in whatever was on. Seinfeld reruns were always good, but it didn’t even have to be interesting to seem better than sleep. Something like a PBS program about African wildebeests would ensnare me until late into the night. What would happen when the wildebeest got locked in an epic battle against the lions? I had to find out.

  I rolled out of bed for my six o’clock weightlifting session after going to sleep at three. With Coach Synder, skipping anything football related was not an option. But after an intense lifting session on so little sleep, it was hard to prioritize that eight o’clock class.

  Thankfully, Andrew was always a great influence on me. The guy was really competitive on the football field, and one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met. He was a great example of taking advantage of every opportunity that came his way, doing well on the field and in the classroom.

  Even though I was redshirted and wouldn’t be playing my freshman year, my family drove the eight hours to see the first game of my college career—K-State versus Western Kentucky. I loved that my big sister was excited that her little brother was a part of something as big as KSU football.

  At about the sixth hour on the road, though, I think she lost her enthusiasm. Apparently, that’s when she leaned up from the backseat and told our parents, “I’m just letting you know this now: the odds of me going back for any of Sean’s other games are slim to none!”

  That was before she bumped into Andrew after the game. They’d met earlier when he spontaneously came to visit us in Texas over the summer, and I could tell she was happy to see him again.

  “Andrew seems like a nice guy,” my mom, the matchmaker, said to me on the phone a few days later. “What do you think of getting him to ask out Shay?”

  Andrew was great. He was outspoken about his faith, treated people with respect, and was one of the only guys who reached out to help me adjust to college life. He created a sense of brotherhood on the team by pulling pranks and giving nicknames. He also rode on a tiny yellow scooter all over campus because he wanted to save his energy for practices. I always laughed when I saw the big six-foot-five guy on that microscopic scooter.

  Come to think of it, he was exactly the type of guy I’d want my sister to date. And evidently, Shay was just the type of girl he wanted to date.

  He proposed to Shay five months later. I was thrilled for both of them. Shay is awesome—even though I’ve spent most of my life aggravating her—and I knew they’d be happy together. Plus, I’d always get credit for introducing them.

  My second year, while still technically a freshman, I tried to make my presence known on the team. I’d had a year to grow and get stronger from the university’s weight program and our infamous practices. Playing for Coach Snyder helped me learn the true meaning of self-discipline, leadership, and hard work. Those things didn’t come naturally, but I was ready to see what I could do.

  Our co-defensive coordinator at the time was Coach Brett Bielema. As our linebacker coach, he seemed to like me and recognize my potential. I played quite a bit as a freshman, which is fairly rare at that level. I even started a game against Baylor because the guy in front of me had gotten hurt. It was a big opportunity for me.

  Also, I played on all the special teams, which included kickoff, kickoff return, punt, and punt return. That was also rare for a freshman.

  When my alarm jarred me awake before the sun rose, I should’ve bounded out of bed, grabbed a shower, and told myself this: “Okay, I’m gonna embrace the day. This is gonna be really hard, but I’ll get better today.”

  That’s what Coach Snyder would’ve said. That’s what my dad would’ve said.

  Instead, I pressed the snooze button.

  I rarely went to class. Before test days, I’d stay up all night and try to memorize as much information from the textbook—since I had no notes—as I possibly could. Then, during the actual exams—regrettably—I sat next to my friends, and we’d share answers while the professors weren’t looking. I was still a Christian, of course, but I admit I failed to live out some of my principles during college. Because I was raised a strict Baptist, I didn’t drink alcohol or sleep around. My girl-crazy teammates made fun of me for being a virgin, and I’m sure I was a walking contradiction. I was a guy who didn’t drink or sleep around but was perfectly fine skipping classes and cheating on tests.

  I rationalized it. Football was my passion, and it was a full-time job. Through cramming and cheating, I figured I could get decent enough grades to keep my focus on sports. My days were so long and physically exhausting, I figured I had nothing left over for studying. Plus, how could I go to class and do homework when we were on the road?

  For the first time in my life, I did as little as possible to get by. This attitude seeped in to other areas of life. During practice, I went through the motions so I could go back to my apartment to watch more television. I had never before been characterized by laziness. Looking back, I might have just been immature. As much as I had wanted Mom to treat me like a man, I realized being on my own was a bit overrated. Now that I was trying to balance this tough schedule, I understood how much my parents’ presence had really grounded me.

  So I was hovering on the edge. If I leaned in one direction, I could get a lot of rest, go out at night, have a great time in college, and blow the chance of a lifetime. If I leaned in the other, I could be the starting linebacker for a Division I, Big 12 school and possibly have a career in the NFL.

  I knew which way I had to go, and my coaches did everything to help.

  “You’ve got potential,” Coach Bielema encouraged me one day during practice at the beginning of my sophomore year. “Just keep working and this could be your year!”

  Okay, so maybe he said that a little more harshly and with a lot more profanity. But that was the sentiment, and it was just what I needed to hear. As a kid, I dreamed of making it all the way to the college level in football, and this was my chance. I set my eyes on the goal and was pleased when I got some good playing time.

  Then Coach Bielema made an announcement that he was leaving Kansas State for Wisconsin. (He’d later move to Arkansas, where he is currently the head coach of the Razorbacks.) His replacement was a defensive coach named Chris Cosh, who came from South Carolina. As soon as he started coaching us, he was always on me. I’m not sure whether he missed the potential Coach Bielema saw in me, or whether he was the only one who could see my lack of effort clearly.

  During the first game of the season, I played miserably. Just awful. Coach Cosh yanked me out of the game at halftime, and I never started again.

  In fact, I didn’t play much at all that year.

  I really wanted to play football. Not only had I dreamed about this opportunity my whole life but it also meant a lot to my family. I can’t tell you how many conversations with my dad related to football as a kid. Though my parents didn’t push me in athletics, they gave up sleeping in on Saturdays to take me to Pop Warner youth football, drove thousands of miles across the state to watch me play high school football, and flew across America to see my college games. Dad somehow managed to mention I played for K-State in his daily conversations. He’d talk about me to his friends and even brag to complete strangers. “These grapes are a gorgeous color,” he might tell an unsuspecting cashier. “Know what else is purple? Kansas State. My son plays football up there, ya know.”

  I couldn’t imagine a worse feeling than not being able to play.

&nbs
p; Pretty soon, I wouldn’t have to imagine.

  During Christmas break, I was home relaxing when my mom handed me a huge stack of mail she’d collected while I’d been gone.

  “Here’s some pleasant reading,” she said. The pile was a mixture of Christmas cards and junk mail, but I paused when I saw a letter from the Kansas State School of Business.

  “Dear Sean Lowe,” it read. I almost put it in the junk-mail pile because it looked like a form letter. “I regret to inform you that . . .”

  I grabbed the letter with both hands and quickly looked over the document. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Apparently, my GPA had fallen below the required 2.5 minimum for the program.

  How could that be? I wondered. I’m not the type of guy who gets bad grades. I’m an all-A student, right?

  As I held the letter, shame came over me.

  I wasn’t good enough at academics. I wasn’t good enough at football. Apparently, I wasn’t even good enough at cheating!

  I had to force my eyes to read all the way to the bottom of the letter, which was from the dean of Kansas State University’s Business School.

  K-State had asked me to leave the business program.

  Embarrassed, I decided to try to salvage what was left of my football career. After all, I’d given up on my classes so I could play football. Now I wasn’t even playing. Even though I hadn’t been putting forth the effort, I still felt like I should be on the field. But Coach Cosh wouldn’t put me in. That’s when I decided to appeal to a higher power.

  “Coach Snyder,” I said one day after walking down the narrow hall to his office in the Vanier Football Complex, “do you have a moment?”

  Normally, I wouldn’t plead my case, but I’d gotten desperate.

  “I just want to get in,” I said. “What if you played me as tight end?”

  Tight ends are usually about my size or a little bigger—around 250 pounds and at least six foot four. They block, they give good solid hits, and they catch the ball if the quarterback can’t find an open receiver.

  “Have you ever played that position before?” Coach Snyder asked, incredulous.

  “I can do it,” I assured him, but I knew it was crazy even as I said it. At that level of college athletics, it’s hard to compete in a new position. My competitors would’ve been playing tight end since Pop Warner. But Coach Snyder understood my frustration. Maybe he sensed my desperation and hoped it would spur me to greatness.

  “Give it a try,” he said.

  So I switched positions. I imagined a scenario where I went out there and, through grit and determination, became the best tight end in the history of Kansas State.

  Of course, it didn’t turn out that way.

  I wasn’t really playing tight end. I was playing catch-up.

  My biggest regret in life is that I wasted my college opportunities—academically, athletically, and spiritually. In my fourth year of college football, because of my redshirt year, I had one more year of eligibility. Even though I’d dreamed of playing college football, I’d had enough. I just wanted to get into the real world. I wanted to have a career, maybe become an entrepreneur. So I decided to take eighteen hours of classes that fall semester so I could graduate after my fourth year.

  I had turned twenty-two, and I’d had just about enough of football and college. That’s when I decided to break a little from the Baptist prohibition against alcohol. Though I might be the only person in American history who waited until after he or she was twenty-one, I decided it was time for a drink.

  Guess what? It wasn’t so bad.

  My last semester of my fourth year was the only semester I didn’t have to worry about being in shape for football or getting up at the crack of dawn for weightlifting. Instead, I started going out with my friends to bars and drinking. Oh, and I met a few girls.

  Lots of girls.

  Finally, I saw the appeal of college life.

  Though I made it through college without compromising my conviction against premarital sex, I’m not proud of how I acted with the girls I met at the bars during college. If I had a good time with a girl one night and I decided she wasn’t for me, I’d disappear. I wouldn’t call or even text her with an explanation. It wasn’t that I was callous; I was just immature. It was easier to avoid all uncomfortable conversations with women, so I did.

  I graduated after four years with a bachelor’s degree in social science—the best degree I could piece together after I was kicked out of business. That’s how I ended up giving up my fifth year of eligibility. I just took my degree and went home.

  I had a lot of memories. Some were fun; some were shameful. But my main regret was that I’d always been the guy “with a lot of potential.”

  Now I had to get used to the idea that I didn’t live up to it.

  two

  ANSWERING THE CALL

  When quarterback Tom Brady was drafted by the New England Patriots, he tearfully exclaimed, “I don’t have to be an insurance salesman!”2

  This didn’t go over too well with insurance salesmen across America, but I understood where Brady was coming from. He had played at the University of Michigan. Of course he’d be disappointed if he ended up on the phone talking about risks rather than on the field taking risks he’d never recommend for his clients. Andrew—who, by this time, was my brother-in-law—had been signed by the Detroit Lions as a free agent after he graduated.

  But after giving up my last year of eligibility at Kansas State, I had to face it: my football career was over.

  It was a little disorienting. After all, I’d played football since I could read books without pictures. Come to think of it, a large part of my identity growing up was found in football.

  Who was I now?

  The advice I have always heard is “do what you know” and “do what you love.” I definitely knew two things. First, I didn’t want to be an insurance agent. Though the business had served my grandfather and father well, I didn’t want to spend all day in an office. Second, I felt at home when I was at the gym. I loved the gigantic exercise balls, the hum of the treadmills, the clank of weights dropping on the padded ground, the climate-controlled air, the rows of televisions all tuned to different channels, the yoga mats rolled tightly on the shelves.

  So after college, I became a sports performance trainer who helped athletes increase their speed and power through customized personal training sessions. I quickly developed a pretty good clientele—athletes from junior high to the NFL.

  One day, I was training a group of high school basketball players, a mouthy bunch. I loved trash-talking them as I absolutely wore them out. I started them out jogging for about fifteen minutes, then worked their abdominals and lower backs. We were doing medicine-ball drills when one of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders walked by. The gym gave free memberships to the cheerleaders, a deal that worked both ways: the cheerleaders got a free place to work out, and the gym magically ended up with a higher male membership.

  Needless to say, I completely lost my group’s attention when the cheerleader walked by. “Okay, guys,” I said. “You gotta concentrate on your glutes—not hers.”

  “Sean,” said one of the guys who’d just taken a swig of water from his bottle, “a few minutes ago she told me she thought you were cute.”

  “Lying won’t get you out of squats,” I said.

  “I’m not making it up,” he said. “She wanted me to give you that message.”

  The guys laughed as I looked in her direction. Was I imagining it, or did she smile at me? I had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the workout.

  After class, I made my way over to her group of friends, who were finishing up on the ellipticals.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m Sean.”

  “So you got my message?” She smiled.

  I started training—and dating—Brooke almost immediately. I loved everything about her: how she would spend hours watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, how she went out of her way to do things for me, and
how silly she was. She got along with my family really well, and they loved her back. We had an absolute blast.

  I trained her—and other athletes in the gym—and my practice grew. However, I always had an itch to do something more.

  That “something more” presented itself mainly as a fluke of geography. In certain parts of Texas, pump jacks dot the landscape, bobbing rhythmically for the black gold lurking beneath the surface. The oil and gas industry is big in Texas and creates some of the wealthiest people in the world. I wanted to be a part of it.

  After taking a few months off from my athletic training job, I was hired to solicit investors for oil and gas ventures. That meant I’d approach wealthy individuals and talk to them about why they should put their money into drilling, mineral leases, or fracking. These investments are notoriously risky—boom or bust—but they have proven over and over to be great long-term investments. After all, the whole world operates on oil.

  Brooke was always supportive of me—not only of every new business idea I concocted, but in life. Her encouragement and affection made me also want to support her in her endeavors.

  When she came to me and told me she wanted to get a puppy, I went with her to find the right one.

  “Look at this one,” I said, instinctively reaching for the velvet head of an adorable brown-eyed boxer.