Dorfman - Single State of Mind

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Gallery Books

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright 2018 by Andi Dorfman

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Gallery Books hardcover edition January 2018

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Jacket design by Chelsea McGuckin

Jacket photography by Nomi Ellenson

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Dorfman, Andi.

Title: Single state of mind / Andi Dorfman.

Description: New York : Gallery Books, 2018.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017036968 (print) | LCCN 2017043889 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501174230 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501174223 (hardback) | ISBN 9781501189661 (trade paperback)

Subjects: LCSH: Dorfman, Andi. | Television personalitiesUnited StatesBiography. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs. | PERFORMING ARTS / Television / General. | BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Entertainment & Performing Arts.

Classification: LCC PN1992.4.D57 (ebook) | LCC PN1992.4.D57 A3 2018 (print) | DDC 791.4502/8092 [B] dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017036968

ISBN 978-1-5011-7422-3

ISBN 978-1-5011-7423-0 (ebook)

To all those doing it alone... life is tough, but so are you.

I am a total overanalyzer. I often think way beyond the present moment and worry about all the little hiccups I encounter in life. I am emotional at times, irrational at others. But I also suspect Im not the only woman in the world like this. Im pretty much your everyday, average, run-of-the-mill woman. Only instead of internalizing it all, I purge it onto papersometimes contributing to my own embarrassmentall for the enjoyment of every other woman out there just like me.

I dont live a worry-free life. I dont overplay the good times or sugarcoat the bad. I need to work on being less cynical. But for better or worse, what I think, feel, and do is what makes me me. So you are about to embark on one womans tale of what life looks like beyond the smiling face, filtered photos, and canned politically correct answers of a reality television star. This is the raw story of a woman in her late twenties who, with a broken heart, two suitcases, and a one-way ticket, moved to New York City in an attempt to figure out who she was and what she stood for. This is the story of a woman living in... a Single State of Mind .

Certain names and identifying characteristics have been changed.

I ts been a mere two hours since I boarded this plane, said farewell to life as I knew it in Atlanta, and took the terrifying first step toward my new life. All my goodbyes have been said, my tears have been shed, and now only a few thousand feet stand between me and the world of a single woman living in New York City.

The pilot comes over the loudspeaker to announce that we are making our final descent into the New York area. I return my seat and tray to the upright and locked position so the flight attendant doesnt yell at me, lift the window shade up, and look out at the sheet of white clouds below. As the plane gets lower and lower, the sheet becomes thinner and thinner, until finally all the clouds have disappeared. And there it is. New York City.

Dozens of mammoth skyscrapers are grouped in a large cluster, with the newly built Freedom Tower reigning supreme. They sit strikingly along the water beside picturesque bridges. Its marvelous; majestic, even, like a kingdom right out of the pages of a fairy tale. And though Ive seen this kingdom a dozen times before, it feels as if Im laying eyes on it for the very first time. My vantage point, both physically and mentally, has me seeing this glorious city so differently from how I ever have; its bigger, bolder, and more mysterious than ever. Its as if this city is speaking to me; its as if its begging me to come and play with it.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to LaGuardia Airport, where the local time is three forty-five and the current temperature is thirty-three degrees... Damn, thirty-three degrees! I think to myself. On behalf of our entire Atlanta-based crew, wed like to thank you for joining us and look forward to seeing you in the near future. For those of you who are visiting, we hope you enjoy your stay. For those of you whose final destination is New York, let us be the first to say welcome home. A grin washes over my face. I realize I am one of those passengers in the latter category. This is my final destination. I am home.

Its not long before Ive deplaned and am nearly skipping with eagerness through the terminal and to the baggage claim, where the first of my two suitcases, bearing the embarrassing neon orange HEAVY tag, is coming around on the conveyor belt. As I struggle to lug it off, a middle-aged man helps me. I thank him and wonder if this is the first of many more damsel-in-distress moments Ill play in the future. I haul my two suitcases behind me as I make my way toward the giant yellow sign that reads TAXIS . The instant I walk through the double doors, a gust of bitter cold New York air greets me. I take a whiff. It smells a tad like garbage, with a hint of urine and maybe a note or two of sewage. But it also smells like freedom. I close my eyes for a moment and smile. Somehow this putrid, bone-chillingly cold air is the best Ive ever felt.

I make my way through a zigzag of steel barricades and wait in the taxi line behind a handful of other passengers. I look around, noticing how similar everyone looks: phones out, headphones in, all-black ensembles. Meanwhile, Im wearing the Sorel snow boots that I borrowed from my best friend, Kelly, a marshmallow-looking puffer coat I found on sale at Forever 21 just yesterday, mittens, and, to top it all off, a flamboyant faux-fur-lined trapper hat. My entire outfit instantly brands me as a Southerner who cant handle a measly thirty-three degrees. I make a mental note of how to fit in here: black on black on black... on black.

It doesnt take long until I reach the front of the line and am greeted by a man directing the long line of waiting taxis. Where to? he asks.