Love and Loss on the Campaign Trail

In times I find a need of a reminder of joy I find a brief romantic encounter, and when in need of meaning a campaign.

Elections are not what people think. The candidate is the horse that runs the race, beautiful and captivating as it makes its way around the track, but I am the jockey. I work on election campaigns. I live in well-organized chaos, creating solutions quickly for problems that arise early morning or dead of night. It’s long hours, hard work, and surprisingly low pay. It leaves little time for personal affairs, and even less to think about romance. But, as they say, love will hit you when you least expect it, and I never saw her coming.

Campaigns are fast and dirty. Not dirty in what is being done, but the physical space itself is messy. Offices pop up overnight, often in vacant stores, and are turned into a vortex of crisis management and strategy implemented at a moment’s notice. Plans are executed by those who are for the most part inexperienced idealists, zealous to contribute and eager to impress. It is an environment of passion and emotions, late nights, and mostly tedious work with one goal in mind, winning.

To win requires a certain outlook not found in other aspects of life. It demands having control over the unpredictable and power over the controllable. To win requires sacrifice and a focus on utilizing scarce resources properly while fighting an ever-constant battle against time.

There is no freedom for personal desires, all effort must be focused to keep the chaos in check. I make it a priority not to indulge in distractions such as days off or anything beyond a casual flirtation. My one rule has always been to never sleep with a volunteer. They’re too valuable. It creates unnecessary tension in the office if, and most often when, things go awry. The backbone of a campaign is its volunteers. Contrary to popular opinion, there is little money for paid professional staff. What drives the machine are those who believe in the candidate and their cause, and who sacrifice their personal time to work in this crazy thankless game. But, as frequently found, there is always an exception to every rule.

This was my exception. I was stunned by her beauty the moment she first entered our little campaign office, frozen like a deer in headlights on a backcountry road. I knew I shouldn’t, but that’s the thing, you never do what your mind says is right when your heart takes over.

She had hazel doe eyes one could get lost in and brunette hair, and damn, she was a Russian. Short and soft-spoken, but intelligent and with a huge heart. Her smile was captivating, and the way she carried herself as she walked into the office was with confidence, but not in a conceded way. She taught art classes and was looking to go back to school for her masters soon but liked our candidate and wanted to help. I needed her for her proficiency in Russian, so I knew I shouldn’t do anything that would drive her away, but the more I spoke to her, the more I wanted to know her.

There was an excitement that overwhelmed me when I would see her from the back corner of the office where my little desk was. Whatever task or plan I was working on would immediately come to a screeching halt. I would end conversations and make excuses to work my way through the sea of people, so I could personally give her a briefing of what was needed that day. She always wore a colourful outfit and smile that made her stand out and drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

I soon found myself asking when again she would be coming by to volunteer to ensure I would be in the office that day. I was like some lovesick teenager or college freshman in a bad romance film, finding the courses a crush was enrolled in to maximize the time they could spend together. Turns out, as she later admitted to me, she would ask our staff when I would be in the office, so I feel a little less creepy and pathetic knowing this act was reciprocal.

I could stare into her eyes and listen to her speak for hours, even though my work could not permit the amount of personal time I was taking. The more I listened, the more I grew a fondness for her, and I knew I could not hold back my desire for very long. The campaign would end soon, I would tell myself, and then I would be free to pursue, free for matters of the heart.

That time finally came, and on election night, after all work had been done, and we made our way to the after-party. I entered the bar where we were watching the results come in and saw her sitting talking to another guy. I walked past them and down the bar, ordered a drink, and when I looked up her eyes locked with mine. She smiled bigger than I had seen before. This was it; I knew then she liked me too. I worked my way through the crowd over to her, interrupted their conversation, and asked if she wanted to head back to the office for a smaller after party. She agreed, and soon as we were outside, she kissed me and took my breath away.

We went to another after-party, and there on the back deck of someone’s house, we made out so passionately the party and world slipped away. All I could see was her, and we left to head back to the office to get her car so she could go home. But there, at my little desk, in that messy office, we stayed up until the sun rose in a passionate embrace. It was the start of something, or at least I thought, and I asked as we parted in bliss if I could see her again. With a large grin, she said yes, and I told her I would be back in two weeks.

I had come to town only for the campaign but had received a job offer while there. Before that, I was living out east, so I needed to drive my truck back and pack up my little apartment now that I had decided to stay in town. It was a three-day drive for any sane person, two if you push it, and one if you’re as crazy as me. I decided to make a trip of it, see the towns along the highway, and say goodbye to the city I had called home for the past few years. We talked every day, and I could feel there was something there, but on my return, I found it wasn’t going to be so simple.

We tried, well I did. As we lay together after another night of passion, she said she thought things were moving too fast, that she didn’t want to confuse her feelings. She liked me, and she enjoyed our time together, and the sex was otherworldly. Hell if I knew what that meant, and honestly, I still don't understand.

For someone whose job it is to help craft messaging, to convince people in various ways how they should vote, I am remarkably bad at communication between people. I never know what exactly an intended message is or how to respond in normal conversation. Often, I find myself over explaining and giving too much context as to not confuse my intent. But it always winds up doing just that, causing confusion. This can make work difficult and dating nearly impossible.

I thought I was picking up what she was putting down, but I’m sure now that couldn’t have been further from the fact. After that night together, I misinterpreted what she was trying to tell me and went full steam in the wrong direction. I thought she was falling for me, but what she really wanted was to be free. Maybe age is to blame, or at least that’s a good excuse I can tell myself. But I don’t blame her. Freedom is the one thing I have been chasing for years. Deep down, I think we all want to be free. It’s part of our nature to want to belong someplace and with someone, but to still be able to be ourselves.

I’m not holding my breath that she’ll come back around. That bridge looks to be burnt, but I can’t say with certainty I wouldn’t jump into her arms if she did. Sounds sad when it’s all written out, but it’s not entirely. We won the election, in case you thought this story didn’t have a happy ending. That is what I do, is win. Well, in elections. There’s no winning in love, and if one person isn't ready, there's nothing you can do to change that. Love is the opposite of an election. Love requires accepting the chaos and letting it take you with them wherever it may lead.