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Election Day on Oct. 19 marked the conclusion of the most challenging six months of my life.
For me – and 1,453 federal election candidates across Canada – that day was only the beginning of a long and difficult process of privately reconciling a very public loss.
I arrived at the "victory party" that night with one speech in hand – a concession speech. I had known for several weeks that, despite a provincial New Democratic Party landslide in Alberta in May, an NDP victory in my traditionally conservative Edmonton-area riding of Sherwood Park-Fort Saskatchewan was simply unattainable.
The volunteers and supporters were still largely hopeful, and I was careful to only express my deep skepticism about our campaign in private. Our campaign was the largest and best-resourced NDP campaign – federal or provincial – in the history of our riding, but I knew from conversations at the doorstep that our numbers would come up short. How do you motivate others when you are steering a sinking ship?
The week that followed the election was eerily quiet, but it was an emotional roller coaster. The morning after the vote, I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of popping the orange balloons that had accumulated in my garage – our campaign's makeshift office. Tears welled when several passing cars honked and waved sympathetically as I pulled lawn signs from the side of the highway.
Friends, family and campaign volunteers kept their distance. I craved quiet. The week after the election was unsettling – I overslept, cracked a bottle of wine and browsed online seat sales, unsure of what to do next.
The impulsiveness was very uncharacteristic of me, but I wanted to take full advantage of my new-found freedom. I delighted in the opportunity to wear yoga pants to the grocery store.
I know many former candidates – from all stages of life – can relate. The public scrutiny of candidates can be profound – so profound that every debate or public appearance feels like a possible land mine of misquotes.
On the doorstep, local residents were desperate for independent-thinking candidates, willing to share their own interpretation of a policy issue. I was asked hundreds of times, “What are some examples of where your opinion deviates from the party?” However, in media interviews and at local debates, journalists and attendees sought desperately to spot the most minor inconsistencies between my viewpoint and that of the party.
After the election, I was relieved to have my voice back.
As a millennial candidate whose life is narrated on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, I was particularly fearful about the rise of online trolling and the use of cached-online-content software during the 11-week campaign.
I was afraid of my turn in the spotlight – a flogging in the mainstream media about a poorly articulated Facebook post, a silly photograph or a childish tweet might threaten my candidacy. My fears were unfounded, thankfully, and that day never came.
The scale of our campaign paled in comparison to key swing ridings across the country, and other candidates invested significantly more time and resources into their campaigns than I did.
However, all candidates reconcile a loss – or a win – in their own unique way. For unsuccessful candidates, the process of reflecting, rebuilding and transitioning to new opportunities can take weeks, even months.
The dust is slow to settle and closure is hard to find. Debt and unemployment – albeit temporary – loom for many of us. Elections put life on hold.
Throughout the campaign, I worked with an executive coach to reflect on the emotional side of campaign life. I relished our weekly chats over tea – they were a rare opportunity to share my anxieties and fears in full confidence. He was, informally, my election therapist.
“What disappoints you most about the outcome?” he asked gently when we met the week following the election to debrief.
“I thought my hard work would be reflected somehow in the results,” I mumbled, smiling sheepishly.
He laughed. “What made you think effort correlates with outcome in life?”
Loss is one of life’s unexpected gifts – it’s a lesson in grace and humility.
For political candidates like me, the process of packing boxes, writing thank-you cards and popping balloons is only the beginning.
After all – the next election is only 1,426 days away.
Joanne Cave lives in Edmonton.