The 2010 elections are in the rear view mirror, and 2012 now looms large on the political horizon.  As a candidate for statewide office last year, I thought I might offer up some observations on running for those hardy souls who are thinking about tossing their hats in the ring next year.

First of all, it’s a lot of work.  Anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves. Whether you’re running for State Representative, School Committee, Congress, or something else, campaigning is lots of nights, weekends and “hi how are ya?” handshakes.  When I ran for Selectman in my hometown of Swampscott, I shook hands at the mall, the Post Office, in parades, at the ballfields, and anywhere else there were voters.  I also stood at several intersections waving to locals as they drove by.  One spring morning, it was cold – and raining sideways – but I was out there, waving to the crowd.  I got so wet I had to go back home and change my clothes before I went to work.  But later on, several people told me that my willingness to stand out in that sideways rain sold them on me.  Get in with both feet.  Your supporters will do the same, and voters expect it.

Second, if you’re married and have kids, it will affect your home life.  It has to.  It’s a grueling, 24/7 exercise, and it puts the people who love you most in an odd spot.  Fortunately, my kids were older – 19, 16, and 13 – and they found the whole thing kind of amusing.  My wife Lauren is the most positive personality I know, and she too, found a lot of the “dark side” of politics kind of funny.  My advice here is to let people get as involved as they wish to.  This is obviously more complicated for your spouse than it will be for your kids.  He or she will have to decide to participate, or not.  Middle ground is difficult.  In the end, our kids enjoyed watching it all unfold – from a safe distance – and Lauren, well, a lot of people think she should have been the candidate, and not me.

Third, the media will challenge you.  It’s not exactly a game of “gotcha,” but anyone who runs for office at any level needs to understand that the journalists who cover your race will test you – deliberately.  They will want to know what makes you tick.  They will poke you and prod you.  They will figure out what gets your goat, what matters to you, and how you respond to the heat of the bright lights.  They – and your opponents – will study your past to determine if there’s something there the voters should know about, and they will try to knock you off balance.  It’s just part of the game.  You need to stay on message, off your heels and on offense.

Fourth, every issue matters.  This was one of the hardest lessons for me to learn.  I care a lot about many issues, but less so about others – and it showed.  I learned that many issues that seemed secondary to me were fundamental to others.  Candidates need to appreciate the fact that every issue is important to someone, and treat every issue accordingly.

Fifth, remember that voters are the people who show up on election day and choose to vote, not just those who are merely eligible to vote.  There’s a big difference, and your campaign can affect this.  Rep. Peter Durant (R) defeated an incumbent Democrat in a special run-off election a few months ago in part because he had a great ground game.  Normally, Republicans are always playing catch up on the ground.   In addition to working his tail off, Peter and his team built a great ground game, his voters showed up on election day, and he won.

Sixth, get used to asking people for money.  Many people say this is the hardest part of any campaign.  Perhaps.  I had over 520 fundraisers, found over 33,000 donors (and signed thank you notes to every single one), and raised more money than any challenger ever who ran for a statewide office.  But I still got outspent in September and October by Governor Patrick and his allies – by a lot.  Money matters, it’s as simple as that.  It may not be pretty, but it’s a fundamental part of the process.

Seventh, people will surprise you – in both directions.  Before I got into the Governor’s race, I was told by some politicos that people who had literally begged me to run – who had said they would do anything and everything they could to help me get elected – would disappear the minute I declared my candidacy, and that others I’d never met before would come out of nowhere and work tirelessly on my behalf.  That is exactly what happened.  Some of my biggest supporters were people I met along the way, and some of the folks who’d been nagging me to run for years wouldn’t even return my phone calls.

Eighth, many people WHO LIKE YOU will second guess every decision and every move you make when you campaign.  I thought this phenomenon was specific to my race, but as I mentioned it to others who’d been around the block before, I heard the same story from them.  Your friends and supporters want you to win, and they have lots of thoughts on how you can get there.  They are trying to be helpful, and you should listen to them.  But it’s up to you and your team to separate the smart from the zany, and the good ideas from the bad ones.  Above all, never forget that all those folks with thoughts and ideas want you to win.  They are your friends.

Ninth, Dunkin Donuts is a great place to meet people.  Over the course of the Governor’s race, we figured out that we visited about 250 different Dunkin Donuts (many more than once).  I shook hands and chatted with people at almost every single one.  The folks who are in a hurry will say hello and move on, and the ones who want to chat about something specific will self select.  Best of all, you share something in common with them the second they come through the door.  You like the same coffee.  The rest is up to you.

Finally, if you give it your best shot, it will be worth it.  I left a great job at a great company to run for Governor.  I gave up almost two years worth of income, put over 100,000 miles on two different cars, worked seven days a week for the last twelve months of the campaign, missed more family events in one year than I’d missed in the previous twenty, and lost the election on November 2nd.  But I don’t regret it.

I learned so much I never knew about Massachusetts and the great people who live here.  I had this imaginary “Running for Governor” card that made it possible for me to talk to almost anyone about anything – in diners, shop floors, town halls, school buildings, backyards, kitchens, living rooms, town fairs – you name it.  And there were many moments I’ll never forget:

  • The burly, sweaty fisherman from New Bedford who felt guilty about bringing his two boys into the family business;
  • The high school junior at Brockton High School who wanted me to know that she and her friends and her teachers were all Champions – from Brockton, the city of Champions;
  • The carpenters from Winthrop who’d been chasing work all over New England and were covered in flecks of paint, but hadn’t worked at their chosen profession in over a year;
  • The big event we hosted at the Southwick Zoo in Mendon – 600 people, tons of kids, and lots of animals at an entertaining, almost magical place I’d never heard of and never been to.  Over and over, I had this chance to visit places across Massachusetts that made me marvel at the beauty of this great state and the ingenuity of its people: Oyster farms in Duxbury, small manufacturers in Springfield, cranberry bogs in Carver, a brewery/winery/distillery on Nantucket.
  • And then there were the parades.  I really loved the parades.  They were full of so much positive energy and community pride.  I never just walked down the middle of the street – but ran from side to side – high fiving kids, posing for pictures, trading laughs with the crowds and dancing to the tunes put together by our very 20 something campaign staff. I may miss the parades most of all.
  • The rallies over the last two weeks of the campaign – so much energy, so much fun – culminating with the big rally in Swampscott on the baseball diamond the night before the election.

Unless you’ve got huge skeletons growing in your closet, it’s not as bad as the pundits make it out to be.  It’s work, it’s challenging, and there are days that will leave you blue.  But it’s a learning experience, a growth opportunity, and most of all, a wonderfully positive life experience, even if you don’t win.  If you believe you have something to say, and you can find the time to make the commitment that your supporters and potential voters will demand, then you should give it a good hard look.  Competition in politics is a good thing, no one benefits when an incumbent gets a free ride, and every challenger I’ve ever met – including me – came away from the experience better for having done it.

Homepage photo by Ben Timmins.