Election day hangover (Part 1)

I stopped drinking alcohol sometime back, so I haven’t felt an actual “hangover” in a while; however, my recent shellacking in the race for CNMI delegate to U.S. Congress momentarily had me feeling (for lack of a better description) “hung over” on the morning after election day… emphasis on momentarily. For those who aren’t familiar, a hangover is a kind of bodily storm of physical, mental, and emotional aches and pains. More specifically, I woke up on the morning after to a nauseating pit in my gut with pervasive feelings of self-loathing, shame and confusion. Dramatic (I know), but I seriously pondered a “hair-of-the-dog” wanting a quick way to feel a little better in that moment. Again, for those unfamiliar with sot lingo, “hair-of-the-dog” is a reference to the practice of drinking more alcohol to combat symptoms of being sick from drinking too much alcohol, a vicious cycle to say the least. To be clear (for those who may be wondering), I pondered and nearly cracked open a warm beer, but thought better of it and continue adding to my number of days in sobriety, an essential factor in my original objective of wanting to become a better version of myself. Generally speaking, alcohol is best served cold and for celebratory reasons though it all too often gets paired with commisery (my own word for commiserating and misery).

I suppose in the excitement (or rather chaos of mixed emotions) throughout the campaign I didn’t realize just how invested I’d become. Worst of all, my lingering fear of letting down so many of those nearest and dearest to me came true. One friend of mine pointedly said, “You need to think about how I feel wasting my vote on you?” Yes. I said friend; in fact, I’d go so far as to say a very good friend. He would follow it up with, “I have never felt more gratified and satisfied in voting for a losing candidate. I was honored to vote for you.” Effectively, he left what amounts to a small (emphasis added) footprint on my behind and a goofy smile on my face. Laughing in the face of failure can be very therapeutic. I can’t help but chuckle more now at the thought of being even slightly rattled by the outcome and the whole experience of my run for congress.

Election night essentially amounted to what was an adrenaline dump—the likes of which I had never experienced. I was intensely drained from months of self-inflicted public scrutiny to a sudden anti-climate end which felt oddly similar to a morning after a stupid night of bar hopping. Although I was only ever cautiously optimistic about our chances, I (subconsciously or otherwise) had already begun a deep dive into fixating on how I would bring to fruition (through the delegate’s office) all the things I and the rest of the candidates had been talking about on the campaign trail. Having to suddenly let go of those thoughts and ideas is something akin to what I imagine people in this day and age feel when losing a smart phone or having a computer crash—let’s say, anxiety-inducing somewhere between anger and depression. Truthfully, I am a bit envious of congresswoman-elect, Kim King-Hinds, with her new purpose and awesome opportunity to shape a higher standard of living for all who call the CNMI home. Still, I am genuinely pulling for her to be at her best—no doubt the learning curve for her and the rest of her team will be steep. I can only imagine how invigorating the whole experience must be.

The further truth is (personal ego aside) the positives from this experience far outweigh the negatives for me personally and, I dare say, for the whole process in general.

For starters, this whole adventure began for me with, “an old man trying to be a better version of himself and wanting to give back in return.” I’ll have to find another way to give back, but I do believe I am a better man today because (against all odds) I actually put everything on the line for me personally with genuine intentions to reach for meaning far bigger than myself. To say I took a risk (on multiple levels) would be an understatement, but… “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.” Personally, I love a good underdog story—and for the record, I never had any grand delusions of being anything but a long shot in the race though I admittedly hoped to have a stronger showing at the polls—“no risk, no reward.”

In the bigger picture, I’d like to believe that I contributed positively, at least as food-for-thought, to the conversations about the so-called issues and to the importance of (if not insistence on) civility. Importantly as well, I think I brought what essentially was an unscripted reminder that our democratic process is open to even the least connected, most underfunded citizens among us. Even a relative unknown, “unconnected” person like me can get on a ballot for a seat in U.S. Congress and, although the votes didn’t show it, I was a mere inch or two away (on the ballot) from an upset of epic proportions. Ultimately, everyone only had one vote in this race and it should come as no surprise that I was not the first option for most, but I’d bet the house that I was a close second for many. OK, maybe that’s just my way of making myself feel better… guess we’ll never know.

I can see in the pitying looks from people in the community and I can read between the lines of messages from well wishers after the election that people feel badly, if not sorry, for me. And yes, I had an involuntary (albeit momentary) lapse of strength and resilience—a moment of self-pity, if you—but I’ll say this, it is better to have run and lost than to have never run at all. Onward and upward.

Jim Rayphand is a former director of the Office of Vocational Rehabilitation and Northern Marianas Protection and Advocacy Systems Inc.