When I was younger, I occasionally entertained thoughts of running for office. A couple campaign gigs later and I realized there was possibly no job more unpleasant, disorienting, or disruptive than representative. Michelle Cottle, in an interesting article about the strain political life puts on marriages, explains why:
In the litany of travails that contribute to congressional divorce, none is more frequently cited than a spouse's not moving to Washington with her husband. This decision to remain behind in the home district may be driven by any number of reasons: the desire not to uproot children, a spouse's unwillingness to sideline her own career, the prohibitive costs of living in D.C. But, as often as not, the driving force is the lawmaker's fear of having political opponents tar him as a Beltway denizen out of touch with his constituents. Especially on the House side, where members stand for reelection every two years, there is such pressure to keep one's life rooted in the district that the legislative calendar has been compressed so that most business is conducted from Tuesday to Thursday, allowing members to spend the rest of the week back home. In theory, this schedule provides members more time to spend with their families. In practice, it's a domestic disaster, says American Enterprise Institute scholar/superpundit Norm Ornstein. "Having the lawmaker in Washington all week creates a tremendous pent-up demand among the family members," he says. "Then you get home Thursday evening or Friday, and they're all going to be anticipating that, now, it's daddy time. But then you say hello and goodbye and go out to campaign, and you wind up missing them all weekend, too."
While this practice has a long history, Ornstein blames the 1994 Republican Revolution for accelerating the trend. "It was almost a sea change," he asserts. "The new Republicans were coming in to take over Washington not because they wanted to be members of Congress, but because they needed to heal the country from this horrible virus. They didn't want to stay too long, or they might catch it. They certainly didn't want to infect their families with it." The pressure mounted, says Ornstein, to the point that lawmakers in both parties now are automatically expected to keep their bases of operations in their districts.
Out on their own in Washington, lawmakers get increasingly wrapped up in their new lives--and their new hotshot status--leaving their wives behind both physically and emotionally. Eventually, notes Todd, "wives start to think, 'My God, he's changed.'" The next thing you know, Congressman X is feeling misunderstood and underappreciated by the missus, even as droves of attractive, politically savvy, ingratiating young women thrill to his every word at committee meetings and Hill receptions. One Hill reporter, echoing the views of many, put it succinctly: "The life of a member of Congress is set up for infidelity in a way that I can't think of for any other profession--aside from being a rock star."
