The lifecycle of journalism

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Seven days on the election campaign is much like a human life.

At first, like a newborn baby, you arrive at the press gallery full of enthusiasm and energy. You want to learn everything; you want to see everything. The experience is completely new.

Then, as the days go by, your excitement slowly morphs into jaded cynicism. You start to realise that modern politics is about one thing and one thing only: television news. It’s about basic slogans, sound bites, photo opportunities and little else.

You begin to accept that most of your press conference questions will go unanswered. Political spin will be dished out so cleverly that you often swallow it by accident.

And you will only ever receive half the story – often less – from the politician, and it is entirely up to you to represent the other side to your audience.

It’s a gradual, painful realisation that politics just isn’t as romantic and idealistic as you may have imagined. In this way, you slowly enter a jaded middle-aged enlightenment. Your exuberant youth on the first day has long since disappeared.

But by the end of the week, you’re middle-age feelings will disappear too. You’ll instead be ready for death.

The campaign is such a grueling experience. You fly all across Australia. You attend press conference after press conference; school after school; shopping centre after shopping centre. You write thousands of words a night.

If you manage to get six hours sleep, you’re lucky. Often it’s three or four. You also drink a tad too much, too often. The other journalists are a bad influence.

After a week of this behaviour, you will feel that it’s about time to collapse in a heap and say goodbye to the world. Your body just can’t do it any longer.

That’s the cycle of life for a political journalist.

But for some reason, despite the harrowing nature of the week, most journos will come back to the campaign again in 2010. Don’t doubt that.

This is because, despite all its problems, the job is still an exciting, fulfilling way to live. Every day is different. Every location is different. You never know what to expect. And you’re still serving an essential function of society – despite the cynical realities.

And so, I must say, that while I’m ready to die right now and I’m ready to give up the cause, I still don’t want to leave. I could easily push the boundaries further.

How long can a body last with only three hours sleep a night? I’d like to find out.

Maybe next campaign I will.