His house was the only one that survived the Alameda fire. While 2,500 homes burned around him, he stood there with a garden hose, watering his roof and his neighbor's house. He literally saved three homes from destruction with nothing but a garden hose and determination.

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But then came the hard part. For the next two years, he had no power, no gas, no running water. He trucked in water for showers. He couldn't cook a hot meal in his own kitchen.

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When we finally got the gas line reconnected as part of our rebuild, he was able to take his first hot shower in three years. Cook his first hot meal on his own stove in three years.

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He didn't live to see the new affordable housing units we built. Neither did his neighbor. The delays weren't our fault, but we still carry that with us.

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I'm Ryan Haynes, Director of Real Estate Development for the Housing Authority of Jackson County. My job is building affordable housing, but really, it's about giving people the dignity of a safe, secure home.

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Sometimes public service means celebrating victories, like a hot shower after three years. Sometimes it means carrying the weight of what you couldn't do fast enough.

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We keep building. Because everyone deserves a home.

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Do I want my legacy to be turning soybean fields into shopping malls? That's the question that changed everything for me. I was successful in commercial real estate development. Good money, interesting projects. But every night I'd go home to my comfortable house and think about my mom's childhood.

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My mom grew up in poverty. Four girls, single dad, constantly moving, couch surfing, housing insecurity. My grandfather did his best – World War II vet, Korean War vet, working multiple jobs, but they never had stability.

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My childhood was completely different. Middle class, secure, comfortable, but her stories stayed with me.

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So when I was offered a position with the Housing Authority of Jackson County, something clicked. Here was a chance to help families avoid what my mom went through. It was a chance to build affordable housing for people earning well below median income.

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Public service, for me, is using whatever privilege and opportunity I've had to level the playing field for others. It's recognizing that we're all just floating around on this rock together, and we should try to leave it better than we found it.

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Some people give back through tithing or civic organizations. I chose public service. I chose housing. Because everyone deserves a safe place to call home.

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We get to go home to a house every night. That's not always the case for the people we serve.

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When the frustrations mount and they do mount in public service, I remind myself and my team of this simple truth. When we're banging our heads against bureaucratic walls, when projects face delays, when politics get in the way, we still have somewhere safe to sleep.

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The families waiting for affordable housing don't always have that luxury. They might be couch surfing, living in substandard conditions, or paying 60% of their income just to keep a roof over their heads.

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That's what keeps me going through the tough days. That's what kept me going when the replacement units for fire victims arrived on-site and weren't fit for human habitation. We had to pivot, find new solutions, and fight through more delays.

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Because at the end of the day, we're not just developing real estate. We're providing the foundation that lets people rebuild their lives, their social networks, their sense of security.

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I'm currently working on my doctorate in public administration, studying the social determinants of health and wealth. The data backs up what I see every day: stable housing changes everything.

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Public service isn't glamorous work. It's often thankless. The wins are measured in families moved into safe homes, not profit margins or stock prices. But when a resident tells you their standard of living just got immeasurably better because of something you built? When a child has their own bedroom for the first time? When someone can finally cook dinner on their own stove? That's worth every frustrating day.

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