What Public Service Taught Me
I came to public service as an engineer, consultant, and business executive, accustomed to breaking complicated problems into manageable pieces. Gather the facts, understand the constraints, evaluate options, make decisions, and implement them.
I never imagined I would run for political office, let alone win and serve. Then I got elected to the Oak Park Village Board. I hope by sharing my experiences here, I can help others to consider public service.
You have to be prepared.
As a local official, the issues you will vote on are remarkably broad, from roads and sewers to policing, public health, zoning and economic development. Initially, it may feel like drinking from a firehose.
Preparing means studying staff reports, understanding local history of the topic, seeking perspectives from outside experts, talking with board colleagues, and listening to residents affected by our decisions.
After a few months of spending 30 to 40 hours a week on the role, I settled into a rhythm of roughly 20 hours a week. I quickly learned that facts and preparation matter enormously but aren't sufficient. Because decisions also involve values, personal experiences, competing priorities and different perceptions of risk and fairness, seven board members can examine the same information and reach different conclusions.
My advocacy for a 0% property tax levy increase in 2022 was an early example of this. I myself believed that holding the levy flat for a year would help moderate the trajectory of future taxes. But my preparation revealed competing perspectives in the village and on the board. Village staff were concerned about preserving future taxing capacity, while some board colleagues worried about funding for programs and priorities they supported. We were looking at much of the same information but weighing the consequences differently.
By studying the complicated municipal budget, understanding those concerns, and making my case, I was able to persuade a majority of the board members to support a 0% levy increase.
The experience reinforced two lessons. Preparation gives you the confidence to challenge prevailing assumptions, but understanding why others disagree is just as important. Good analysis helps you arrive at a position. Effective leadership requires building support for it. With the property tax levy, I managed to deploy these lessons effectively. It didn’t always go this way, as you’ll see.
Everyone wants the outcome. The trade-offs are harder.
We want excellent services and affordable taxes, safe neighborhoods and individual freedoms, climate action and manageable costs, more housing and neighborhood character, inclusion and responsible spending. These goals aren't necessarily incompatible. But resources are finite, priorities compete, and decisions have consequences. It's easy to agree on the community we want to live in, but governing that community requires confronting what we're willing to give up, who bears the costs, and which priorities come first.
My professional background taught me to make trade-offs explicit: What are the alternatives? What will they cost? What risks can we accept? Can taxpayers sustain them? Asking these questions at the board table can make you sound like you're standing in the way of progress. It’s not good politics to slowly and dispassionately ask these questions, but without them, government risks making decisions that are individually defensible, but collectively exceed what a community can sustain.
The debate over Oak Park's police facility and Village Hall was a case in point. There was a well-established need to address the police department's inadequate facilities, housed in the basement of Village Hall. But that relatively focused problem evolved into consideration of a municipal campus costing upwards of $150 million, including demolition and replacement of the current Village Hall. I questioned whether solving one legitimate problem justified taking on a much larger and more expensive project while also delaying the original priority.
In an increasingly digital world, where the average Oak Parker spends very little time at Village Hall, how much new municipal space did a community of our size really need? What alternatives could preserve Village Hall while meeting the police department's needs? And what would the size of the resulting municipal debt mean for current and future taxpayers in a community where affordability was already a concern? These weren't arguments against investing in public facilities. They were questions about how to achieve that outcome responsibly.
Democracy's deliberative process can be frustratingly slow, but there is a reason for it. Debate creates opportunities to challenge assumptions, consider alternatives and reduce the risk of costly mistakes. It taught me patience and it broadened my perspective. Some of my most valuable lessons came from critics who helped me test my assumptions and reconsider my thinking.
From opinions to votes
Having an opinion is very different from having a vote: It’s free to have an opinion, but your vote will have consequences. It's especially difficult when the people affected by an issue you feel strongly about are sitting in front of you, sometimes angry, sometimes afraid, and sometimes asking you to do the opposite of what you believe is right. In a community, you often know people on either side of an issue and your vote could impact your relationships. Your vote also commits public resources and can set precedents for future decisions.
I entered politics believing that inclusion requires involvement and wanting to contribute to Oak Park's future. Getting elected reinforced my sense of belonging, but I also discovered something that felt like an unwritten code about acceptable diversity. Diversity of background and identity were largely celebrated. Diversity of thought and perspective, particularly when it challenged prevailing assumptions, could be less welcome. That was my experience, at least, when approximately 200 Venezuelan migrants arrived in Oak Park.
The events proceeding from their arrival presented one of my toughest challenges, both personally and politically. As an immigrant myself, I felt a personal connection to people seeking safety and opportunity. But as an elected official, I also had to weigh fiscal responsibilities, the limits of local government and the long-term consequences of our board decisions for both the migrants and our community. Compassion and fiscal responsibility weren't mutually exclusive, but finding the right balance was delicate and difficult.
Sometimes the perspective I brought to the board didn't fit prevailing expectations, and I found myself voting against the majority. This was true in some of the examples I've shared, but also in situations where deeply held values came into tension. How do we use technology to improve public safety while minimizing bias? How do we pursue meaningful climate action without spending public money simply to demonstrate our commitment to sustainability?
I remember voting against a Styrofoam ban because I believed the implementation timeline needed to be adjusted to better support local businesses. I supported the environmental goal but disagreed with how we were going about achieving it.
Through these experiences, I became a better listener. But I also recognize that I didn't always succeed in making people feel truly heard and understood. My engineering and business background had conditioned me to focus on understanding the problem and finding a solution. I sometimes moved to that next step before fully acknowledging what people were feeling. Looking back, I believe learning to do that better would have made me a more effective elected official.
Over time, I also came to accept that disagreement was part of the responsibility I had taken on and I believed those difficult votes came with an obligation to explain myself. Through newspaper articles and social media, I tried to share not just how I voted, but why. People may disagree with your decisions, but they deserve to understand the reasoning behind them. Accountability doesn't require everyone to agree with your vote. It requires you to be willing to explain and stand behind it.
The personal cost
Public service is gratifying, but it can also be stressful. Long meetings, weeknight and weekend commitments, lost sleep, and difficult decisions can take a toll on your health and relationships if you're not careful.
The stress of the board table often followed me home. I was sometimes distracted, irritable, and not much fun to be around. My wife, Amy, can attest to that. My children faced questions at school I wish they hadn't had to answer. Families share the demands and public scrutiny of elected office without ever choosing to run themselves. That's a cost of public service we don't talk about enough.
Looking back, I believe there are ways to better manage the personal cost of public service. Setting boundaries between public responsibilities and family time is a good start. A simple ritual after difficult meetings, whether a walk, meditation or a few minutes of reflection and gratitude, can help leave the stress behind before going home. Families of elected officials could also benefit from informal support networks where they can share experiences and learn from one another. Most importantly, being intentional about protecting sleep, health and relationships matters. Public service should enrich your life and community, not come at the expense of those closest to you.
I left office in 2025 after losing my race for Village President. Losing taught me another lesson in democracy: voters get the final word. Public service is a temporary responsibility, not an identity we're entitled to keep. The experience changed my perspective, as it should. I became more patient, more willing to question my assumptions and more accepting of disagreement. Leaving office gave me an opportunity to refocus on my health, family, community building and entrepreneurship. It reminded me that public service was one chapter of my life, not my identity. Growing through the experience was valuable, but reconnecting with what mattered most helped me remain myself.
Ultimately, the hardest responsibility was making decisions I could sleep with. You won't please everyone. You'll make mistakes and sometimes lose. But at the end of the day, you should still be able to look yourself in the mirror and recognize and respect the person looking back.
If public service costs you that, the price is too high.