By Assistant Chief (ret.) Sean Marchand
When I was a brand-new cop way back in the 1900s, I thought I knew what I was doing. I worked in a mid-size suburb with a storied past adjacent to a military base in San Diego County. Being a new police officer in this town was fun.
Since I was so new, I worked at night. My day started at 8 p.m. I went looking for the ne’er-do-wells that were victimizing members of the community. After 2 a.m., there were not many regular people walking about doing regular people stuff. The population out and about at that time of day was often up to no good, engaged in theft, violence, drugs, or a combination of them all. I saw the primary focus of my efforts as putting the bad guys in jail away from those they could victimize — separating the victim from the suspect.
If I was asked at that point in my career what my purpose was by those in command, I would have said something like “to help people,” with some sarcasm. My focus was on arresting the bad guys. If I’m honest, I was just happy to have a job doing something I was passionate about and had worked so hard to get. I did want to help people. I did want to help my community become better than it was. I was also having the time of my life — driving fast, restoring order to chaos, arresting people and bearing witness to the profound.
The missing element: Defining your purpose early
But purpose evolves. Hindsight being 20/20, I could have defined my purpose in that moment for myself a little better. I did not attempt to elevate my thinking, nor did anyone encourage me to. I was not alone in believing our main purpose was all about getting bad guys off the streets — a short-sighted view. I should have sat down and figured out what my purpose was in a greater sense, but that just wasn’t a thing that was done back then.
If I could go back in time and give myself some advice, I would try to convince myself to be more intentional and develop my own personal mission statement. Looking back, I did so accidentally. That realization got me thinking about mission statements more broadly — especially how we often rely on them in an organizational sense without ever creating one for ourselves.
Why organizational mission statements fall short
Every law enforcement organization has a mission statement. This statement is intended to speak to the community, those within the organization and the public at large. It is often a wordy statement that bloviates its purpose to the extent that the message is lost. In a world where fewer words are better and simplicity is king, there is a tendency to push out a word salad. It is well-intentioned, but by trying to say something that satisfies everyone, a mission statement generally ends up satisfying no one.
When people are asked what the mission statement of their organization means to them, there is invariably an answer that instills an uncanny faith in mediocrity. Those asked shape their response to reflect what they think it means. This further demonstrates the lack of clarity and unity of understanding within an organization of its mission statement. The true north the mission statement is supposed to instill is a spinning compass needle.
I mean, there are a lot of good intentions and solid collegiate wording used in mission statements, but we all must ask ourselves … what’s the point? If organizational mission statements are failing, why have one of your own?
What a personal mission statement can do
A personal mission statement provides a touchstone in times of indecision. It can provide the necessary reminder of what our intent is and get our actions to align with that intention. It should be short, easy to remember and effective in consolidating a greater personal meaning.
I reflected on how I have used several personal mission statements throughout my career, both inadvertently and intentionally. Here’s some of my personal mission statement journey.
Fear is the mind killer
When I was new and everything I experienced in the profession of policing was new to me, I was sometimes a little overwhelmed — maybe more than a little. I struggled to figure out what the right thing to do was in the moment, or at least the best thing for the situation I faced. Remember, there were no smartphones around for research.
I grew up reading a lot of books, most of them science fiction. It makes sense that I started using something from a novel I had read years prior: “Dune.” It contained a mantra called “Litany Against Fear.” I paraphrased the mantra down to something easy to recall, that contained meaning for me: “Fear is the mind killer. The destroyer of coherent thought. I will allow my fear to pass over me and through me. Only I will remain.”
I would run this mantra through my mind silently when I was facing something new that had negative consequences of failure. In those moments, indecision was often worse than making a bad decision. Reminding myself to refuse to be ruled by fear of failure led me to break the cycle that was bogging down my mind. It helped me stop ruminating and shifted my focus to figuring out what action to take.
“Too stupid to quit”
Later in my career, I joked that my motto was, “Too stupid to quit.” I said this in jest, a form of self-deprecating humor, but it was also a statement of grit. It made me focus beyond any failure to diagnose what went wrong and how I could do better the next time. It meant there was no question in my mind that there would be a next time, and I wanted to do everything in my power to rise to that challenge.
I often muttered this when no one could hear me to reinforce that there was no quit option available. If anyone happened to hear me, they sometimes chuckled since the context was usually after some absolute failure that I had committed publicly. I used this in many endeavors — from working out to accomplishing the larger goals I had in mind for my unit, my career and my personal life.
I said this so often, I had to explain what it meant to my kids. They picked it up, too. I caught them using it to push through moments when they failed at something.
Facta non verba: Deeds, not words
I later discovered the Stoics of ancient Greece. I was intrigued by their practical outlook and belief that the only true good was based on virtue, determined by reasoning and a focus on resilience. Those virtues were pragmatic and rooted in principle. In my reading, I found a Latin phrase that spoke to my pragmatism: Facta non verba — “Deeds, not words.”
I was drawn to its simplicity. It made me accountable to live what I said and to define who I was through my actions, whether anyone else was there to witness them. Words are cheap. Anyone can say something and claim it defines them. It’s action that counts.
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This wasn’t just for the heroic moments of courage. I found that how someone approaches mundane tasks is a true reflection of character. Most people can fake it when they think others are watching. The real test is how they act when no one is.
I did my best to live up to this standard, though I faltered from time to time. In the chaos of a tough call or challenging circumstance, “Facta non verba” helped me cut through the noise. As a promoted leader, I faced more right-versus-right decisions and fewer easy ones. These three words didn’t make those calls easier — but they made them more bearable.
Work hard. Be kind. Change lives.
At the sunset of my career, I had one more mission statement: Hold fast. This came during a time of great change within my organization. It felt like you could hardly breathe trying to keep up. Hold fast helped me focus — did all these changes need to happen? If so, was the reasoning sound?
It helped me answer tough questions in briefings. It quieted my mind so I could really listen to how those changes were affecting people. There’s more than one way to weather a storm — including finding ways around the worst of it when possible.
After all this ranting about personal mission statements, some may wonder if I have one now. I do. It came from a good friend who also happened to be my Chief: “Work hard. Be kind. Change lives.”
Working hard offers its own reward. You can’t always control results, but you can control effort. In this profession, hard work is expected — but going the extra mile is still a choice. Make that choice count.
Being kind is often overlooked in moments of stress. But kindness isn’t weakness, it’s humanity — especially when it’s not returned. This world is hard enough. Kindness cuts through the noise and helps you see people as people. Don’t lose that perspective.
Changing lives happens when you’re doing the first two. A smile, a wave, a decent act can shift someone’s entire day. Especially when you wear a badge. Don’t underestimate your impact.
Why every officer should have a personal mission
I know the idea of a personal mission statement may sound odd — maybe even “corporate.” But I believe every officer should have one. You don’t even have to write it yourself. Plenty of wise people have already done that work. A mission statement anchors you during calm and guides you when things get chaotic.
Policing trains us in tactics, case law, policy, use of force — you name it. That training builds a mental slideshow to help us act fast. A personal mission statement works the same way — but for moral decision-making. It aligns who you think you are with how you act. And that gap is where a lot of people fall apart.
I may be an optimist, but I believe we joined this profession for the right reasons. Never forget why you chose it.
About the author
Sean Marchand retired as the Assistant Police Chief at the Oceanside (California) Police Department after a 27-year career. While at OPD, he held assignments in Patrol, Investigations, Administration and Support Operations. He was on the Department SWAT Team as an Officer, Team Leader, Executive Officer and Commanding Officer.
He has a Master’s Degree in Public Administration from San Diego State University.
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