Editor’s note: This essay is part of “Stories from the Street,” a Police1 series featuring first-person reflections from officers across the country. These essays are about the lived experiences and moments that changed how officers think, lead and serve. If you have a story to share, we’d love to hear from you. Submit your story here.
By Sergeant Brian Jones
Before the goodbye
Retirement from my life’s work. No other job carries so much structure, discipline and camaraderie.
The transition from cop to civilian is a hard one — if you know, you know.
I’m not sure my wife, my family, my friends or even my coworkers truly understand. Maybe another cop who’s done this, or is doing this, does. This is the best I can do to put into words what I’m feeling.
It feels like both my best and worst decision all at once. As scary as it is, I know it’s time. I also know me — and I know I’ll be fine, no matter what.
There’s a kind of silence that comes before a major goodbye, a silence I’ve been wrestling with for months.
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Between chaos and calm
For nearly three decades, the uniform wasn’t just something I put on. It became part of my heartbeat, my identity, the way I measured my days, my purpose, my worth.
When people said “thank you for your service,” they never knew it was me who felt grateful — grateful for the privilege, the trust, the chance to stand between chaos and calm, to carry a duty bigger than myself.
And now, standing at the edge of retirement, I feel something I never expected: separation anxiety from the very thing that shaped me into who I am.
The tug of war
It’s a strange tug of war inside me. One side is excited — proud of every mile, every call, every scar, lesson and night I drove home exhausted but fulfilled. The other side feels like I’m peeling away part of my identity, leaving behind a version of myself I’m not sure I know how to live without.
There’s fear in that. There’s sadness, too.
Because walking away from law enforcement is not like changing jobs — it’s like closing a chapter that’s been the core of my life for almost 30 years.
“Standing at the edge of retirement, I feel something I never expected: separation anxiety from the very thing that shaped me into who I am.”
The handoff
But I also know the truth, even if it’s hard to swallow: this job belongs to younger legs now — quicker hands, sharper eyes, the next generation ready to carry the torch.
My time has been served with pride. My heart has given all it had. And the next chapter isn’t a loss — it’s a transition. A bridge from one identity to another. From cop to civilian.
“My time has been served with pride. My heart has given all it had. And the next chapter isn’t a loss — it’s a transition.”
Redefining courage
I’m learning that purpose doesn’t end just because the uniform and badge come off. The man behind the badge still exists — still has wisdom, fire and something left to give.
This is one of the most difficult decisions of my life, not because I doubt it’s time, but because stepping away from something you love is never easy. But I’m choosing to honor the journey. I’m choosing to respect what the job has given me, and to let the next chapter come with open arms, an open mind and an open heart.
Maybe that’s what courage looks like now — not running toward danger and gunfire, but walking toward a future where my purpose is no longer defined by a badge, but by the life I build after it.
About the author
Sergeant Brian L .Jones is a detective, patrolman, diver and patrol supervisor for the Lake County Sheriff’s Department in Indiana.
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