My farewell to arms, my last day as a Soldier

On March 15, 2004, I joined the United States Army Reserve as a 19-year-old kid, ending my military career on March 14, 2016 as a 31-year-old man.

Today, I became a civilian again after 12 years of military service.

For 12 years, I served with some of the finest people that I have ever known. They were more than my colleagues. They were my friends and, more importantly, my family.

Like any family, the 85th Army Band has a number of traditions. My favorite tradition happened on a departing member’s final day of service. On that day, the departing member was called to the front of the formation, taking charge of the unit and releasing them for the day. As they stood in front of the unit, most departing members would say something.

March 7, 2016 was my day to say something.

A few minutes before final formation that day, my friend Ryan and I were working together on a few things.

“What are you going to say?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to cry? It’s okay if you do.”

“No,” I said, “I think I’ll be okay.”

I was wrong.

Formation was called, and everyone lined up. My commander recapped a few key points from the weekend and called the unit to attention.

“Sergeant First Class Garvens . . . post!”

I approached the front of the formation and stood in front of my commander who turned me around to face the unit. My first sergeant joined us, standing on my left.

After saying a number of nice things about me, my commander turned to me and asked, “Is there anything you’d like to say?” my commander asked.

It was then that I realized the finality of it all and started to cry.

Standing in front of my unit—my family—with my eyes filled with tears, I started to speak, struggling to maintain composure with each and every word.

“I want to leave you with two pieces of advice,” I said, my emotions still clawing at my insides.

I then told two stories.

The first story was about an author named Nasim Nicholas Taleb who wrote a book called Antifragile. I told how Taleb, when writing the book, found that there was no word in the English language that described a situation in which a person or organization experienced adversity and came back stronger because of it. I told the story because the 85th Army Band is facing a number of challenges right now, namely the possibility of deactivation in 2018.

“An organization that experiences adversity and gets destroyed is fragile,” I said. “An organization that experiences adversity and returns to its original state is resilient. An organization that experiences adversity and returns to its original state is antifragile. Be antifragile.”

The second story was about a trip that I took to Duke University to visit the Fuqua School of Business and learn more about the Duke MBA program. The weekend was sponsored by the Duke Armed Forces Association. In the story, I recalled how Professor Joe LeBoeuf, a retired colonel and 32-year veteran of the United States Army, gave a final piece of advice to the men and women in the room that day.

“End well,” he said.

I explained Professor LeBoeuf’s statement to my unit, stating that, no matter how good or bad your experience in the military has been, you must end well. Until your last day, you must, as a matter of principle, do your best and fulfill your obligations. That principle applies everywhere in life and especially applies to the 85th Army Band right now. Due to declining numbers, threats of deactivation, and financial constraints, the unit’s morale has been in a bit of a slump lately. In spite of it all, I urged everyone in the band to end well because it is the honorable thing to do. In a world filled with fear, uncertainty, and doubt, you can always act honorably.

“Be antifragile and end well,” I said with a shaky and ever-weakening voice, raising my right hand to my brow to salute my unit—my family—for the final time. “Platoon sergeants, take charge of your units.”

Following the formation, I was embraced with hugs and well wishes from everyone. Much to my relief, my eyes were not the only ones filled with tears.

Leaving the military is a weird thing. For most of us, being a Soldier, a Sailor, an Airman, a Marine, a Coastguardsman is a core part of our identity. In a way, leaving the military is like leaving a piece of yourself, a piece that you can never quite replace, no matter how hard you try.

Do I regret my decision to leave the military? No.

You see, everything in life has a season: a beginning, middle, and end. This moment was simply the end of mine.

Will I miss the military? Yes, but I miss a lot of things.

I miss my family and friends who are no longer with me on this journey of life. I miss my childhood friends. Hell, I miss my first pets. But, missing something and regretting something are completely different feelings. Missing something comes from a place of positive emotion; regretting something comes from a place of negative emotion. It is important to remember that.

In life, you will miss a lot of things and regret some things, too. Your goal should be to miss more than you regret. If you spend your life living and ending well, you will have plenty to miss and little to regret.

Now, go and spend your life creating moments and relationships that you will miss deeply. That is all I ask of you.