“Things happen in our life to get our attention, to make us wake up. What does it say that I had to lose so much before I could break down enough to rebuild? I think it says that the thing that got me here, that incredible toughness, was almost the thing that did me in. I got to a place where I could no longer just muscle through. I could either bend or break. I got here because I needed all of this to become who I am now.”

“Inside Out” by Demi Moore

When I think about my life, I find it easy to try to pinpoint that one moment where I went wrong, the one decision that “caused” the struggles that followed. Maybe I’m looking for someone or something to blame, a reason to play the victim. I don’t like playing the victim. It’s not a good look for me because, like many and unlike some, the person to blame for my struggles is myself and no one else.

I read Demi Moore’s memoir this weekend. I always liked her movies “G.I. Jane” and “A Few Good Men” because she played some kickass ladies in those movies. I was interested in hearing her story. All I’d ever known of her was from whatever gossip graced the tabloid covers over the years, and I think we all know that tabloids can be more exaggerated scandal and rumor than actual fact. I was curious to hear her story from her point of view.

A couple weeks ago, I had tea with the CEO of Women Lead Change. Tiffany offered to help me with my speaking, marketing, and my overall message. I was so grateful she was willing to help me. I feel like I’m a little lost when it comes to selling myself and getting out there, especially as a speaker. I was ready to soak up all of her knowledge, and I thought some of my questions would have concrete answers. I was looking for the black and white “right” answers.

I was wrong. Thank goodness.

The Coronavirus/COVID-19 is taking over. While the virus may not have made its way to a majority of our bodies, today its presence still looms in the media, conversation, workplaces, etc. In one way or another, we are all impacted. Schools are closing for a time. Toilet paper suddenly became an endangered species in grocery stores, scarcely seen and hoarded and protected when spotted. Vacations are getting cancelled. People are practicing “social distancing” to minimize the spread of this virus. Recent travelers are quarantined. Major sporting events are cancelled or postponed. Employers are sending employees home. Finances are becoming a source of stress.

I spoke at a young women’s leadership seminar last week. It was put on by Iowa Big and Women Lead Change. I was honored to be a keynote speaker to a large group of high school ladies. I had a lot of fun talking with them. There was a Q & A portion after I spoke, and they asked a lot of interesting questions I didn’t expect.

I’ve been doing a lot more speaking lately, and I must admit that it’s sometimes frustrating when the questions are only about the fun and exciting parts of my story. Of course, I like talking about that stuff. It’s easier than the tough parts.

For the first time, being asked tougher questions was easier to talk about than before. I spoke of closure, and the girls asked a lot of questions, many about my marriage and being a woman in the Secret Service. One of the questions went back to advice I would have given myself when I was younger (knowing what I know now).

No one’s ever asked me that before.

“I like that girl. She was a badass.”

Those words came out of my mouth last night. I was referring to the photo of me in my Rescue Swimmer School class photo. I’m standing with five other big dudes and one other badass female. We were the seven who made it through that crazy course in 2012. It’s where I got my “Malibu” nickname and where I proved to myself that I could do some really tough things in the water (like jump out of a perfectly good helicopter into it).

In the next breath I thought, “But I wish that girl knew there was more to life than that job.”

I miss the Secret Service. It’s been almost four years since I left. I miss my friends. I miss doing protection advance work. I miss driving in motorcades. I miss traveling. I miss the financial stability. I miss being a badass.

It was a warmer weekend, and last week I was so excited for it because I had plans to run and bike outside and enjoy the sunshine. I love being outside, and winters in the Midwest are not my favorite. I miss the SoCal weather the most around this time of year.

It was over 50 degrees Saturday afternoon, and I hit “Start” on my Garmin and took off down the trail by my house, ready for the seven-mile run I’d planned for.

A short time into the run, my hat blew off and landed in the mud. As I chased after it, I stepped into a puddle and got one of my shoes completely soaked. I kept running but was pretty miserable carrying a muddy hat and sloshing around in a dirty soaked shoe. About two miles in, I decided to call it and turned around. Despite the muddy hat and shoe, I didn’t feel great to begin with.

Last week was a long week. Physically it wasn’t any more taxing than any other week. But I felt worn down. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t turn my mind off.

I had to have a “come to Jesus” meeting with myself last week, and it’s been a long time since I’ve had to have this particular meeting with myself.

I had to remind myself that I’m not the Energizer Bunny.

I’m a perfectionist and I have an unhealthy fear of letting people down. Subconsciously, I’m regularly asking myself, “Am I doing enough? Can I do more? Can I take on more and be better?”

The hashtag #womenempoweringwomen has over 2.2 million posts on Instagram alone right now. It’s 2020, and one can’t turn on the television or scroll social media for very long without coming across something pertaining to women’s rights, equality, and empowerment.

But, alas, sometimes women are still mean to each other.

When girls were mean to me when I was younger, my dad used to say, “Just kill them with kindness.”

My mom used to say, “You just be your kind self and don’t worry about them.”

Friends would say, “She’s just jealous of you. Ignore her.”

Growing up, I wanted to be liked. I never wanted to cause a problem. I wanted everyone around me to be happy. Everyone has their bad moments, but I’d like to think I was mostly viewed as a nice person. But even nice people deal with mean people. It always bothered me when I wasn’t liked or other girls were mean or tried to sabotage me with classic mean girl tactics.

I try not to give people a reason to dislike me.

I thought things would change as I got older, that mean girls would also grow up and mature alongside me. They’d get over their insecurities and their meanness would dissolve.

Well, THAT was all false. 

The date was January 14, 2013. I was at the grand opening of Step Up on Vine, a facility designed to house and help the homeless who suffered from mental illness. I was taking photos of VIP guests Former President Bill Clinton, Kobe and Vanessa Bryant, and local police and fire personnel who’d provided assets for the protection of Bill Clinton during his visit to Los Angeles. It’s customary for a Secret Service protectee to take photos with local public service officials (usually the supervisors) who provided resources to ensure a safe and smooth visit. 

“Photographer” was nowhere in my job description as a Secret Service agent, but there I was (again) in my business suit, badge, and gun clicking away with a camera.

Scents have a way of eliciting daydreams of the past, at least that’s the case for me.

I swam competitively for a long time. The smell of chlorine brings me back to high school and college with images of me chatting with friends as our arms rested on kickboards, mere seconds away from being yelled at by the coach for talking too much.

The smell that comes off of a hot pan right after a pancake is flipped reminds me of visiting my great grandparents in Burbank. My great grandpa would always make pancakes when we visited.

The smell of horses brings me back to my childhood dream of becoming a jockey as I sat too close to the TV watching National Velvet over and over.

Banana Boat tanning lotions smell like surfing at Old Man’s in San Onofre during college.

Fruit Roll-Ups smell like Little League practice.

I got an automated traffic ticket in the mail not too long ago. It was an ever-so-subtle reminder NOT to go 70mph in a 55mph zone when the traffic cameras are operational. After a painful $75 payment for my infraction, I resolved to pay attention to the “Photo Enforced” signs underneath the speed limit signs on the freeways (Apparently, they’re called “interstates” in the Midwest. Forgive me. I’m still learning the lingo.)

I was incredibly irritated when I got the ticket. The date the cameras “caught” me was almost three months before I actually received the ticket in the mail. Groan. How many more of these are headed my way once someone gets around to reviewing the cameras? It would’ve been nice for swift processing at the ticket office so I knew I needed to correct my behavior.

My family is doing another “Declutter Your Crap” challenge for the New Year. We set up a photo stream and a 12-week decluttering plan for our respective houses. Each week we will clean out something and post “before” and “after” pictures. For example, one week we will clean out the fridge. Another week we’ll clean out our purses. Yet another will involve cleaning out closets. That sort of thing.

It’s amazing how much “stuff” we can accumulate in a short period of time. I just moved into my house a few months ago, and the kitchen cabinets are already looking cluttered. The bathroom cabinet already has expired sunscreens patiently waiting to be tossed and replaced.

I did a thing today. I got a tattoo of my dog “noggins”. It’s no secret that I love my dogs. They’re old now and slowing down as senior dogs tend to do. Bella has a bad heart murmur that’s being monitored. Darla has bad eyesight that seems to be getting worse. And Anja has only recently begun showing her age with a few extra gray hairs and a stiff walk to the door in the morning. But they’re all still so full of life, and, more importantly, unconditional love.

Yesterday, I met a good friend for a run. It’s been a warmer week for the Midwest in the middle of winter, so we decided to take advantage of it and hit the trail. I checked the weather app on my phone and it said the outdoor temperature was 38 degrees Fahrenheit. To me, that’s still cold, but my “rule” is I don’t run outdoors when it’s below freezing. I donned my thermal running tights, my ear warmer headband thingy, a long sleeve running top, light jacket, and mittens.

The cold wasn’t going to keep me indoors. Not today.

When my friend saw me, she said, “Oh, is it cold out? I thought it was warm today. I brought shorts.”

Huh? How could any human being think running shorts would be appropriate for 38 degrees?

Nonetheless, off we went, looking one big mismatched duo on the trail with very different attire choices. At first, I was comfortable. At Mile 1, I could feel my body warming up. At Mile 2, the mittens came off. By Mile 3, I was in a full body sweat and contemplating an early turnaround for fear of heat stroke.

This afternoon, I sat with my laptop trying to figure out what to write about for Bad Blog Monday. Nothing really came to mind for quite a while, so to fill the lacking sound of keyboard clickety clacking typing, I turned on Spotify. The music blasted the living room and got me all into my “feels,” as they say. The playlist was called “Mel’s Feels” so I suppose the intent behind it was successful. It’s an eclectic mix, I must say. I laughed, reminisced, cried, smiled, and sang. My vocal instructor used to say, “Melanie! Emote!” when I sang. I emoted well today. Let’s just say that.

Music is powerful. It takes me on emotional journeys and gets me through tough moments sometimes.

My day job is in the fitness industry, specifically coaching at Orangetheory Fitness. I’ve been doing that a little over a year now. It’s a one-hour, full body, high intensity workout that utilizes various equipment such as a treadmill and water rower. Today’s workout involved a lot of rowing, and as my scatterbrained mind works, I got that song “Row row row your boat gently down the streeeeeeam…”stuck in my head. From there, I starting thinking about being on a boat and how much fun that can be. As I left work this morning, I fumbled in my purse for my keys and felt for my keychain in that black hole of a handbag I’ve been meaning to clean out. I finally felt the keychain and pulled it out.

My keychain is a red plastic pull tab from an old life vest.

I spent a good part of yesterday with my three-year-old nephew, and I went to bed exhausted. He’s like a compact aerobics instructor crammed into a size 4T. Other than his afternoon nap, we were on the go.

He’s fun to observe because he just loves life. I was thinking about his little face last night and a thought came to me:

I should be more like my three-year-old nephew.