Writing With Abandon

Reflections and ramblings about life as an educator, writer, reader, knitter, and over-thinker. Trying to do the writing only I can do.

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about

I’m Amy. A born and raised New Yorker, currently living in Miami. Here to reflect on my experiences as an educator and learner, working things out as I write.

  • New Normal

    Sleeping in past my alarm. Scrolling on my phone. Taking Phoebe for a longer walk than just a quick pee before heading out the door. Do I read for a while on the couch? Do I get some copywriting out of the way? Do I have time to go down to the pool for a bit before my first meeting?

    I sit down instead to write my weekly slice. Something short and sweet to capture this limbo feeling.

    It’s strange adjusting to this new normal. One where I don’t have to be there by 8am, don’t need to have all the copies and materials ready to go, don’t need to “turn it on” as the first student walks through the door. One that doesn’t include passing colleagues in the hall, chatting with them at lunch, laughing at the darnedest things the kids say.

    “It’s so weird to be at school without you!!” Male texted me this morning.

    “It’s so weird to not be there!” I replied.

    This morning is calm and quiet. There’s no buzzing sensation as I rev up for the day. Phoebe’s curled up against me on the couch. The clock ticks, the boats cruise by on the water.

    It’s strange, this calm, but it’s also really, really nice.

  • Unexpected Guest

    It’s so peaceful here.

    That’s what I’m thinking as I paddle left and right in the yellow kayak through the canals of Xochimilco, a water transport system the Aztecs made that are teeming with life. The only other boats on the water at this early hour on a Monday morning are the large barge-like gondolas with families or friends celebrating a Monday off or a birthday, drinking and snacking and waving to us as we pass.

    It’s my first official day of my new job. I’m grateful for the physical activity, the bilateral movement helping to calm me, the way my arms and shoulder muscles are awakening in a way that I know will leave me sore in the morning. I’m also grateful for my long sleeves and long pants, protecting me from the sun that burns more intensely at 7,000+ feet above sea level, and which I wasn’t expecting this morning when the temperature was only 52 degrees Fahrenheit.

    There’s no current, and we glide along at an even pace, observing all the various plants and trees lining the canals, the birds, the bugs.

    “Ahhh!!”

    One of my new colleagues squeals ahead.

    What’s happening? The rest of us inquire, paddling closer.

    A fish has jumped into her kayak with her, nestled itself between her left thigh and the plastic boat’s wall.

    She’s freaking out and looking away, shaking her hands in disgust as the fish wriggles its body against her. Another colleague goes to help, thinking the fish will be small and she can just chuck it out, but she too shivers at the slithering thing.

    Our guide chuckles as he gets closer and sees the culprit. He tells me to paddle between his kayak and hers, removes a plastic cap at the front of my boat to reveal a grey-blue rag, then uses it to grab the fish.

    He holds it up for the rest of us to see. It’s bigger than my hand!

    It just jumped in her boat? We wonder.

    This is a good lesson, the guide says as he releases the fish back into the murky canal water. The canals are home to so much life.

    We laugh and carry on with the rest of our journey.

  • In Community at Arc

    James had asked us if we’d be interested in going to a hot-cold contrast therapy class with him and Emerald one day that we were here. He sent Patrick the website to Arc Community and we glanced at it and said sure, not really knowing what we were signing up for. 

    Mike made a joke when he found out we were going. One of those classes, for those kinds of people. Wait, you need someone to guide you through a sauna and an ice bath? Right. 

    When we arrived on Friday, we changed into our swimsuits and rinsed off, then had a tea in their lounge area, circular tiered seating around a table with incense and fake candles.

    “I think that woman has one of those sauna hats,” I whispered to Patrick. His gaze moved to her, a woman in a black one-piece with a yellow felted cap that ended in a point lying on the seat next to her. 

    Our instructor’s name was Chris. He came and sat with us, a small wooden bucket of water in front of him. As he spoke, he stirred the water, brought a ladleful up, and then let it pour back down into the bucket. 

    He asked us who had been to Arc before, who had never been in a sauna before, or never done an ice bath. We raised our hands for the latter, to which he replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

    “I’m going to be asking you many questions today,” he said, “some of which I want you to answer with a hand or a thumbs up or thumbs down. But some questions are just meant for you to answer internally, or for you to simply hold space for.”

    He explained that we’d be experiencing varying levels of comfort and discomfort, and advised us to simply greet each new sensation with the words: “Now this… and now this.” Eventually, he assured us, we’d settle into each feeling. 

    “Like water,” he said, pouring a ladleful back into the bucket. “Water always settles, and yet even then, it’s constantly in motion, the molecules evaporating and condensing.” 

    I held onto this metaphor through the first 20 minutes in the sauna, as my comfort shifted from pleasant to quite unpleasant. I held onto it in the first ice bath, my first ever, as I focused on my breath instead of the stinging sensation in my legs. I held onto it as I sat outside of the tub, noticing the sensations running through my limbs, akin to the feeling I get during a panic attack, though moving and resolving much faster. I held onto it during the second round in the sauna, when I got teary thinking about my body and heart’s resilience in this session echoing the strength it has shown me through all my greatest challenges. 

    “Now this,” I told myself as I shuddered violently from the cold during the second ice bath, my jerky movements uncontrollable. “The first ice bath was fine and now this one is miserable.”

    We made our way, shivering, back into the sauna to warm up before ending the class. There were eleven of us, including Chris. He invited us to share how we were feeling, what was hard, what felt good. A few spoke, the rest of us nodding and laughing. A small smile stayed on my lips as I was filled with immense gratitude: for the contrast therapy session, for the day in London with my boyfriend and his brother and his brother’s wife, for this last real summer vacation before I embark on a new career journey, for my family and friends, for my health and safety. For all the motion that has come before, and settled, and for all the motion yet to come. 

  • Health Insurance Haikus

    Oh, health insurance

    Won’t you make it make sense? Bah!

    This is ridiculous.

    *

    Look on marketplace

    Compare the insurance plans

    “Twenty-one what?”

    *

    Coverage ended.

    Abrupt! Thanks for the warning…

    At least I’m healthy. 🤞

    *

    Had no energy today to write anything else. Thankful to my mom for helping me compare all the plans and choose one that will hopefully work out!

  • Spa Day

    I could get used to this, I think as I melt into the massage table.

    Kim and I are at the Standard Spa thanks to the fifth grade parents’ generous graduation gift. We spent the morning at the pool, shared a breakfast sandwich followed by some guac and chips, fruit, and fresh coconut water, and talked about anything and everything as we always do. Now we’re in separate rooms for our 75-minute massages, and after that, we’ll head to our mani-pedis (my first in maybe two years?).

    The best!

    I let my mind wander as the tension in my muscles is released. When I flip over, the masseuse works at my neck, which is tight as always.

    “I’m a teacher,” I tell her, as though this explains the tightness, “or well, I was a teacher. I just finished last week and I’m leaving the classroom.”

    “Wow! What’s next?” She asks. The question everyone has.

    “I’m not sure yet,” I say, then explain that I have a few tutoring sessions lined up for the fall, work on the side as a freelance copywriter, and recently completed the third round of interviews for a remote position at a mission-driven global student travel company that I’m just a little bit obsessed with. “I should find out early next week.”

    When the massage is over, she offers me an herbal tea and walks me back to the waiting area.

    “Good luck with everything!” She says, then heads off to her next client.

    I sit down in one of the lounge chairs until Kim arrives, equally calm, and then we head off to our mani-pedis. The two technicians are lovely, and we chat in Spanglish while they pamper us.

    “You have a lot of cuticle,” my nail tech tells me. We laugh. I know that I do!

    When they are done, over an hour later, Kim and I feel beyond relaxed. Our feet and hands and legs and arms are oiled and soft. Our muscles are released. We practically float back down to the locker room.

    “I’m starving. Bathroom and then let’s eat the rest of the guac and chips by the pool?” I suggest.

    “Yes!” Kim agrees.

    We will juice everything we can out of this spa day.

    We head into neighboring stalls. I sit down, pull my phone out from my pocket carefully with my oiled hands.

    I see an email from the CEO of that company. It’s only Wednesday, far earlier than I expected to hear. He’d said he was busy this week and the VP is in Rwanda.

    My heart flies to my throat as I tap to open it and start reading:

    First off, I want to say that our team, including myself, were all very impressed with you, and felt a strong sense of alignment.

    Blood pounds in my ears.

    Now, this next part may be a bit complex. While we believe you were a strong candidate for the position posted, we actually have a different managerial level position available that we would like to offer you.

    “Kim?” I say shakily. “I think I just got a job?”

    “What?!” Kim yells from the other stall.

    I wait to read the rest of the email at the sink, with my best friend, my co-teacher, my work wife, the biggest supporter throughout all of this. The position he’s suggested is even better than the one I applied for. It’s… me. They see me.

    Needless to say, we were unable to use spa voices for the rest of the afternoon.

    Kim and I after finding out the good news.

  • Summer Knits

    Last summer, I recommitted to knitting. Ever since moving to Miami four years ago, the seasonal desire to make sweaters and other accessories disappeared, given that every day here is practically warm enough to wear a t-shirt and shorts.

    But after making a tank top and finishing a frogged sweater, I have kept up with knitting! I made Ana’s daughter a bear bonnet; I made my niece and myself matching cardigans; and yesterday I finished a linen-cotton tank, just in time for my summer travels.

    Me posing in my new tank top

    I loved working with the yarn — Sandnes Garn Line, a linen-cotton blend — as it’s light, airy, and drapes beautifully. I did not love weaving in the ends (plant fibers are not as “grippy” as wool fibers, so I had to split and branch out the ends, which took 5x as long).

    I just wet blocked it and I can’t wait to wear it this summer and any other day!

    Side detail

  • Thank You For Your Service

    “Keep only those things that speak to your heart. Then take the plunge and discard all the rest.”

    I read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo 9 years ago, and I remember being pretty moved by it. I liked the idea of dumping all of my clothes from every season onto my bed, going through them one by one, and asking if they sparked joy. I never accomplished her entire method, especially when I lived with others, but have gone back to her wisdom time and again whenever I get the buzz to do a deep cleaning.

    It was a couple weeks ago at my acupuncture appointment that my doctor recommended I use the KonMari method to say goodbye to teaching. She could sense the anxiety bubbling under my veins as she felt for my pulse.

    “Just as you thank an object for its service, for what it taught you, you can do the same for your job,” she said, then turned slightly as she acted out how she would do it. “Thank the classroom, thank the building, thank the people, your colleagues and the cleaning staff, thank everything for all that it taught you, for getting you here, to this moment.”

    As I drifted off into that deep, restive acupuncture sleep, I started thinking about all of the thank yous I would give. On my way home, I stopped at Target and purchased a pack of 24 thank you cards. Every day since then, I have written a few cards, working my way through a list I made on my phone’s notes app.

    For this slice, I went back to my copy of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and found Marie Kondo’s reasoning behind this gratitude-before-discarding thing: “The process of assessing how you feel about the things you own, identifying those that have fulfilled their purpose, expressing your gratitude, and bidding them farewell, is really about examining your inner self, a rite of passage to a new life.”

    As I read these quotes, I felt a warming in my chest. How much has it felt lately like I am shedding that which doesn’t serve me anymore? And how true is it that every time I have shed that which does not serve me, in spite of the fear that it may induce, I have ended up receiving so much more than I could have imagined?

    She continues: “To truly cherish the things that are important to you, you must first discard those that have outlived their purpose… Can you truthfully say that you treasure something buried so deeply in a closet or drawer that you have forgotten its existence? If things had feelings, they would certainly not be happy. Free them from the prison to which you have relegated them. Help them leave that deserted isle to which you have exiled them. Let them go, with gratitude.”

    Staying in or keeping ahold of something — a relationship, a job, a place — that no longer serves you is not fair to you or them. It holds both of you back. I am so grateful to KLA and 5th grade and the families for everything they have brought me, and I also know it’s important that I step away now, so that the next teacher who will best serve that role can step in.

    But it’s hard, and that’s where the act of truly considering the role each thing has played in your life comes in: “When you come across something that you cannot part with, think carefully about its true purpose in your life. You’ll be surprised at how many of the things you possess have already fulfilled their role. By acknowledging their contribution and letting them go with gratitude, you will be able to truly put the things you own, and your life, in order.”

    I am tidying my life, I suppose, with this transition. That’s the metaphor for it. Making space for a new career that brings me joy.

    One final quote: “It is not our memories but the person we have become because of those past experiences that we should treasure. This is the lesson these keepsakes teach us when we sort them. The space in which we live should be for the person we are becoming now, not for the person we were in the past.”

    Which reminds me of the other wisdom I received a few months ago: Don’t ask “what next?” But rather “what now?”

    I can’t wait to find out.

  • Just One More Game

    “I’m nervous,” J said, hugging me. “I’ve never played laser tag before.”

    “You’ll love it!” I reassured her.

    We were on our last field trip of the year to a bowling alley, part of the final celebrations for our fifth graders during a week we deemed “Blast Off Week.”

    After listening to the instructions, we went into the dressing room to gear up. J turned to me in her giant vest and I helped her tighten the sides.

    “I don’t get it,” she told me mid-battle. “How do I know where I’m aiming?”

    “See the red dot?” I asked, showing her the laser beam of my gun against the barrier we were hiding behind. “When you click the trigger, you’ll see it. Here, try.”

    She pulled the trigger, aiming her gun at the barrier. She saw the red dot, her eyes lighting up, grinned, and ran off to attack her friends.

    Ten minutes later, when the game ended, she had been converted: “That was soooo fun, I want to play again!”

    I laughed. “We only get one game, but I’m so glad you had fun!”

    I went to sit down next to another student who was fading, not having gotten much sleep the night before. J squeezed in next to me.

    “Ms. Amy, can we please play another round?”

    “I told you, it’s just one game, but you can come back another time with your family or friends.”

    “What if I asked the girl who works here?”

    “What’s going on?” M asked, walking over.

    “I want to play laser tag again!!” J explained.

    “Me too,” M agreed.

    “Can we please ask the girl?” J pleaded, giving me puppy eyes.

    “Alright, go see if you can charm her,” I told them. They skipped off, but came back defeated.

    “She says it’s just one game and her manager isn’t here.”

    “I told you! We had one game included in the package,” I said, thinking this was it.

    It was not.

    For the next ten minutes straight, J wouldn’t give up.

    “Please, Ms. Amy! Please ask them to let us play another round of laser tag.”

    Soon her friends joined in.

    “Please, Ms. Amy, this is our last field trip ever!”

    “Come on, Ms. Amy!”

    “Ms. Amy, please!!!”

    “Can we ask the woman again?”

    “You can ask again,” I told the group, “but they already gave an answer!”

    Two girls went off with high hopes and came back with news: “She said we only paid for one game, but that if we want to, we can each pay $10 for another!”

    “$10 for each of you is a lot of money. There are 21 of us including teachers.”

    “Not everyone has to play!”

    “Yeah! I don’t care if I play alone!”

    “Well,” I wavered, “I’d still have to ask your parents, and we’re leaving soon. It might be too last minute…”

    “My mom will happily give $200,” E said.

    “That’s a lot of money!”

    “She’ll give it if it’s for us having fun!”

    “Please, Ms. Amy!”

    “My mom will say yes to give me $10!”

    “This is the time to do it, Ms. Amy!”

    By this point they were all practically on top of me, J laying in my lap with those puppy eyes, singing a chorus of “please”s.

    “Alright, give me a second.”

    I pulled out my phone and texted one of the moms who is always sure to respond quickly: The girls are begging us to play another game of laser tag and they won’t let us unless we pay $10 per kid. I’m only texting because they have never asked me any question so many times in a row. 😂😂😂

    Her response was not what I expected: Happy to pay! Want me to Venmo you?

    Do you think the other parents would too?

    I’ll send you the money and text the parents. If they want to cover, fine. If not, I’ll handle it.

    And that is how J and the other girls got just one more game of laser tag.

  • Exits as Entrances

    Yesterday, Maggie Rogers published an essay entitled “Maggie Rogers: The Truth About Dreams” in the New York Times, which was adapted from her NYU commencement speech.

    Some lines particularly stuck out to me:

    “I’d tell her to keep the dreams bigger than the fear.”

    “Maybe, just maybe, all exits can be entrances, too. Maybe it’s about embracing the time in between — the minutes we have left. And all that will always be left unsaid.”

    That one in particular inspired me to make this doodle in my journal:

    Stick figure me, exiting one room and entering something brighter.

    As 5th grade graduation comes this Friday, my last one as a teacher, all the clichés run through my head:

    When one thing ends, another begins.

    It’s not the end of the book, just the end of a chapter.

    But they’re clichés precisely because they ring true. Yes, it’s the end of an era, but it really is the beginning of another. Exits really can be entrances too.

    That’s all exits are, I suppose: entrances to the outside. To fresher air. To the sunlight that blinds you when you leave a movie theater in the middle of the afternoon.

    It takes a moment to adjust, but then, you take a breath and a step and begin the rest of your day.

  • On Faith

    A few weeks ago, before the conclave that would select the successor to Pope Francis, Patrick and I went on a pope film spree. 

    First, we watched Conclave. Next, The Two Popes. And finally, at Patrick’s brother’s suggestion, A Man of His Word, the documentary about Pope Francis. Each of the films kept me thinking, and inspired deep conversations about faith. 

    I grew up agnostic. My mom is a reformed Jew, and my dad was raised Episcopalian, but neither of my parents are religious, and so they didn’t raise us to be. They simply raised us on the golden rule: “Treat others the way you wish to be treated.”

    That said, I’m no atheist — I’ve always felt that there was something greater. I nerd out about astrology, I’m into human design, and I have been finding myself more and more surrendering to faith when faced with the unknown. 

    In Conclave, Cardinal Lawrence greets his fellow cardinals with a speech:

    “Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end. ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ he cried out in his agony at the ninth hour on the cross. Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery. And therefore, no need for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a Pope who doubts. And let him grant us a Pope who sins and asks for forgiveness and who carries on.”

    I looked at Patrick, my arms covered in goosebumps. Cardinal Lawrence was right — if everything was already known, why would anyone even need faith, need religion?

    I am less than 4 weeks away from leaving teaching, without a solid idea of what is next for me. The future is unknown. And fear lingers at every turn of thought, giving its unwanted opinions with “what if”s that leave me reeling. 

    But fear is a liar. I’ve been here before. I’ve listened to fear and let it keep me trapped in a situation that did not serve me, and when I finally got out, what did I learn? That everything I feared would happen, didn’t. 

    In fact, only good came my way. What was meant for me found me, because I turned away from fear, out of love for myself, and kept faith that everything would be okay. (Having the best support system here in Miami didn’t hurt, either.)

    As I move forward into the unknown yet again, I am reminding myself to keep faith. And if there is a god, well, Pope Francis did say, “God’s love is the same for each and every person. No matter what your religion, even for an atheist, it’s the same love.” So, maybe there really is a higher power watching over me and my loved ones. Maybe that higher power is simply unconditional love. We can never know with any certainty. 

    But it’s that unknown, that uncertainty, that mystery of life, that inspires any faith at all. And for all the unexpected people and experiences life has granted me, I am only ever grateful and full of love. 

    Thank you, thank you, thank you.