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.
I wake up (a little) later — anything with the digit 7 or above makes me happy.
We go out for breakfast at Tinta y Café. I order the breakfast sandwich with egg, cheese, guava jam, and ham, and a fresh-squeezed OJ. W
We make a grocery list and I eat half of my sandwich.
We come home. I run to the bathroom while P prepares the food for Phoebe, ready to start our morning of errands — Home Depot, Aldi, Trader Joe’s — before our beach day.
I go to text Male to see what time works for said beach day.
As I do, P tells me Phoebe won’t eat.
I look up, then down, because P is sitting on the kitchen floor with Pheebs.
Weird.
We try to hand feed her some kibble, she takes it, turns her nose at her medicine which she usually gobbles down, and then spits the kibble up. Then she heads to her bowl, appetite back.
Weird.
Then she stops eating before she’s finished and walks away. Doesn’t throw up, but doesn’t look comfortable, either.
We call the vet. Are told to monitor but come back if her symptoms get worse.
I let Male know we’ll circle back later.
We decide that I can still go to Home Depot. We’ve been needing to clean up the silicone job the handyman did (it never dried) and do it ourselves. I’ve also got 3 fiddle leaf fig cuttings that have roots and are ready to be transferred to pots.
I drive to Home Depot. It’s only 5 minutes away, but driving still makes me nervous since the accident. I consider that maybe I need to get behind the wheel more often to get comfortable with it again.
At Home Depot, I FaceTime P as I get distracted by all the different plants.
I end up getting what I need:
3 small pots for the fiddles
Potting mix
Silicone sealant
Metal putty knife
Paint thinner
Paper towels
Along with a few things that I didn’t but wanted:
Herbs (sweet basil, cilantro, and lavender)
3 small pots for said herbs
4 small flowering annuals
A large planter for said flowering annuals
A kind employee helps me load my car.
I drive home, listening to Brené Brown and Adam Grant’s new podcast.
We follow my dad’s instructions carefully, and successfully put down the silicone. The paint thinner is slippery.
We start a load of laundry.
I head out to the balcony to begin gardening.
Ready! (I’ll deal with those dead plants on the right at some point — they belonged to my landlord or the previous tenant.)
With the soundtrack of the birds chirping, I pot, repot, and water everyone.
I clean up and check out my work.
Flowering annuals! 😍3 baby figs and the snake plant, happily repotted!Herbs!!!!
Phoebe seems better.
I eat the other half of my breakfast sandwich and write this slice.
Patrick will go get groceries now. It’s only 1:16. Maybe we’ll still make it to the beach.
Over winter break, I was scrambling to figure out where to cut my hair and how much to cut off. My hairdresser that I’ve used for the last few years was on maternity leave, and my hair was getting way too long. No spring in its step. Flattening easily. Taking forever to dry.
I’ve had all kinds of haircuts over the years. My hair was pin straight as a little kid, photos showing me with a short bob and thick, straight-across bangs. In elementary school, I tried to cut bangs like Lindsay Lohan does in The Parent Trap, but obviously they didn’t come out like hers, so I wore a headband most of that year. My hair got long and was mostly straight and wavyish throughout middle school.
Then, sometime between sophomore and junior year, it got curly, likely due to hormonal changes. My parents and my sister have curly hair too, so it was only a matter of time (there is a great photo of them in the late 80s or 1990, when Tillie was still a toddler and I wasn’t part of the picture yet, and they all not only have the same hair type, but the same hair style: big, loose curls — I love that photo).
Before college, I got bangs, which didn’t last too long, as then I started playing around with cutting my friends’ hair and having them cut mine. Halfway through freshman year, visions of Jean Seberg in my mind, I walked into a barber shop in Brooklyn and walked out with a very short pixie cut. Then I grew it out, with a series of strange cuts and bobs during the awkward phase. When I studied abroad in Barcelona, it was back to shoulder length curly, and back to short bangs. I got a fun cut that was ever so slightly shorter in the back. Senior year I cut it into a bob again, and a year later, I got another pixie before moving back to Madrid. I kept the pixie up for a while but then let it grow out once more, passing through the inevitable awkward phases again.
It’s mostly been somewhere between a bob and past shoulder length since then. I cut bangs a few years ago thinking it’d be similar to when I had them in college (spoiler alert: it wasn’t, whether because my hair is way curlier now than it ever was, or because I live in freaking Miami). I have told multiple friends to not let me cut bangs ever again, and they have held fast to that commitment (thanks especially to Ariel and Gianna, who say it to me anytime I text them that I’m craving a change).
So back to January. (I kind of forgot where this slice had begun!)
(And actually, I had intended this slice to be about my hair routine, as this morning was a wash day. We’ll see what we can fit in. The kettle just turned off and I’d like to settle in with my morning tea and the NYT games before my work day begins.)
I found a couple of hairdressers on Instagram and messaged one of them, who essentially told me all my products were wrong and the way I was styling my hair was wrong too.
Ahem.
This all coming from a stylist who, by the way, doesn’t have curly hair, not even barely a wave.
Any of us who have curls, frizz, ringlets, coils, significant waves — we’re all on a journey to figuring out what works best for us. And sorry, but someone who doesn’t have the personal experience of trying to tame those curls in 90% humidity needs to just zip it.
She essentially told me that if I wanted a haircut from her, I’d need to embrace body and frizz cause that was what my hair type was (sending photos of the shag cut that just isn’t my vibe), or succumb to significant styling every time I washed my hair.
But see, I’m a veeeeery low maintenance girl. Wash day isn’t even that crazy for me and it’s still a lot of effort (mostly because you can’t brush curls in between wash days, so all the 50-100 hairs that fall out of your scalp daily? The ones that don’t fall to the floor stay trapped on your head until you wash, which means you’re pulling out clumps and clumps of hair as you wash and rinse. For someone who does not like hairballs, it’s not fun).
And anyway, 90% of wash days, I do like how my hair dries! My routine does work!
So I said BYE to that hairdresser and found another who did have my hair type and did have experience cutting curly hair, and she revived my hair by cutting off about 3-4 inches and I have been enjoying this cut pretty significantly. She even gave me the confidence to trim wayward curls myself, because sometimes that’s just what happens with these babies!
Which brings me back to this morning, and my hair routine.:
Wash twice, deep condition, rinse.
Using a wide-toothed comb, comb out my hair, parting it down the middle (I have a heavy part and there’s no way to fight that) and combing the hair at the front forward (this was the new hairdresser’s tip).
Flip once, flip twice. I do not know why I do this, but it works.
Grab a few squirts of leave-in conditioner — I used the Ouai for many years, but am now currently using Crown Affair’s which smells so good — and with prayer hands, apply to hair flipped on both sides, then scrunch scrunch scrunch.
Take a few pumps of Crown Affair’s mousse (I used to use a cream/gel that my mom swears by and that I used for yeeeears, but I’m trying the mousse lately for lighter hold!) and apply in the same way as the leave-in.
Use a microfiber towel to scrunch up the remaining product and moisture.
Done!
And then it’s always a surprise how it dries. Let’s see how it goes today!
Post-routine curls, ready to go!
Edit – 10:42am – for the dried look! It’s a good hair day!
This morning I read Maite’s slice about the goodbye at the end of her 3-week trip to Australia, loving the lines at the end where she reflects on how travel is often less about places than it is about people and the connections you make.
Two days ago, I saw a post on Instagram about how people change their lives more often after travel than therapy — travel shakes you out of autopilot, shows you other possibilities for life, temporarily removes social roles, adds controlled uncertainty, and allows learning through movement and emotion (Daniel Chidiac).
Both of these posts got me thinking more about travel and specifically my new job, which is in the travel industry. So, I figured today was as good a time as ever to slice about what the heck it is that I do now that I’m not a teacher!
Since the end of July, I’ve been working as the client engagement manager at Insight Global Education. Say what now?
Let me start with who I work for: Insight is a small Canadian-American company that designs hands-on, experiential travel programs for students. Learning and local expertise is at the heart of what we do — these aren’t your typical group tours. In fact, our programs aren’t “tours” at all. Every single travel program is unique and customized for the schools that travel with us. 5 days, 7 days, 12 days, these aren’t “volunteer tourism” programs either. Our philosophy is that people shouldn’t travel somewhere in order to do or perform, but rather to learn from.
As client engagement manager, I lead the work that we do with all of our partner schools. Right now, that means I manage the majority of our school accounts, and need to be in-the-know about the school accounts that fall under my colleagues’ management.
And what does managing a school account mean?
Well, I work with schools and teachers from the initial program request — determining both the educational goals as well as the logistical constraints like travel dates, budget, chaperone ratio, accommodation needs, etc. — through proposal development and student recruitment, and then if they reach the minimum number of students, I work with them through all the logistics that are needed ahead of departure, like gathering student health and diet info, getting waivers signed, making sure they’ve got their preferred flight paths, holding pre-departure calls with families and chaperones, and following up after the program ends for feedback. Throughout all of this, I work with our ops team who are the ones doing all that logistical planning on the travel side of things.
I also get to travel a few times a year myself! Along with local guides, all of our Insight programs have a global facilitator, who helps take the logistical piece off of the teacher chaperones’ plates so that teachers can focus on their students’ well-being and learning. The facilitator highlights the educational goals every day of the program through questions of the day and daily reflections. Aside from attending our annual staff retreat and facilitator training or work conferences, I get to travel as a facilitator myself a couple times a year. In a couple weeks, I’m heading to facilitate a program in the Yukon in northwest Canada, and in May, I’ll be going to Australia.
It’s a completely different job from teaching, but there’s still a lot of variety in what I do (one of the things I loved about teaching). I work with teachers and schools daily, work directly with students when I facilitate, and get to follow along on all of our programs through the facilitators’ daily updates. The feedback from them and our teachers lets me know I am still making a positive impact on students’ lives, even though I’m not in the classroom anymore.
If you’re a high school teacher whose school runs travel programs, I definitely encourage you to check us out. Our new website just launched this week! And who knows, I’ll probably be the first person you connect with 🙂
It’s 62 degrees in Miami, misty rain, and I’m standing outside waiting for my Lyft to pick me up after a doctor’s check-up with a new PCP. I’m wearing a cotton sweater and a jean jacket, but my hands are freezing, fingernails turning purple under the pink gel polish. I’m shifting my weight from my left foot to my right foot to get some movement in and try to warm myself up, but to no avail. I only start to thaw once I hop into the warmth of the Honda CR-V that picks me up, open the Jetpack app, and start moving my fingers to write this slice.
I repeat. It’s 62 degrees.
When did I become so acclimated to the Florida warmth and sun that my body feels SIXTY-TWO DEGREES as cold?
I remember studying abroad in Barcelona in the spring of 2012 and wanting to break out a dress and sandals when it was 62 degrees (but refraining because then I’d definitely look like the guiri I was).
Or in New York every spring when the temps hit the sixties, rejoicing with the rest of the city by removing our heavy layers and basking in the spring weather.
But since living in Miami for almost five years? I’m comfortable in 80-degree weather. I get chilly when it’s cloudy and in the 70s. I get downright cold when it’s in the 60s. And let’s not think about weather colder than that!
Granted, this morning I fasted in case they needed to take any blood, and I didn’t wear any wool which would have helped. I also didn’t expect the rain so early, nor the 12-minute wait for the Lyft.
But the acclimation (acclimatization?) has been well underway for a while now, and it’s not just to do with the temperature.
In January, when I spent a week and a half in British Columbia, I couldn’t function with the sun rising “so late” and the sky so overcast that I couldn’t even tell when it had risen.
Miami has spoiled me. And it makes me a bit worried for when we eventually move away from here, to a place with real seasons once more. My knitting heart will be happy, but I know I’ll feel the impact of not having mostly 365 days of sun.
Because even when it rains in Miami, the sun usually comes out to play afterwards. Big, dramatic showers and storms followed by epic rainbows and sunsets (literally!).
It’s the pull and tug of my feelings about this city that’s now been my home for a seventh of my life.
Traffic and lack of good public transit? Hate.
Ability to go to the pool most weekends? Love.
Anyway. My hands are warm. 10 minutes from home and ready to jump into work.
But first I know I’ll need a hot tea, my shearling slippers, and a snuggle with my warm pup.
Two years ago during the Slice of Life challenge, I wrote about my friendship with Ariel, and the messages we wrote to each other in stolen moments of our days (my early morning, her commute).
Ariel is my best friend, and she lives in Israel. Our text exchanges are a bit different now.
“Only had one siren last night.”
“Had 3 sirens last night, soooo tired but doing our best.”
“First night we didn’t have any sirens in our area!!!”
“Going down for an alarm.”
There’s also some others that are different now. Those ultrasounds led to a beautiful baby boy being born in September 2024. His smile is everything and we call him little muffin.
I don’t really have words to describe all of the feelings that swirl around inside of me when I think about Ariel living over there.
I am Jewish, but I don’t agree with what the Israeli government and army are doing in Palestine or Iran. I am American, and I don’t agree with what this imposter is doing seemingly every-fucking-where in this world. I am fearful of what will happen in 2028, if elections will even be a possibility then. I am at a loss of what to do to help, to make a difference. I feel guilty for being privileged enough to block all of the war and death out, ignore the news, focus on my life. I feel grateful that I can do it too.
My best friend is in survival mode, just trying to be a mom of a toddler, navigate a career she’s growing out of, survive in a country at war, exist day-to-day while sirens and shelters interrupt her sleep and her waking hours equally.
And I am over here and I can do nothing but text with her and provide some escapism when she needs it.
I “slept in” until 7am this morning after “staying up” to watch the Oscars. I knew I’d be sacrificing my early morning slice but the extra sleep was worth it. As my day unfolded slowly and steadily, I kept my eyes peeled for little slices along the way.
Enjoying my breakfast of an egg on toast with avocado, spinach, and HP sauce while I played the NYT games.
Taking Phoebe for a quick morning walk before my 10am meeting, listening to “Maroon” by Taylor Swift and thinking how much I love her music and could write a whole slice just about how my relationship to her music has changed over the years. No one was out on the street and so I sang along happily, marveling at this lyrical genius.
Greeting my coworker Teghan on our weekly check-in, her bright smile and voice coming through the screen. She’s been in Norway this month to scout a new program but is working EST hours this week, and I’ve missed her! If we lived in the same city, I know for sure we would hang out.
Playing Midnights while I plug away at cold outreach emails and budget actuals, work that I usually have to push, but which I’ve had time to work on this week and last. Thank god for spring break and a quiet inbox!
Pausing to eat lunch, a leftover sweet potato and black bean burrito with hummus and feta. Grateful for the quiet scrolling as I munch away.
Meeting with the two teacher chaperones I went to D.C. with this past December. Catching up and then talking about what changes we’ll make for this year’s program.
Having an exploratory call with another client, thinking about what destinations might speak to her middle school teachers, learning more about how they do things at her school.
Trying to stifle a laugh on my itinerary review call for an upcoming Iceland program when the local guide reads the description about getting the “energy of the forest directly into your veins.” Messaging Teghan about it and reminding myself to breathe and check my face, you’re on camera!!
Finally logging off, shutting down my external display, and closing all my windows, then changing into shorts for a walk in the neighborhood.
Talking to both my parents, first my mom and then my dad on two separate 15-minute loops. Passing the Little Free Library (another future slice). Feeling the warm breeze against my skin and face and hair. Grateful to be outside. All the smells of flowers and trees. My allergies — achoo!
Getting home, kicking off my sandals, and curling up on the couch to type this slice on my phone before I shower, warm up some leftovers, and turn on The Pitt.
Miami was built on what used to be all Everglades. Nowadays, Everglades National Park is less than 50% of what it was before humans started to destroy it in favor of urban housing developments and motorways. In the 1800s, when James John Audubon visited Florida, he wrote: “We observed great flocks of wading birds flying overhead toward their evening roosts …. They appeared in such numbers to actually block out the light from the sun for some time” (nps.gov).
I always enjoyed sharing that fact with my fifth graders when we learned about the Everglades. It was hard to imagine so many birds filling the skies, especially in downtown Brickell. We’d stare out of our large classroom windows and try to visualize what the sky would look like filling with birds.
In our new apartment, we look out over a quiet neighborhood filled with trees. We can see the Miami skyline, the sun rising above it every morning with spectacularly colorful displays, entering our home and warming it right up with its light.
And we can also hear birds. Lots of birds. Hoots, chirps, tweets, trills. Sometimes we can see them flying in flocks, around and around. But mostly we can just hear them in the trees.
This morning, I decided to slice on the balcony. As soon as I slid open the heavy glass door, I could hear that the birds were out. I even caught a flock as they passed by. I set my phone to record so you could hear them:
As I finish the slice up, an airplane, that man made bird, flies across the sky, drowning out the sounds.
The birds keep singing.
Before I sat down to sliceWhile slicingAfter slicing
Five years ago, I traded in Goodreads for The Storygraph to track the books I read each year along with the books I want to read. I swipe open the app and see:
Current Reads (3)
The Family Remains by Lisa Jewell
Whipping through it, will probably finish today. Absolutely loving the various characters and how Lisa Jewell manages to write books that you can devour without sacrificing quality of writing.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
Reading the interactive illustrated version by MinaLima with P, alternating who reads out loud. Going slower than Sorcerer’s Stone, because, as we all know, Chamber of Secrets is the worst book of the bunch.
The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad
Haven’t picked this one up in weeks. My original idea was to use these essays and prompts to help me slice this month, especially if I didn’t know what to write about, but it’s remained on the bookshelf by the dining table and is now starting to gather dust.
To-Read Pile (1280 books)
The Lion Women of Tehran by Marjan Kamali
Our next book club read after Untamed by Glennon Doyle (which I’ve read twice, so won’t be re-reading before our meeting). On hold on my Libby app.
Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver
Which is sitting on my bedside table stacked on top the following books, also on my TBR:
Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art by James Nestor
This Much is True by Miriam Margolyes
Strong Ground:The Lessons of Daring Leadership, the Tenacity of Paradox, and the Wisdom of the Human Spirit by Brené Brown
Have briefly started these last two, but am favoring the reads on my Kindle lately, which include the following borrowed and TBR books:
My Friends by Fredrik Backman
Water Moon by Samantha Sotto Yambao
Katabasis by R.F. Kuang
Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall
The Word is Murder by Anthony Horowitz
Then She Was Gone by Lisa Jewell
A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas
And then P sent me an Instagram reel last night that made me bump the following up farther on my TBR, though they all have long waits on Libby:
Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir
Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro
And then Tillie literally just texted me that what she finished reading and is currently reading, thrillers that I know will be my vibe, so they get added too:
These Summer Storms by Sarah MacLean
My Husband’s Wife by Alice Feeney
And of course, I can’t forget the ones already on my shelves that I purchased or were gifted to me or I got from a little lending library that I’ve been wanting to read:
The Book of Goose by Yiyun Li
Money For Couples by Ramit Sethi
The Eternaut by Héctor Germán Oesterheld and Francisco Solano López
Small Mercies by Dennis Lehane
I won’t get up to log the rest.
It’s too many books, I think. Not enough time.
I’ll probably finish my current read today. Then the dilemma becomes: which of the above should I dive into next?
I’ve been thinking about our own crossword compatibility since Kim sliced about hers and Brian’s last week. Then, late last night, after one of our typical teamwork moments, you hugged me and said, “Thank you for being the Alfred to my Batman.”
That’s us.
You’re out there fighting the bad guys.
I’m holding you steady with emotional and technical support.
When we used to work in the same building, you’d send me a message: “How do I readjust image size in Slides?”
“One sec,” I’d text back. “Okay, share it with me?”
Then I’d go into full ops mode, open the slides, bing, bam, boom, and voila.
“Done.”
“You’re the best!!!”
Nope, I’m just your Alfred.
A Google Suite whiz, computer savvy and quick at all things.
That’s what earned me the nickname Energizer Bunny from my co-teachers all those years ago, after all.
Batman, I’m happy to keep the Batmobile in shape and maintain the Batcomputer’s smooth operations. Luckily, you’re a great roommate in the Batcave and we split the labor.
I notice something happening as time goes by though. That scaffolding I helped build so you could climb up high and see the city from above? We’re taking it down piece by piece, because the foundation is strong enough now for you to climb up by yourself.
And, as we know from my vaso vagal experience just a few weeks ago, sometimes I’m the one who needs an Alfred. And when I do, we easily swap roles. You readily assume Alfred-duties when I need to become Batman in my own life.
We’re a team. Helping each other work towards our own individual goals while we join forces for the ones we have together.
Yesterday, Lauren’s slice about trying to get her roommate to slice made me smile. What her roommate thought wasn’t relatable actually was incredibly relatable to me — working from home and walking around the apartment to get steps in (which both helps your legs from going numb and your smart wearable from buzzing at you to “get up and move”). This isn’t the first time that I’ve commented on someone’s slice about relating to what they think/feel/do.
It got me thinking about other things that seem completely mundane or normalized to me, but might be relatable to other people. A moment of connection. A “me too!” moment that helps them feel seen.
So here we go. Can you relate to any of the following?
Waking up in the middle of the night to pee
Waking up desperate to pee in the morning, even though you already peed in the middle of the night
Waking up congested (especially during spring) and needing to blow your nose
Your dog climbing into your bed the moment they realize you’re “up” (this might be before your alarm goes off)
Using your phone as your alarm and checking your notifications first thing even though you know it’s the worst thing for you
Playing the NYT games every morning, in the exact same order every time
Worrying that if you do not play the NYT games in the exact same order, something might be “off” about the rest of your day
Keeping a bullet journal that’s not as used as it once was but is still your go-to planner method (though you’re open to other suggestions, as you did use Moleskine half planner half notebooks for many years)
Moving items from yesterday’s to do list to today’s, day after day
Getting the “Time to stand!” Apple Watch notification, even though you’ve been standing for the last twenty minutes (when are they going to change this measurement to include standing without arms swinging?)
Walking around the apartment with arms swinging or moving your body around vigorously — kicks, arms flailing, squats — until you get the “You did it!” notification
Starting one task and getting distracted when an email or text comes in
Talking to your dog as a means of talking to yourself throughout the day
Singing as a form of communication (especially effective when annoyed or giving redirection to children)
Catching your reflection in the mirror at one specific time of day where the light hits just so, and noticing all the small dark hairs that need plucking
Getting more and more chin hairs as you get older (why, universe, why?)
Saying hello in the exact same way to the doorman every day, then wondering why you sound like that
Not drinking enough water
Scrolling on Instagram even though you promised you wouldn’t (self control is hard)
Looking at your phone while you’re walking, even though you know you shouldn’t
Thinking in “should”s (I should call ___ more, I should work out, I should make my own dinner instead of going out tonight)
Overthinking future events that you have no control over
Being extra snappy when hungry around your loved ones
Thinking about what to pack for upcoming trips way too far in advance (key word: “thinking” — no real action taken)
Rewatching a show you’ve seen all the episodes of instead of watching one of the ones on your list of shows to watch
Opening the door to the fridge to look inside at what’s there even though you know what’s there
I could keep going forever but I’m going to stop there as I’m getting hungry for breakfast now!
What’s something mundane or normalized that you do (and perhaps have sliced about) that someone has connected with?