Same Job, New Zip Code (Sort Of)

Happy summer, friends. Yes, I have been a bit quiet lately. Not because I have given up on cute shoes, color-coded spreadsheets, or accidentally calling grown-ups “friend” at the grocery store. Nope, I’ve just been in the middle of something kind of major: I am moving schools.

Deep breath.

After four years at a Title I STEAM school nestled in the heart of Savannah, where I knew every hallway creak, every schedule, every leak, and every students’ story — I’m trading my city vibe for a new adventure at a growing K-8 campus just outside the city.

It is still in our school district, but it feels like a different world: bigger building, brand-new systems, more than 800 students (and growing!), and a whole new team of faces who do not know I absolutely keep emergency mints in my office and that my walkie and keys are probably going to get left behind during a walkthrough.

And y’all, this move is bittersweet.

I am leaving behind a school, a faculty, students, and parents that have become family. The kind of place where you cry happy tears at kindergarten graduation even though you swore you would not, and where the front office staff can predict your breakfast order. But maybe the hardest part? Leaving the building where my own daughter goes to school.

For the past two years, I have been the assistant principal and the proud mom at PTA meetings. I got to wave to her across the cafeteria, sneak in hugs between meetings, and know every person she passed in the hallway. Now, I am learning how to be a working mom in a whole new way, juggling logistics, figuring out childcare (and paying for childcare!), and losing the sweet moments of talks in mom’s office afterschool.

There’s a new commute. A new office (that I have not even gotten to see yet!). There are new teams to meet, new rhythms to find, and yes — new walkie protocols to memorize. Yes, there are new keys to lose…but I do not have those yet either.

But the change that hit me, the new mascot is a Nighthawk.

I didn’t think much of it at first — new school, new logo, new cheers to learn. But then a Google search for new school swag showed me a nighthawk is another name for a bullbat, and I stopped in my tracks. And cried.

Bullbats were my dad’s favorite. He used to sit outside in the evenings just to watch them swoop and dive through the twilight sky. It was one of those small, sacred routines — quiet, simple, and full of wonder. He would point them out with this mix of curiosity and peace, like he knew they were something special.

So when I realized I’m going to be spending my days as a Nighthawk, it hit me. This is not just a random mascot. It felt like one of Daddy’ winks, letting me know I am going where I am supposed to be.

For those that have lost a parent recently, you know how hard it is not to pick up the phone or send the text wanting that advice, the “you’re doing okay” talk. But, somehow, I found peace with the Nighthawks.

Finding peace does not mean it’s not scary. As a grown professional I should say it is only a little scary. However, this is a place for honesty and transparency.

It is a lot scary.

Starting over is not easy. Not when you are used to knowing which is the “clean” faculty bathroom or which second grader is about to break into a full run during dismissal. But growth does not happen in your comfort zone, and I did not sign up for this job because I wanted easy.

I signed up because I believe in public schools, in kids, and in the adults who show up every day to change lives (even when the WiFi’s down and the copier is jammed). And this new school? It’s full of potential, purpose, and people I cannot wait to learn from and with.

So here I am, the same me, heading full force into a new space, trying to figure out how to make it feel like home.

Thanks for sticking with me through the quiet moments. I have lots to share (including my back-to-school must-haves and how I’m emotionally handling being inundated with two different school newsletters now).

If you are navigating a change too — whether it is a new school, a new city, or just a new season — I see you. We can do this. With coffee, cute earrings, and a planner that’s at least 40% post-its, we can do hard things.

Here’s to fresh starts, even when they come with fresh nerves.

It's me.
I’m the AP.
And I’m learning to fly, Nighthawk style.