February and March were a whirlwind. Moving to a new apartment in Barcelona, finishing a new client’s branding project, crossing an ocean to clean out my NY storage unit, which felt more like a reliquary for my past life, popping down to see family in Florida, and finally coming back to Barcelona with an extra suitcase of stuff only to pack up again for two months on the road.

Just typing all that made me a little overwhelmed (!), but don’t worry. She’s okay. The A/C is on. She has water and is listening to her favorite music.

A little chaos, a little closure

Our Gothic Quarter apartment was in a great location, but came with some challenges… battling the dust allergies, window pigeon roosting, and cooking all our meals on a 2-burner cooktop. But we wandered more, discovering new spots—tapas at Irati, the sweetest sweets at Caelum, and decent street tacos at TKO for 1€—and visiting the beach weekly.

My New York visit was lovely and felt more like a true goodbye than my last. I was very excited to see familiar faces and have my fix of bagels, slices, deli sandwiches, and a fresh baguette from Richaud. Sifting through my apartment storage, finding new homes for things, and letting go of all but 4 boxes of it was exhausting. But I’m glad my things will continue to be enjoyed not just by me. Also, it’s selfishly nice to know that I have a good enough decor sense that people wanted my stuff.

Florida offered more comfort than I expected. It was nice being in a familiar place again and among my goofy kinfolk. Fried okra, catfish, grits, hush puppies, cornbread, BBQ, and Tex-Mex were all welcomed to my plate with open arms. Driving down familiar canopy roads, taking my nephew to the museum, a weekend on the shores of Carrabelle and Apalachicola, and running errands with my mom made my heart feel full and grounded.

The unstructured hustle of it all

Returning to Barcelona felt different this time. Having truly closed my NY chapter, Spain feels less like an extended working vacation and more like home, but still an unsettled one.

I’m enjoying working for myself and my current projects, but keeping a good thing going feels a bit daunting. I’m starting to feel the pinch as my Spain savings are dwindling and my designated grace period is running out. Finding momentum, focusing my vision for the next year and beyond, and even establishing routine have been annoyingly difficult. It’s like I’ve let go of one version of my life only to stumble through the space before the next one fully begins.

Time to double down on my anchors—leaning into who I am, reaching out to friends and family for support—and embrace the unstructured unpredictability of it all and that NY hustle that I know so well.

Yours thickly,
J Katie

I can’t help but think of Picasso, who also adored a certain window and a certain view, so much so that he painted it nine times.

The Picasso Museum points out, “These paintings revisit the theme of the window, at once an opening and a frame that creates a dialogue between interior and exterior.”

He revisited this viewpoint to capture what changed when he did, shifting between different lighting, new painting styles, varying color palettes, and exploring the composition between the pigeons inside the window frame and the inspiring landscape outside. In essence, he was exploring his inner world through the framework of this window.

It makes me think about the recurring themes in my life — choosing growth over comfort, learning that home and belonging are created, accepting uncertainty, and despite feeling afraid, doing it anyway — that have allowed me to explore, shift, change, and grow into the version of who I am now and who I will become.

Leaving New York for Spain was just the beginning.

I don’t know that I have nine versions of this balcony view in me, but I’ve been craving some hands-on, imperfect, and offline creativity. Maybe this could be my way of capturing this moment, before the view changes.

Views along the way

Nine weeks have passed and a whole new year has started since last we spoke. Lots of places and faces passing between, most new and some comfortingly familiar.

No turkey for Thanksgiving

My dear Laura came to town! And we hehe’d and yapped our way through Barcelona and Tarragona. Some of our traipsings included:

Revisiting Gaudí at Parc Güell. There’s something about that place that reminds me of being a 90s kid. Probably the bright mismatched mosaics (big 90s café vibes) and the arches and walkways that look like those drippy sandcastles you made at the beach as a kid.

A wonderful non-turkey Thanksgiving dinner at Enigma. Who knew 20+ plates could make us so tired; we didn’t get home until 1am! The decor there was very ethereal in an ice palace meets Midwest tornado clouds kind of way. LOVED IT.

Indulging in some peasantries (bread, wine, and cheese) with a long weekend in Tarragona and the Priorat region. Top moments: exploring all the Roman ruins, enjoying some delicious wine and eats with the Cingles Blaus winery, and visiting Siurana, a village perched atop the cliffs of the Prades mountains. I also conquered my fear of roundabouts with my New Jersey, jug-handle queen at my side.

A second meet-cute in Barcelona and a French roady to the UK

I was very happy Paul made his way back to Barcelona <3. Six weeks felt far too long. Some welcome back tapas were in store and Vermuteria Puigmartí did not disappoint. We were also blessed with some unseasonably warm weather the week he arrived. So naturally we walked 20k+ steps to enjoy the warmest day.

That weekend, we set out on a short road trip along the west side of France to discover more of this provincial life and make our way to the UK for the holidays. Albi was our first stop to meet Paul’s friends (who are lovely) and enjoy the scenery. A short walk brought us to the foreboding Sainte-Cecile Cathedral, the bishop’s palace garden (good bush work), and the view along the Tarn.

In Bordeaux, we made it for lunch at L'Entrecôte. The amount of fries they serve with their steak frites is wild. But what astounded me more were all the olds around us, finishing their plates and then getting an extra serving of frites and also ordering a dessert each. I was concerned with the amount of cholesterol coursing through their veins… this could very well have been their last meal.

Mont Saint-Michel was the last stop before we crossed the waters to the UK. As we drove through the pastureland, the grey skies and a thin settling of fog made the tidal island seem even more mysterious and epic as it came into view. Crossing the gates of the village made me feel like a lowly knight seeking shelter. The abbey was beautiful with perfect acoustics, but the sunset across the seascape was even more lovely.

Fizzy wiggets and brickle brackle

Paul was determined to give me the authentic London experience when it came to food. Serendipitously, a few NY friends were in town too! Some in London for holiday (who I could do all the touristy stuff with) and some who recently moved there (who I could compare expat notes with).

London by the eats:

• I got the privilege of having Sunday roast twice. Once at The Royal Standard, a 900-year-old hodgepodge of a pub, with all the cozy textures of exposed beams, burnt brick, medieval tiles, fireplaces, and eclectic antiques.

• Hand pulled, biang biang noodles and a giant braised beef shank were served up at The Noodle Inn. Perfect fuel for a day sightseeing.

• Pie, mash & liquor in Notting Hill. I loved that the green tile and gingham curtain decor in the shop matched the parsley sauce. Thankfully eels were not available on the menu.

• Gregg’s sausage roll, not to be confused with sausage on a roll with brown sauce. I think this is their equivalent to a BEC.

• Beigel Bake’s salt beef beigel (don’t forget the pickle & mustard) saved me after a big night out in Shoreditch. A souvenir shirt was also purchased.

• A properly roasted goose and perfectly roasted potatoes for Christmas lunch.

• A much needed snack at Pick & Cheese where they offered small plates of British cheeses with tasty pairings, unlimited crackers, and cheap wines. It was the perfect break from the Camden Market craze.

• Incredible Filipino food served up family style at Bintang.

• And of course fish and chips from the shop in Acton. Perfect for a cold rainy day.

Favorite moments with old friends: Visiting Samira and her new Notting Hill apartment and private garden. Dinner and drinks with some of my NY crew. The evening concluded at a bar with hired professional karaoke singers whose repertoire included an Abba medley and Tina Turner. Catching up with Justin and Steph on their settling in progress and buying a place in London. The whole leasehold/freehold thing is wild.

Favorite moments with new friends: A very (unintentionally) American, pre-Christmas Eve, night out with Paul’s friends in Shoreditch where BBQ, blues, and beigels were had. Meeting a very chatty gentleman in Kensington who was wearing a matching outfit of purple pants, scarf, and beret and was also very keen on telling us two stories of American kindness when he hitchhiked his way across the US in his youth. The many shared meals with Paul’s parents.

What does the horse have to say about all this?

The first Monday of the new year felt like a true Monday. With Newsela officially over and fully shifting gears into freelance work, it was time to take action, find new clients and projects, and calculate how far my savings can stretch during the slow months. After all the holiday flutter, it felt like the flight had been grounded. Definitely needed. Definitely sobering.

Feeling a bit shaky about all the new challenges, I’ve found some encouragement in the Lunar New Year perspective, which also sneakily affords me another six weeks to get my sh*t together. The Year of the Fire Horse begins February 17 and according to Vogue, “It reflects a stage of life that moves boldly forward without the fear of obstacles, placing emphasis on being in motion rather than standing still.”

Sounds like I need to lean into the uncertainty and keep moving forward even if I’m unsure of what this new year will bring. So cheers to the new views and perspectives this year has to offer!

Yours thickly,
J Katie

It’s been over 90 days since I moved, which means I’m currently stuck in Spain (I know, poor me) until I get my residency card and can freely travel again. But being grounded has its perks — a forced pause to catch my breath, settle back into a routine, pick up where I left off with Spanish lessons, build connections with local friends, and gym-girling it hard enough to fit into my jeans post-San Sebastián (the food was too good unfortunately).

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” — Viktor Frankl

Life has a way of granting you space (heartbreaks, job frustrations, bureaucratic mishaps, running injuries, etc.) to pause and embrace a response that opens you up to growth and freedom beyond your outdated patterns. The only trick is actually using it.

So while I wait for my next appointment and stamp of approval in this residency process, I’m reminding myself that space is needed too — a place to reflect, align, and decide on what’s next.

San Sebastián food (yes, it deserves its own highlight reel)

• Of all the Basque cheesecakes I tried, La Viña is the best. Incredibly soft and gooey in the middle, with subtle hints of caramelization along the bottom of the bake.

• The blood sausage and crispy suckling pig were my favorite at La Cuchara.

• I quasi conquered my anchovy and uni distrust with pintxos at Gandarias.

• A glass full of gildas, a bag of lemon pepper chips, and a view were served up at Urgulleko Polboriña. Well earned after some steep steps to the top of Motako Gaztelua.

• For a rainy day dinner, we went to Bar Desy and had what I would classify as a hangover burger and Spanish disco fries (covered in crispy prosciutto, curry gravy, and a drizzle of cream sauce).

• I’ve never eaten so much, but I couldn’t say no to the fire grilled rib-eye steak, tomato salad, fried cod with peppers, cider, and table baguettes served family-style at Lizeaga Sagardotegia, a 450 year old cider house.

• Just outside of San Sebastián, we took a short ferry ride across the water to Pasai Donibane, a charming fishing village, and enjoyed an amazing seafood lunch at Casa Cámara plus a scenic stroll afterwards.

• The veggie plates at Geralds Bar were incredible. Veggies (other than tomatoes, beans, or peppers) are hard to come by at restaurants here. My body was very thankful for that meal.

• And last but not least, a glass or bottle of txakoli (a local white wine) was always ordered wherever we went — perfect for cutting through all the richness.

San Sebastián adventures (away from the table)

Such a beautiful city and even more chill than Barcelona. It’s got the best of both worlds — mountains and beach — and we took advantage it all.

Surprisingly, it has a decent surf scene. I gave it a shot, but even with my personal coach, the solid pop-up still evaded me. But a day at the beach is always a good day and I was just happy to share in some nature (and watch all the happy dogs running amuck in the waves).

In search of some mountain views, three of us crammed into a 2-seater (don’t worry, seatbelts were still worn) and drove up to Aiako Harria Nature Park. After we uncramped our legs, we hiked up to the first peak where we could see both San Sebastián and Hendaye (France)! A ceremonial Prosecco sabering at the summit was also had.

On my last day in San Sebastián, we rented a scooter to explore a bit of the coastal scenery. We laughed (and prayed) every time we had to drive up a steep hill because a 150cc can only haul so much ass. Inshallah!

Grounded in Barcelona, but embracing the space

San Sebastián was lovely, but it’s been nice having some much-needed downtime and copious amounts of veggies. Even though things feel slower, I’m thankful for this space and have full intention of leaning into this in-between.

On a side note, I’ve also been finding some inspiration in Rosalía’s new album (memorizing lyrics counts as Spanish practice right?) and from my recent visit to the Picasso Museum. He was obsessed with a certain window view (not unlike my own balcony view obsession)… maybe I should try my hand at painting my view too.

Things I’m looking forward to in this moment of pause:

• Wrapping up my 7.5 year legacy at Newsela and fully transitioning into my freelance design work. Excited (and a bit nervous) to see where it takes me in the new year.

• Bringing myself back into focus and starting therapy again. Gotta love a good reveal — exposing lingering patterns and mindsets that no longer serve me.

• Finishing up this bureaucratic process of moving countries. Only five more steps to go before I’m fully settled here (taxes, and healthcare, and social security, oh my!).

• Planning next year’s nomad stops. Maybe Madrid, Valencia, Seville, Granada, completing the Camino de Santiago, or anywhere else in Europe for that matter.

• Learning more about Barcelona and experiencing all it has to offer before I move on to the next locale.

At times, stillness can feel like being stuck, but maybe it’s just a deep breath before starting out on the next move. Trust the pause.

Yours thickly,
J Katie

None of that worked out. I didn’t end up in fashion, no husband or kids so far, and the only singing I do now is at karaoke. And I’m so thankful.

During my last year of college, my fashion internship in London fell through, but somehow I quickly snagged one in New York via a Craigslist post (ah simpler times). I connected with a family friend who was living there (another Katie — shoutout to the helpful Katies of the world; you know who you are) to help me find my first sublet and be an emergency contact. She insisted I practice the subway lines before my first big day and armed me with a mini laminated train map (I was in my flip-phone era then) and a “good luck.” I still remember the feeling of belonging that washed over me when I slowly emerged from the subway entrance at Bryant Park. I thought I would be intimidated or overwhelmed, but instead I felt at home. I knew I was right where I needed to be.

Sixteen years later, I’ve left it all behind — and oh, to start over at 38 feels both humbling and invigorating. It’s now been ten weeks since I moved to Spain, and that “at home” feeling is finally starting to set in.

New York, I still love you

Before I left New York, Roxanne gave me a copy of Goodbye to All That. It’s been therapeutic reading others’ reflections on their time in relationship with New York —stories of loving and leaving and our collective, undiagnosed Stockholm syndrome with this city. Feeling inspired, I decided to write my own version, by way of a love letter.

My dearest New York,

You are wild.

I met you when I was a green 21 and left you as a ripe 38. Between those years, there were plenty of failures, upsets, laughs, cries, celebrations, and heartbreaks — but throughout it all, I fell in love with you — both place and people.

Was it you who whispered “This must be the place” that day in Bryant Park and invited me to stay?

You taught me resilience, the beauty of connection and fostering community, and opened my eyes to so much more possibility in life than I could’ve realized in my previous corner of the world.

Thanks for being the one…

The one that gave me hustle in place of a career path. Who knew my fashion design dreams would veer so wildly — from sewing teacher, barista, and corporate party planner, to banana stand owner, producer, and now, brand and web designer.

The one that brought me more than just friends — creative collaborators, cheerleaders, dance floor partners, unofficial therapists, comedians, travel buddies, dreamers, and schemers.

The one that shook me loose and offered the freedom to be me.

The one that taught me the beauty of growth and the power of trying just one more time. Trusting love, trusting others, and trusting myself.

And it’s with that last lesson that I leave you, trusting myself enough to fall in love with a new place, new people, and to experience all that you’ve taught me through the lens of somewhere new.

But don’t worry, you’ll always be home to me.

Love you forever,
Katie

P.S. — You’d hate how slow I’ve become. Also, no one knows how to WALK here; you’d hate that too.

Cue the Barcelona highlight reel

• Chasing that daily sliver of “hot enough” to enjoy the vestiges of beach season and hold on to my tan ever so slightly longer. Playa de Bogatell has officially won my heart.

• Walking yet another fun festival, La Mercè, that encompassed the whole city this time — correfoc beasts, live concerts, beer and wine tastings, and lots of joy. Hats off to Barcelona’s investment in community and tradition.

• Exploring new places with new friends. Got to see the wild whimsy that is the Salvador Dalí Theater and the quiet calm that is Cadaqués during a day trip from Barcelona.

• Educating a Brit about real country music and mullets while I have the aux cord. The joys of being a passenger princess.

• Losing my mind over the Dalí jewelry exhibit. I love miniatures of anything, and these ones sparkle!

• Enjoying my best meal yet at El Xampanyet. Yes tapas are a meal and these were incredibly correct.

• Buying some clay to make my own face pots (inspo below). A rainy-day project, perhaps?

Embracing the chill

I’ve always said New York either kicks you out or kicks you in the ass. I thankfully received the latter of the two and would like to think I’m better for it. Can’t say I have a platitude for Barcelona just yet, but I am enjoying the ease of it all. The Spanish minute is much longer than the New York minute (no offense) so it’s almost impossible not to slow down.

New York showed me ambition and Barcelona is showing me ease. Maybe that’s the rhythm of life — expansion, contraction, and learning to appreciate los dos.

Yours thickly (and slowly),
J Katie

A few weeks ago, I got many of those reminders while reconnecting with friends during a trip to Turkey and Sarah’s visit to Barcelona.

During those visits, I heard it all: marathon training despite a bum leg, quitting a job to recharge and recalibrate, micro-cementing a bathroom, creating content to promote a new music workshop. Looking back, these weren’t just life updates, these were creative sparks. It takes so much effort to think beyond your own box and actually follow through. Being around that kind of momentum is contagious and it reminded me of an old proverb:

“As iron sharpens iron, so does the inspired inspire another.”
—King Solomon (and me)

That’s the gift of friendship: whether it’s running miles, pausing to find more joy, making a home cozier, or putting yourself out there, their challenges and efforts inspire me to go further and dig deeper.

Snapshots of inspiration

• Sarah walking me through her rigorous dating model including a spreadsheet to organize and rank the attributes I want in a partner. Yes, it’s that bad out there. Yes, I clearly need help. But yes, I’m excited to make dating fun again.

• Watching Ellen soak in the beauty of the remains of Byzantine frescoes in the Cappadocia caves. Her taking it slow gave me permission to take my time to soak it all in too.

• Floating in a basket with a bunch of jet-lagged cuties to watch the sunrise over Cappadocia and receiving a flight certificate that stated, “Let it be known, from this day forth Katie Mann discovered Cappadocia from above…” What an accomplishment.

• Ioulia requesting a weekly check-in chat because job searching is the worst and it’s helpful to have accountability and support for these trying times.

• Family style feasting and sharing our roses and thorns from the day.

• Sarah (a different Sarah) telling me more about her dream to start her own private practice while lounging and sipping tea in our post-hamam robes.

• An early morning conversation over our copious-bowled, Turkish breakfast with Walt and Parla about a hotel concept inspired by this poem I read back in high school. Lmk if you want to invest.

• Taking in all the tiles, frescoes, mosaics, textiles, sculptures, archways, domes, and natural beauty that Turkey has to offer.

• Witnessing a blood moon eclipse on a beach in Çesme and thinking about that one QVC moment… “the moon is such a planet.”

Back in Barcelona…

Rusted, busted, done and dusted. I’m resigned to my bed, recovering from whatever I brought back from Turkey (do they call it Ottoman’s Revenge?) and nonetheless feeling lucky to have been caught in a whirlwind of friends during those last two weeks inside and outside of Barcelona.

Amidst my bed rotting, I started going through the emails I ignored while I was in Turkey and guess what… MY VISA GOT APPROVED! Your girl can stay in Spain AND for up to three years!! I’m no longer just passing through, I’m really staying now.

I guess this is what settling in looks like—a little messy, a little lucky, and holding onto the little reminders from the people around me to keep asking for more from life.

Yours thickly,
J Katie

My first few moments in Spain

Tuesday, August 5th
7:02 am | BCN Airport
I’m gracefully crouched over my large 70-lb suitcase, slightly flustered, peeling apart my luggage tags (the self-adhesive ones for checked bags) to use as tape to “fix” the wheel that snapped off during its not-so-soft landing onto the luggage carousel. Side note: highly recommend starting your morning, or your new life in Spain, this way; a chance to be humbled by an inanimate object should never be missed! Deep breath. Wheel is on—and just long enough to roll out to the taxi stand. I may be unlucky in love luggage, but at least I’m blessed with resourcefulness, and the guy who spotted my stray wheel.

7:26 am | Taxi
While I enjoy my view out the cab window, passing one art nouveau building after another, getting closer to the place I’ll call home for the next six months, my brain interrupts: “Wow, the AUDACITY of thinking you can just do this…” I mean, fair point, I’m not really sure who I thought I was during these last six months of planning and plotting, but we’ve committed to the bit, babes! And given the earlier issue, I couldn’t even roll my luggage back to the US if I tried.

7:58 am | Apartment in L'Eixample
I quietly drag (the wheel fell off again) my bags through the hall and unlock the door to my room. I sigh with relief. It looks just like the pictures online: high ceilings, soft blue walls with ornate white moldings, and a contrasting pink-and-green patterned tiled balcony, fit for soaking in that Barcelona light. On another note, a current heat wave (and no AC) is unfortunately ruining the beauty of this room and this moment.

8:03 am | Sweating
I Google where to buy a BIG fan.

Some new home highlights in no particular order

• Discovering how a bowl of cool gazpacho, fresh tomatoes, burrata, crusty bread, and a crisp white can save you on a hot day.

• Making the Arc de Triomf and Parc de la Ciutadella my new outdoor gym.

• Stopping at an art magazine stand after my first run in Barcelona. I bought the Extra Extra Magazine: Issue No 24 and felt really cool.

• Thoughtful architecture and a live music and dance performance at Palau de Música. Considering my digitally focused work, being in the presence of these things feels very grounding and inspiring. Way better than staring at pixels and talking with ChattyG.

• Reconnecting with my longtime (since brace-face days) friend, Elizabeth, for a morning beach session at Playa Marbella.

• Going on a grocery haul just to bask in the AC.

• Staring at my ceiling has now become a pastime. If I ever own a home, I will be duplicating the bones of this room to the best of my ability.

• The lovely lady at the café who struck up a conversation, introduced me to her dog, and tipped me off to the festivities in Gràcia. She made me feel welcome and she also went to school with Mamdani?!

• Wine is cheap—and here, cheap wine is good!

• Exploring Festa Major de Gràcia with a caipirinha in hand. I meandered through a maze of street decorations, live music stages, outdoor bars, and got myself into the crossfire of a correfoc, where devils and dragons charge through the crowd with firecrackers and sparklers. The last bit unlocked a memory of bottle-rocket wars as a kid in Florida. Both not to code, both produced minor burns, and both made for great stories.

  ---

Notes on settling into change

Shifting from 9-to-5 to freelance
I’m loving the change of pace that freelance work allows, slower mornings, less mental clutter, and the freedom to schedule my time around creative ebbs and flows. I’m a little nervous about not having enough work come November, but I also wouldn’t mind some downtime to study, skill up, and creatively experiment. So maybe it’ll be just fine.

Being an outsider
As expected, the language barrier is real, and intimidation gets the best of me at times. But my Spanish lessons have started again, and I’m hopeful to close that gap this year. I did have a reassuring moment during my evening out in Gràcia. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel wandering the festival alone, but surprisingly, I felt comfortable and had so much fun. Maybe it was the universe sending me a sign, or maybe you just feel more at home in a place that doesn’t understand personal space. Either way, more please!

Decision remorse
Meeting a new flatmate—a 19-year-old intern accompanied by her mom—made me question my life’s timeline. As I’m standing in the kitchen having a perfectly nice conversation with them, my brain sidelines me: “What am I doing? I’m too old for this. I should be doing this ‘properly’—with a partner, in a private apartment, with a full-time job. This is a lot of things to not have sorted out at my age. Maybe I’m actually a failure underneath this living-the-European-dream façade. I should be further along.” Later, I texted my friend Whitley in a sarcastic panic about it, and she reminded me: the young keep you young and also timelines are arbitrary societal constructs anyhow. She’s of course not wrong. I’ve concluded my key strategies in this game are as follows: ignore my inner girly (she can be so mean and insecure), commit to the bit (after all, I’ve made it this far), and also never reveal my age.

I can’t change how or when this phase of my life is happening. I should be pleased it’s even happening at all. And I am.

Ciao for now

Change has its intimidating moments, but being [thickly] settled is more about being rooted in my sense of self—showing up, saying yes, and letting these very changes and experiences shape me and reveal the beauty of simply being.

Sending love from Barcelona,
J Katie & my very large fan

When I hear the phrase, thickly settled, I think of someone wiggling down into a cozy seat and after some semi-recent therapy, I've been working on just that... getting settled into my own skin again and listening to what I want, meeting my own needs, and learning to feel at home with myself, wherever I land (Spain most recently).

This blog is my way of documenting that process: settling into a new country, a new rhythm, and a deeper sense of myself. I'll share notes on my comings and goings, some inner monologues and observations, and I'm sure some recipes and creative projects will make their way on here, too.

Yours thickly,
J Katie