I don’t know if it’s bad karma, if it’s some higher power telling me that these work trips aren’t good for me, or if it’s just really horrible luck, but this is the second time in two weeks that I’ve encountered a flight cancellation. I don’t even receive a reason for it this time. I originally had scheduled a direct flight from Atlanta back to New York this evening, and between back-to-back meetings this morning, I listened to a voice message from AA telling me that my flight got cancelled – no explanation, no nothing. Instead, I got re-booked onto a flight connecting in Charlotte, and instead of getting back home around 9:30, I wouldn’t be landing at LaGuardia until nearly midnight. Nothing seems to be working out quite well for me in the last two weeks.

I sat on my connecting flight from Charlotte to LaGuardia in the first row of economy in a middle seat, which I never get, but I succumbed to choosing it since by default, they were mean enough to put me in an aisle seat near the back of the plane. These are the moments when I actually remember why flying can be so terrible and why people hate it. It’s also the moment when I realize that I never would have been happy as a consultant. I mean in this situation, it’s only been two back-to-back weeks of work travel, and I’m already miserable and want it to end. If I had to spend 90 percent of my time traveling and living out of a suitcase for work, I’d probably quit after a month.

I woke up this morning to a Facebook message from a cousin who usually makes zero effort to keep in touch with me. He simply said that he saw a photo on his Facebook Newfeed and linked it to me. I clicked it, and it’s a San Francisco George Washington High School yearbook staff photo from 1996-1997. I caught my breath when I read the text before looking at the photo and immediately realized that was Ed’s last year of high school and also the year that he was on the yearbook staff. He joined the staff to participate in some extracurricular activity and also in hopes that he might make a friend or two. Unfortunately, he didn’t, and he didn’t enjoy his time on the staff at all. In the group staff photo, it’s exactly as I would have imagined it: it’s a large group of students, smiling and looking at the camera, and on the left side of the photo is my brother, slightly off to the side and away from the others, looking seriously at the camera. All the names of everyone pictured is also noted in the photo description.

You think it might make me happy to see an unexpected photo of my brother, but the truth is that in this context, it does not. If anything, it made me want to cry when I saw it because it just made me remember how much he hated high school, school in general, and how alienated and alone he always felt. He always felt ignored or misunderstood or unimportant. I was too young then to realize that my brother felt that way in school, and I had no concept of loneliness or depression at that time. I only learned about it shortly after he graduated when he started revealing to me how he felt. I always look back and wish I could have understood more and helped him, but I suppose that at age 11, most things of that complexity should be out of my reach.

I missed him all day today, and not just because I saw this photo of him and was reminded of the deepness of his pain and suffering and sadness. It’s also because overall, this has been a really grueling, frustrating, and tiring week, and I just want to be done with everything and everyone from this week.

On my return home from Tampa today, I had a connecting flight through Philadelphia. I knew the winds and rain were a bit crazy since I felt a lot of turbulence on the flight to Philly, but I didn’t realize that it would cause several delays and ultimately a flight cancellation for my return to New York. I waited for hours and hours for an update, and of course all the airline agents were agitated and didn’t know what to tell us. The airport was packed with thousands of passengers who had been displaced, so tension was thick in the air, and I heard a lot of yelling and swearing as I walked through the AA terminal.

I’m only two hours away from New York City, I thought as I charged my phone at an available outlet and tried to figure out my next steps. I could try a car service, maybe even Uber it, wait for a flight tomorrow… what’s it going to be? Oh, well, the car services were all unavailable until 2pm tomorrow, no flights were going to land at LaGuardia airport tonight, and all flights for tomorrow are booked up also until 2pm tomorrow (magic time it appears to be), Uber refused to let me input any address not in Pennsylvania, and when I tried calling the first three airport hotels, they had zero rooms available.

I ended up finally booking a hotel in downtown Philadelphia and booked a seat on Amtrak to get back to the city by midday tomorrow. I never thought I wouldn’t be returning back to New York on this trip via plane and that I’d have to take a disgusting Keystone train back to the city. This trip has become the most exhausting trip ever, and it was all for work. All I want to do is go home, and I can’t do that. My level of frustration is at an all-time high.

I went to see my dress maker yesterday afternoon to discuss what the skirt of my dress is going to look like. As we were discussing the material and the stretchiness, she asked me how the planning was going in terms of managing my family. I was vaguely aware that her family had a lot of dysfunction, but for the most part up until yesterday, I never really told her about my family at all. I told her there was more drama than was really necessary and let her know about my aunt, her estranged son, my selfish cousins in Brooklyn… oh, and the fact that we have two of my mom’s long-time good friends coming to this wedding from Hawaii who don’t realize that Ed is not here anymore.

My dress maker has become like my pseudo therapist. She talked me through these situations and suggested I email these family friends and briefly let them know about Ed. “This little gesture will solve a lot of problems later,” she advised. “Trust me. Don’t let this potentially ruin your wedding day.” She even offered to write the email for me.

If only more people could be this helpful.