I went to Boston last month to staff my second WordCamp Boston. It was supposed to be a short trip: head up Friday night in time for dinner, work the table Saturday and Sunday, and catch a plane back Sunday afternoon.
The key phrase there is “supposed to.”
At the airport on Sunday, my husband texted me:
The flight wasn’t okay. My plane made it to Boston, but it was declared unsafe to fly back to Harrisburg. American Airlines gave me two options: fly to Philadelphia at 6 am and wait until 3 pm for a connection into Harrisburg, or take the same flight again the next day at 7 pm.
I was like “uh, I’ll just take the same flight…”
So I plopped down in the airport, pulled up Hotel Tonight (hat tip: Stephen), and booked myself into a fancy Marriott for the evening assuming I’d get home on Monday without any issues. Then I called a Lyft and left the airport, thanking my anxious self for always packing extra everything, even in a backpack.
The next day my flight was canceled again.
So that night I ended up taking a train home. Which was not pleasant. But I finally got back to Harrisburg — and my car, racking up daily parking fees in the airport — around 9 am on Tuesday morning, wearing clothing that desperately needed washed and wanting nothing more than a shower and a nap.
I livetweeted my train journey at #nicoleridesatrain.
So, with all of this said, I mostly took photos of what I ate in Boston, specifically in hotels or the airport:
I can laugh about my extra two days in Boston now that they’re behind me, and to many of you reading this, it probably doesn’t sound that bad. I had somewhere to stay, Automattic reimbursed my hotel and the cost of a train ticket home, and I had food to eat, right?
But the anxiety that accompanied all this was … interesting. I’m just starting Prozac again (and honestly, not for mental illness reasons — but for my fibromyalgia, of all things) and I had to talk myself through each and every unexpected twist and turn of the trip. Every delayed or canceled flight brought with it a new pep talk.
And at the end of it, when I finally got home, I was like “huh, I did it. I actually did it. I never thought I could make it through something like that…”
With this trip behind me, I’m thinking of adding to my anxiety tattoo. It feels right, now. I look forward to seeing how much I can grow the design as I grow as a person and overcome my fears. 🙂
But really, Boston, you’re lucky I like you so much. I wouldn’t have coped this well if I’d been stuck in like, Dallas or something.