Backing up

Reflections from my hard drive

Did you back up your hard drive?

DropBox has been destroying my MacBook’s battery. Probably for years. Could have figured it out sooner if I had done any amount of research. Like many things in life, I ignored the interruptive pop-ups demanding my attention about impending lack of storage, right until I couldn’t take it anymore. Turns out, Miss DropBox had been syncing my entire digital footprint, at all times, for years, which slowly but surely eroded the sanctity of my precious CPU. So I deleted her. Lock stock and barrel, I mowed that bitch down. No remorse. No funeral. Bye Bye!

Dropbox had been sitting there unused, from projects long forgotten. But for years I stopped myself from going near it. What if there were really, really important things in there? Memories I’d forget without my files? Conversely, what if I started combing through the past and found some very upsetting glimpses of days gone by? I was stuck. The horrors of nostalgia were staring back at me through an icon of an opened box.

I didn’t stop to think what was in there. If I did care, it didn’t matter because I couldn’t care. In a time when everything is recorded, reported, archived, detailed, photographed, and video taped, memories start to lose their magic. I don’t need a detailed tableau of what I was doing on a Tuesday afternoon in the spring of 2016. I don’t need to watch 30 minutes worth of videos from a trip I took with an ex I don’t speak to. Memories become clinical when you can analyze every detail. Journals are one thing, but I don’t think it’s healthy to live in the past like that. How many times will I replay an event in my head and wonder, what would I have done differently? That minutia of pixels is candy for the djinn of rumination.

We all remember what happened with Orpheus, right? Maybe we should put more faith in our memories, rather than desperately seeking evidence. Maybe some memories should come to us, rather than us trying to bring them back from the dead. I want to look longingly towards the distant shores of the past, not moor myself in its waters.

I began to wonder…

What about my iCloud though?

I mean, hell, why not. Every once in a while, right. Wade with me a minute.

It’s 2020. Great start… I’ve hunkered into a new living arrangement, as we all have. Living in perpetual, weed induced ennui. If I wasn’t a modern day Charity Hope Valentine, I’d have been a real wasteoid. But I felt more like a lady in perpetual waiting, a debutant with no coming-out ball. When will I get to join in the great tradition of socializing in public? Will I ever be courted, will I ever find true love?

The scene was set for what was to come, and all it took was one DM. I wasn’t even into them, really. I was 20, I was lonely, and they were laying on the attention thick. It felt like everything was telling me that this was it. This is who I was destined to be with for the end times. I wish I could say I was unimpressed, maybe, or sardonically quip about “being charmed” at their not-insignificant social media presence. No, they showered me with gifts, they took me on trips. They made me feel special. I thought they were my person.

A year or so later, I’m calling them on the phone to have “The Talk”. The idea that something good could come of our relationship and, conversely, the fear of losing what little I was getting out of it - or worse, losing more of myself if I stayed - had kept me from touching the subject till now. I remember clearly not wanting to do this. It felt like gearing up to shoot Fido because he contracted consumption.

Relationships start to feel like jobs when you’re getting compensated for your commute. Sure, the clothes were nice, but I was herding myself bi-monthly into Amtraks cattle cars to deep clean my millennial partners apartment. That is a bleak reality for a 20 year old. At one point, I fell down the stairs hauling things out, spraining my ankle and breaking a toe. The bones fused, and now I have a bodily memory of my first ever big relationship - one unbending toe. That’s also how I describe the stubbornness of an Aquarius.

I thought if I worked hard enough, they’d suddenly be interested in my hobbies, or make an effort to visit me, and meet my friends. To think I spent a year of my life familiarizing myself with Taylor Swift and StarBucks menus to garner favor with my emotional employer. The two vacations we went on were nice. But, in the end, they were buying my attention, and this transaction only went one way.

Just like my DropBox notifications, I was being told that I was running out of time, and if I didn’t act, a choice would be made for me. So I broke up with them, begrudgingly, despite feeling strongly that they should have been the one to break up with me. I remember them mentioning, right before hanging up, that maybe now they could reconnect with their ex. My last thought during that phone call was “Maybe I was right to have been worried about how upset they got when I looked at their phone”.

Here’s the deal.

1. The only addict you can fix is yourself. Left turn, I know, and I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you. If your parents were (are) addicts, you’ll either be habitually drawn to addicts or incredibly boundaried with them. Be the latter. It’s not worth the Juicy track suit.

2. You’ll learn your lessons at the pace you learn them. Whatever frustration you have about where you are now has got to be your motivation to jump into love. You gotta pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep trying.

3. You will, eventually, want (or need) to leave someone or something important in your life. Maybe you need to leave your paramour, or maybe you need to delete your DropBox. There are two questions we all consider: the when, and the how. I’ve stayed in relationships too long and I’ve left ones too early. But I’ll tell you what, I haven’t regretted leaving early as much as I’ve regretted leaving too late. Don’t let your battery die.

One last bit of advice. If you’re thinking about an ex and you’re wanting to text them, this is Allahs gracious and merciful invitation to find a new hobby. I don’t care if its nostalgia, heartache or boredom. Redirect diva. I’m personally exploring ceramics.