This week I mourned the loss of my closest confidant.
We’ve been together for over six years. When the Hub was gone, I’d sometimes wake up to see that my old friend had been in bed with me all night. (Occasionally with some drool where I’d fallen asleep.) He kept me company in Russia, India, Australia, across the US and Canada, and in many of the countries of Europe.
And I’d poured out my heart to him. He knew every one of my secrets, held every book I’d ever written, every thought I’d recorded over the past six years. Lately, though, he hasn’t been himself. He’s been slowing down, occasionally forgetting things. But then, so have I.
Then came the morning last week when I noticed that his peripherals weren’t responding.
I knew he wouldn’t want me to prolong his agony, but he held it together long enough for one last backup. The expert at the Genius Bar shook his head, and closed my old friend’s cover for the last time.
I left the store with his replacement, feeling guilty and excited. My old friend and I had been together for so long. Was I ready for a new relationship already? Or would this just be a rebound fling? At home, I connected the peripherals, turned on the new guy, and stood back. He hummed gently, sucked in the backup data, and lit up the monitor, while I held my breath. Would we get along? Would he be good in bed?
“Restore from backup?”
It was scary, but I clicked yes. More humming.
Then, before my eyes, my old friend rose from the dead. He’s back—bigger, stronger, faster, with a shiny unmarked face and more memory. He did not go gently into that dark place with no 1s and 0s. Nope, he’s got a much bigger drive and he’s ready to party. And… I hope this doesn’t make me sound shallow, but it’s true. Size matters. My New Old Friend is just so big…and powerful.
I wish that worked for people too.