A painful lesson
For months, months, I have been ranting about my lack of understanding about technology. In 2008, I lost my hard-drive on my computer in a insta-crash. With it, I lost most of my videos of baby Maren. Since then I’ve been fierce about backing up my computer, and rooted in the truth that I need to be on top of this stuff.
I wave my hand above the head about “The Cloud”, how I “have” The Cloud, I pay a storage fee for The Cloud, but I find it to be elusive and frustrating and hard to manage. But it felt better to have back up capacity than to be vulnerable. I’ve started-stopped-started-stopped trying to catalogue our digital files because I try to stop at the point where my frustration boils to tears. It’s so slow, I can’t tell how many copies of the same thing I have, I don’t know what file name extensions mean, and I-used-to-feel-like-an-intelligent-human-what-just-happened. Unfortunately, this means I make little progress.
I also know that neither my genetics nor my age are helpful in this equation. (Ha!)
With the same mindset, I’ve been trying to be vigilant with my phone, but have been knocked-down-dragged-out frustrated with my lack of ability to understand the communication between my devices. I truly thought that, while my content wasn’t organized content, it was all there somewhere. And, it was all backed up somewhere.
This morning when I woke up at five in the morning and couldn’t use the light on my phone to find my water glass, I had a bad feeling. (Note: no water came in contact with my phone.)
My time spent with the tech support people with regard to my black-screen-no-matter-what-do-iPhone is telling me this: despite thinking I’ve had my phone backed up for the past fourteen months, it has not been backed up.
So, fourteen months of photos and videos of our memories are gone. Which is sort of “not a real problem”, but as a mama heavily invested in memory-making moments, it feels like a real problem right now.
My phone is not working (at all), which is a “pwoblem” because, while expensive, at least there is a solution.
I’m having a hard time stomaching the loss of the many moments where I’ve handed someone my phone and said, “Take a picture so we can remember this.” It’s the failsafe for my non-reliable memory, and the tender-aged memories of my daughters. Greta’s first dive into the pool, Maren’s karaoke, my visual collection of mama-notes: a compilation of Jen-isms to save and remember. Also: me cheering for her dive, me laughing at her karaoke.
So, I need someone who understands computers and technology to come over this week and help me start over. I have to get all of my devices synced and communicating and backed up and safe. I’m shaking with anger at myself that I didn’t do this earlier and that I let my techno-inferiority complex rule my action (or inaction, as it seems to be.)
I’m so mad at myself. I am going to the Apple store today and praying for the Genius who will be assisting me. Brad took the kids to church; I didn’t go because I was not feeling very, um, holy this morning. Minutes after he left, Chief Sister walked in. She’s doing my dishes and sistering/mothering/aunting me. I’m hammering my self-dialogue and refusing to wallow. I know it’s the life-well-lived memory mash-up legacy that counts in the end. It’s just the record of the life, not the life itself, that I’ve lost. My perspectacles are right again.
If you have photos or videos that I’ve sent you or that include us, I want them. I just don’t know where to tell you to put them because, well, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it!?
Meanwhile, go back up your device.