Find my device

I’ve lost two phones ever. The first was a Nokia in 1999 somewhere around my sister's driveway. The last was a Samsung S9 in October 2020 at Home Depot. Both were totally puzzling.

Then, recently, I dropped my Pixel 7 Pro crossing the street. I didn’t even notice it fell until the music in my Bluetooth earbuds faded away. That's when i knew i didn't have my phone on me.  I didn't exactly double back—which was my first mistake—and instead I took a slightly different path back to where i last used it.  And it wasn't there.

I was close to home, I rushed inside to open up Find My Device on the web. It showed the phone right at the intersection where I’d crossed, on the south side. I hurried back, searched the corner thoroughly, and came up empty. I even asked a nearby rental car attendant if anyone had handed one in and asked them to call my number.

When I finally heard my distinctive ring-tone... "Danger Will Robinson!" My insides beamed and my heart grew like the Grinch!  I was so relieved to have been reunited with my handheld supercomputer.

Some good Samaritan had found it and tucked it right into the strapping of the bus stop sign on the light post.  I was looking at the ground, and didn't expect it'd be at eye level.  Thank you, whoever you are.  I know a phone is just a thing, but it’s so central to everything we do that losing it instantly creates a massive spike of stress.

It must have dropped out of my pocket.  Usually I ride my bike and it always goes into my backpack zipped up and safe.  The lens cover over the cameral lens was cracked, but still functional 100%.  I had to open up the lens cover, but that's minor.  I will eventually replace my trusty Pixel 7 Pro with a newer version down the road anyways.

As far as personal data goes, I pull photos off my phone regularly, so I wasn't too-too concerned about any lost pics.  All the apps and data can be migrated over easily.  The lost phone can get locked and erased remotely, but it's still unsettling that it is out there alone in the world without you.

Data migration is always smoother when you actually have your old phone on hand. My old Pixel 6 Pro has a screen broken so badly I can't get into it, meaning I had to rely strictly on a Google Drive backup. It was close, but not 100%.

It makes you think about what we carry around. I'm not one to hold on to things—you can only carry so much baggage, and after a certain point, a lot of it becomes irrelevant. (Even tax filings and receipts can be shredded after seven years.)

But memories are yours forever. Have you ever gone through an old photo album that has no context for you? You look at the retro style, squint at the blurry, faded details, but they only have meaning if you were there to experience them. To anyone else, it's just a story they'll eventually forget.

I don't take as many photos anymore anyway. Mostly, I take them to communicate something and then delete them:

• Snapping an item I need to sell or clear out on FB Marketplace.
• Order taking, "Which of these pastries do you want?" 
• DIY, remembering how the wiring goes together.
• Or asking "Which hat should I get?" (Answer: I was instructed to get the one on the far left.)

Memories are deeply personal. To everyone else, it's just a snapshot of you and whoever else at some random spot on the map, with nothing to make it mean something to them.

I read something recently about how much time we spend talking and venting about work, and it made me consider how much better it is to just live your life. The person you're venting to usually has their own world going on and has no ability to help you out.  Except listen. 

It reminds me of our old street cat. He lived his life the way he wanted, got what he needed, and moved on to the next porch. He didn't care about anyone's job; he just wanted his head scratched. I still miss my furry orange friend.

Rain clouds are always in the forecast, and if it spits for even a second, the weather app claims it was 100% right. But rain or shine, it's worth appreciating when someone shields you from getting drenched, and gives you a helping hand—especially when they don't have to, or when they're busy with their own day.

True understanding comes from what’s actually heard, not just what is said. It's always worth imagining yourself on the other side of a conversation, looking at it from the receiving end.   I have to keep reminding myself that when i get on a soapbox.  So that i step down from that box.

I don't recall ever writing publicly about the people who taught me how to be genuinely grateful for what I have rather than what I don't. Even if they were only in my life for a short period, their memory continues to leave a positive mark: reminding us to reciprocate compassion and empathy, to give what we can when we can, and to make life just a little bit better for someone else.