Last month was spent in a state of upheaval. After seven years in New York I was heading back to the opposite coast, which had led me to go though the hundreds of pounds of accumulated junk one accidentally collects in boxes over the years.
Shifting my focus to a plastic tower that has sat beside my desk and held my office supplies since long before I even got to NY, I found something I hadn't prepared for: the first, second, third, and fourth cell phones I'd ever owned. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was because these very devices would somehow lead me to the job I have now, but looking at these long-dead electronic bricks I was hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia. I've written before about how personal cell-phones are to us, but it didn't hit me until that moment how deeply tied into my life each of them were, and a flood of memories came rushing in.