Time to bid farewell to an old, dear, and familiar friend, a seven-character one whose identity was inscribed, as if by magic, on my fingertips, which flew over the keyboard to bring it to life, time and time again. The time has come for me to lay it to rest, after years and years of yeoman service as a gatekeeper and sentry sans pareil. For years it guarded my electronic stores, my digital repositories of files and email messages. It made sure no interlopers trespassed on these vital treasures, perhaps to defile and destroy, or worse, to embarrass me by firing off missives to all and sundry in the world signed by me, and invoking the wrath of those offended and displeased upon my head. It’s ‘design’ was simple, the artful placement of a special character between a pair of triplet letters that served to produce a colloquial term referring to a major rock band. (Sorry for being coy, but I have hopes of resurrecting this password at some point in the future when the madness about overly-secure passwords and yet utterly useless passwords has broken down.) Once devised this password worked like magic; it was easy to remember, and I never forgot it, no matter how dire the circumstances.
Once my life became sufficiently complicated to require more than one computer account, as an increasing number of aspects of my life moved online, this password was pressed into double and later, triple and quadruple duty: email clients, utilities billing accounts, mortgage payments, online streaming sites, and all of the rest. I knew this was a security risk of sorts but I persisted; like many other computer users, I dreaded having to learn new, increasingly complicated passwords, and of course, I was just plain lazy. And yet, I was curiously protective of my password; I never shared it with anyone, not even a cohabiting girlfriend. My resistance broke down once I got married; my life was now even more intertwined with another person, our affairs messily tangled up; we often needed access to each others’ computer accounts. And so, it came to be: I shared my password with my wife. I wondered, as I wrote it down for her, whether she’d notice my little verbal trick, my little attempt to be clever. Much to my disappointment she did not; she was all business; all she wanted was a string of letters that would let her retrieve a piece of information that she needed.
The end when it came, was prompted by a series of mishaps and by increasingly onerous security policies: my Twitter account was hacked and many new online accounts required new passwords whose requirements could not be met by my old password. With some reluctance, I began adopting a series of new passwords, slowly consolidating them into a pair of alphanumeric combinations. My older password still worked, but on increasingly fewer accounts. Finally, another security breach was the last straw; I had been caught, and found wanting; the time had come to move on. So I did. But not without the odd backward glance or two, back at an older and simpler time.