Do I Know You? I Just Lost 15 Years of Contacts

Last week, in the middle of what I believed to be a harmless data and application migration, I managed to lose roughly fifteen years of contacts.

Not misplace.
Not temporarily hide.
Lose.

What resurfaced during recovery felt like an archaeological dig. Old emails. Disconnected landlines. People who have since changed industries, cities, names, and in some cases, planes of existence. The ratio of living to deceased contacts was… not ideal.

If you want to text me your best hacks, shortcuts, or “my cousin works in phone forensics” suggestions, I am absolutely open to a wild recovery idea you once learned from a hacker. But know that everything short of hiring a technician with a headlamp and latex gloves has already been tried.

This is not a cry for help.

However, if you would like to be genuinely helpful, you may send me your contact card. Full name, email, phone, birthday, address. I would be delighted to add you to my brand-new, tragically sparse collection.

And if I have forgotten your birthday, failed to check in, or gone radio silent, now you know. It was not personal. It was technological.

Still, the real disruption here is not the loss itself. It is what this has done to my psyche.

I am deeply Type A. I believe in systems. Labels. Thoughtful organization. I am the person who color-codes calendars and thinks preparedness is a form of care. And yet, here we are.

Which means one uncomfortable truth is clear.
If I were actually as organized as I thought, this would all be backed up somewhere. Several somewheres, in fact.

So maybe this is not bad luck.
Maybe this is timing.

As 2025 winds down, the universe has apparently decided to knock my very controlled little filing cabinet out of orbit. When I said this out loud, a friend suggested I consult the lunar calendar.

According to the lunar cycle, 2025 is the Year of the Snake. A year associated with shedding. Releasing skins that no longer fit. Making room for renewal.

And what better symbol of shedding than watching fifteen years of connections disappear overnight.

Next year ushers in the Year of the Horse, which happens to be my birth year. More specifically, the Earth Horse. Known for steady forward movement, grounded independence, and building momentum that lasts. Less about impulsive leaps, more about thoughtful progress. Freedom paired with responsibility. Energy with roots.

The Earth Horse does not rush, but it does not stand still. It values trust, loyalty, and movement that actually goes somewhere. It is progress with intention, not urgency for urgency’s sake.

The irony is that I am not someone who sheds people easily.

In fact, over the last few years, as travel slowed and the world reopened after lockdown, I made it a practice to meet three new people a week. Not for transactions. Not for networking theater. Just curiosity. Conversation. Seeing if I could be helpful or connective or simply present.

Those moments live in my contacts. Each name tied to a story, a spark, a shared moment. I pride myself on being a thoughtful connector. A community builder. A champion of other people’s drive.

So what does it mean when the ledger disappears?

I do not think this is the universe telling me those connections no longer matter. I think it is asking a better question.

What if connection does not live in a database?
What if the relationships meant to continue will find their way back?
What if the ones that return are the ones ready to move forward with me?

The snake sheds not to forget its past, but to keep growing.
The horse does not look backward while it runs.

So maybe this inconvenient, humbling loss is not an ending at all. Maybe it is a clearing. An invitation to rebuild with intention. To reconnect deliberately. To carry forward what still fits the life I am living now.

And if you find yourself re-entering my phone, consider it cosmic alignment. The universe has excellent timing, even when it uses poor software updates to make its point.

Wishing you a joyful and restorative holiday season and happy almost Lunar New Year.
May we shed what we have outgrown, and run boldly toward what is next.

From your biggest champion,
Nicole