In August, I said farewell to my beloved data…the more than 1,900 photos along with a handful of video and audio recordings I had captured since purchasing my iPhone four years ago. In a flash, they vanished from my phone. It was not easy to say goodbye to these visual and auditory recordings of my life for the past four years. I found myself expressing a full range of emotions: First, confusion and perplexity (How could this happen in the Digital Age?), then anger and frustration (Who can I punch?) then, surprisingly, graceful acceptance (There is nothing more to do, so get over it and move on).

Here’s how it happened. I had asked my husband, Mark, to load some music onto my cell phone so I could enjoy it when I travel. When he connected my phone (older technology) with his computer (newer technology), my phone locked. He and our IT guy tried every way to retrieve my data. Finally, they delivered the bad news: “We’re going to have to restore your phone, which means all of your data will be lost. There’s nothing more we can do. Your data wasn’t backed up. You’re just going to have to accept it.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was this possible? Surely something could be done, right? Still, I remained hopeful throughout the whole ordeal. “Maybe my data is hidden in the phone somewhere.” “Maybe it got locked in some secret area.” I kept hoping and praying that it would show up somewhere. I remained hopeful.

Then something amazing happened. I realized that those photos meant something to me and weren’t necessarily of interest or importance to anyone other than me. They were part of my lived experience. I still had the memory of the places I had visited, the friends and family I had seen. They were still there in my mind’s eye. I could call them up anytime I wanted to. Out of this realization came acceptance. I finally said to myself, “Well, I learned my lesson. Always back up my photos.”

This experience took me back to one I had in my early 20s. I had borrowed my Dad’s Ford Mustang as my car was being fixed. When a friend and I returned from being out all day, we pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building and realized my Dad’s car was gone. It had been stolen. When I called my parents, in tears, to share the bad news, my Dad said, “It’s just a car. We’re glad that you’re okay and nothing happened to you.” From that moment on, I looked at material possessions very differently.

After experiencing the loss of the data on my phone, my husband suggested I replace my old iPhone with a newer iPhone. I was skeptical at first. In the back of my mind, I became curious: I wonder what will happen to my photos. Will they stay locked in my phone forever?

Mark handed me my new iPhone with a smile. “Check this out,” he said. I immediately saw the vast number of photos in my photo gallery – more than 1,900 – and quickly began scanning the remnants of my life for the past four years. “How did you find these?” My husband said, “You’re welcome.” He was able to transfer all of my photos to my new phone. As it turned out, they had not been lost, simply misplaced.

Sometimes we have to have that breakthrough moment – of acceptance – before we can move forward in our lives. What do you need to accept in your life so you can move on? Little did I know that once I accepted the loss of my data, it would reappear. And yes, of course, those photos are now backed up!