Hard Reset
A wiped hard drive and fresh starts
This is a story about starting over.
A blank slate. Tabula rasa. A fresh start.
It begins with a MacBook (but it’s not really about the MacBook).
I have a 2018 Intel MacBook Pro. When I bought it, I maxed out the specs. Like I always do. It served me well through intense work cycles and then 18 months of travel. It was one of the few constants as everything else changed.
Last year it started overheating. Shutting down in the middle of calls. Or even crashing while editing documents.
Seven years is a solid run. Still, I wanted another year or two out of it. I buy quality and make things last, whether it’s a laptop, phone or shoes (see Vimes’ Boots Theory).
So I took it to a well reviewed repair shop. They reapplied the thermal paste. Showed me photos, the old paste was dried up, cracked like dust. That made sense.
But the machine still overheated. Within ten minutes of heavy usage it shut itself down again.
I did some research and downloaded Macs Fan Control, a utility to manually control the fans. I set them to full blast.
It was loud but stable. I stress tested it for an hour.
The issue seemed to be the fans not ramping up fast enough as the temperature spiked, possibly a faulty sensor or corrupted firmware logic. I set custom rules to manage the fans better. Not ideal, but workable.
I returned to the shop to see what else the owner could do. “You shouldn’t need a workaround.” he said. “Let me work on it some more.”
A few days later he asked if I had a backup. I did, sort of. Files and folders, but no full system image. No apps, no settings, no history.
He wiped the machine assuming I had a full Time Machine backup.
And with that, eleven years of accumulated digital life, including what I’d migrated “as is” from an earlier MacBook, was gone.
When I found out it gave me pause. There was a sense of loss.
Yes, the important files were safe. My tabs, passwords, contacts were synced to the cloud too. But what I’d lost was harder to define.
The way the digital furniture was arranged. The quirks. The detritus. The lived-in feel of a system that had grown with me, through many versions of myself.
It felt like losing a room you’d spent years in. Or rather the way the room was set up.
But then I also had a sense of relief. Or maybe, clarity.
That MacBook had been with me through some of the most disorientating, yet transformative, years of my life.
Three years on a career break. 18 months of travel. Extended ambiguity and uncertainty about what was next. Enough savings to keep going, but no map.
I was existing in liminal spaces, between who I was and who I might become.
Eventually I received an ADHD diagnosis. Then autism.
My past finally made sense.
And with that came grief. For what was and for what might have been. Along with that came letting go, acceptance and ultimately, healing.
That machine held the artifacts of that entire period. The mess and momentum of it. Bits and pieces. Invoices and remittances from contract roles, boarding passes, ADHD assessment forms… Looking through the Downloads folder alone would’ve been like an archaeological expedition.
And now it was clean.
It felt symbolic. A forced reset. A kind of mirror to my own process: reflecting, releasing, rebuilding.
The shop eventually diagnosed it as corrupted firmware. Replaced the chip. Ran stress tests overnight. No extra charge.
I picked it up, hopeful. But within ten minutes it crashed again.
Same issue. Console logs confirmed the thermal panic. There were multiple crashes before I’d even picked it up that day.
I cut my losses. Macs Fan Control worked well enough. And I only needed another year or so out of it anyway.
The thermal paste had needed to be reapplied, even if it didn’t solve the root problem.
I copied over my backup files but didn’t try to recreate the old set up. I wasn’t interested in rebuilding what had been.
You can’t go home again.
Letting go is important. So is mourning, however small the thing. Even a desktop layout can carry emotional weight. Our tools travel with us. They reflect us. When we change our tools evolve with us.
This machine had been with multiple versions of me.
I bought it when I was a contractor. I’d used it for running code, writing strategy papers, presenting slide decks and more.
Then it came with me through airports, hotels, and trains. It helped me research destinations, book flights and accommodation and organise notes.
It’s also where I started writing.
First my memoir that hit 100,000 words. Then blog posts during my travels. Processing, reflecting and becoming.
It was a tool but it was also a container for all that growth and flux.
Now it’s clean. Lighter. Different.
I ask:
Is it still the same MacBook?
…am I still the same person?
Both can be answered with yes and no.
But maybe it doesn’t matter.
We are always becoming.
So I started fresh. Timely, I’d just moved to a new place. The first time I had a place of my own in two and a half years.
Like with the flat and furnishings, decor and arrangement, there was no rush with the MacBook.
I installed apps only when I needed them. I keep it stripped-down. Intentional. Purposeful.
Before long I was back to writing and researching. Connected, focused and in flow.
Which is all that really matters.
This isn’t a story about MacBook overheating issues or botched repairs.
It’s about change. The kind you don’t choose but learn to accept.
It’s about identity, adaptation and letting go of systems that once served you but don’t any longer.
Sometimes a fresh start is forced on you.
But maybe that’s the point.
Thank you for reading.
