I spent last week in Lisbon, one of those rare cities that feels both instantly comfortable and endlessly fascinating. My daughter joined me for a few days before we continued on to my place in Brazil. We wandered through the tiled neighborhoods, ate more pastries than I will publicly admit, and discovered that the best parts of Lisbon often appeared when we stopped trying to find them. The city itself was warm and welcoming, and every time I attempted to speak Portuguese, people would smile kindly and immediately switch to flawless English.
At some point near the end of the trip, as we stepped out of an Uber, I noticed something felt off. It took about thirty seconds to understand what it was. My phone was not with me. I looked in every pocket, double checked my bag, looked again, and felt that slow sinking realization you get only when something important is suddenly gone. The Uber was already turning the corner and taking my phone, wherever it was wedged or tucked, with it. I couldn’t call the driver because my phone was lost in the car. I couldn’t log in on my daughter’s phone because every access point required two-factor authentication through a device that was now on its own tour of Lisbon. By the time I managed to connect with an Uber support forum, it was clear that nothing would be resolved before I flew out.
I had already planned to replace my phone in the United States in a few weeks, as the prices there are significantly lower than in Brazil. What I did not realize was that Portugal was also a much better option. At El Corte Inglés in Lisbon, I was able to buy the exact model I wanted for roughly the same cost as in the US. That part was surprisingly easy. The next part was not. Once the new phone was in my hand, I discovered the strange trap of modern life. I couldn’t activate anything without my Brazilian number, but many of my apps were locked behind two-factor authentication codes that were sent to my American number. To reactivate my American number, I needed a verification process that depended on my American number. It felt like trying to get into a house where every door required a key that was locked inside a different door.
It took days to straighten everything out, and none of it unfolded smoothly. I navigated support lines, reissued eSIMs, reauthenticated accounts, and jumped through a series of steps that felt more like a puzzle than a process. During this period, I relied on my credit cards, my daughter’s phone, and patient reminders that everything would eventually be sorted.
The unexpected lesson was a simple one. Our entire world now runs through a single object we carry in our pocket. I am a member of Generation X, and I vividly remember life before cell phones. I recall using paper maps and providing directions by referencing landmarks rather than GPS coordinates. I remember calling home with a quarter. But whatever muscle memory I have from that era does not change the reality that our current systems are not built for a non-digital world. When one phone disappears, almost everything else comes to a stop. Money, communication, travel, banking, messaging, authentication, access to basic accounts, and even something as simple as retrieving your Uber driver’s number become impossible if the one device that stores your identity is gone.
I never felt unsafe or stranded. I had my daughter with me, and I had backup cards. However, I did feel humbled in a way I had not expected. Losing my phone in Lisbon revealed just how profoundly intertwined our daily lives have become with technology. It showed me how dependent we all are on a system that assumes nothing ever breaks, disconnects, or gets left behind in the back seat of a car.
And yet the trip was terrific. Lisbon was beautiful. My daughter and I created memories I will hold onto for a long time. I bought a new phone for a fair price. And through all of it, I was reminded that resilience sometimes begins with the small ability to pause, steady yourself, and keep going even when one piece of the modern infrastructure fails. Somewhere in Portugal, my old phone is still sitting behind a seat in a car, patiently broadcasting its little location dot. I hope it is enjoying the view. And in a couple of weeks, when I am in Madrid, I will be guarding my phone with my life.
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