Several years ago, I began asking my friends and family to tell me something about their passwords. Yes, I understand why passwords are universally hated: the pressure they put on our memory and the endless demand to update them. I hate them too. But there is more to passwords than their annoyance. In the fact that we construct them so that we can remember them, they take on secret lives.
There was a former prisoner whose password includes what used to be his prison ID number to constantly tell him not to go back. And there was a childless 45-year-old woman whose password is the name of the baby she lost in her 25 (her way of trying to keep him alive, I guess).
Sometimes the passwords were playful. Several people said they used "incorrect" for theirs so that when they forgot it, the software automatically promoted them with the right one ("your password is incorrect").
Some passwords were striking for their uniqueness. After reading Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean in: Women, Work and the Will to Lead, Cortni Kerr, a running partner of mine, found her role model and began using "Wwssdol9", which stood for "What would Sheryl Sandberg do" plus "19" for the year (2019) of the password's creation. "TnsitTpsif" was the password of another friend, a computer scientist who loves wordplay. It stood for "The next sentence is true. The previous sentence is false". For my friend, it was a playful reference to the knots that language can tie.
The 4622 that my wife used in her passwords was not just the address of her father's childhood home but also a reminder of his strength. Apparently, when the former 120 kg football standout was a small boy, he had to sing his home address (4622 South 28th West Avenue) in one full breath rather than try to say it normally. Otherwise, his stutter (口吃) would embarrass him.
