Backup Life Quotes

[novan]: bassists are very good with their fingers [novan]: and some of us sing backup vocals, so that means we're good with our mouths too... (~ IM chat with Novan Chang, 18, bassist)

Simon whispered to me, “But is everything okay?” “No,” Tori said. “I kidnapped her and forced her to escape with me. I’ve been using her as a human shield against those guys with guns, and I was just about to strangle her and leave her body here to throw them off my trail. But then you showed up and foiled my evil plans. Lucky for you, though. You get to rescue poor little Chloe again and win her undying gratitude.” “Undying gratitude?” Simon looked at me. “Cool. Does that come with eternal servitude? If so, I like my eggs sunnyside up.” I smiled. “I’ll remember that.” *** “Oh, right. You must be starving.” Simon reached into his pockets. “I can offer one bruised apple and one brown banana. Convenience stores aren’t the place to buy fruit, as I keep telling someone.” “Better than these. For you, anyway, Simon.” Derek passed a bar to Tori. “Because you aren’t supposed to have those, are you?” I said. “Which reminds me…” I took out the insulin. “Derek said it’s your backup.” “So my dark secret is out.” “I didn’t know it was a secret.” “Not really. Just not something I advertise.” ... “Backup?” Tori said. “You mean he didn’t need that?” “Apparently not,” I murmured. Simon looked from her to me, confused, then understanding. “You guys thought…” “That if you didn’t get your medicine in the next twenty-four hours, you’d be dead?” I said. “Not exactly, but close. You know, the old ‘upping the ante with a fatal disease that needs medication’ twist. Apparently, it still works.” “Kind of a letdown, then, huh?” “No kidding. Here we were, expecting to find you minutes from death. Look at you, not even gasping.” “All right, then. Emergency medical situation, take two.” He leaped to his feet, staggered, keeled over, then lifted his head weakly. “Chloe? Is that you?” He coughed. “Do you have my insulin?” I placed it in his outstretched hand. “You saved my life,” he said. “How can I ever repay you?” “Undying servitude sounds good. I like my eggs scrambled.” He held up a piece of fruit. “Would you settle for a bruised apple?” I laughed.

The Heir and the Spare—there was no judgment about it, but also no ambiguity. I was the shadow, the support, the Plan B. I was brought into the world in case something happened to Willy. I was summoned to provide backup, distraction, diversion and, if necessary, a spare part. Kidney, perhaps. Blood transfusion. Speck of bone marrow. This was all made explicitly clear to me from the start of life’s journey and regularly reinforced thereafter.

The woman I wanted to spend my life with was gone. I wasn’t in the mood to find a backup.

You are far too amazing to be someone's backup. You're someone's first choice.

I don’t believe we should carry backup plans in life’s suitcase— they’re too easy to unpack like living a life in yoga pants, so comfortable our hips spread into new timezones...

My backup plan is to challenge Bearbreaker to single combat, defeat him, become Queen of the Zerkers and spend the rest of my life riding a giant motorcycle over frozen tundra.

I want to talk about creating your life. There’s a quote I love, from the poet Mary Oliver, that goes: Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? I so clearly remember what it was like, being young and always in the grip of some big fat daydream. I wanted to be a writer always, but more than that, I wanted to have an extraordinary life. I’m sure I dreamed it a million different ways, and that plenty of them were ridiculous, but I think the daydreams were training for writing, and I also think they spurred me to pursue my dreams for real. Daydreaming, however awesome it is, is passive. It happens in your head. Learning to make dreams real is another matter, and I think it should be the work of your life. Everyone’s life, whatever their dream (unless their dream is to be an axe murderer or something.) It took me a while to finish a book. Too long. And you know, it doesn’t matter how good a writer you are unless you finish what you start! I think this is the hardest part for most people who want to write. I was in my mid-30s before I figured it out. The brain plays tricks. You can be convinced you’re following your dream, or that you’re going to start tomorrow, and years can pass like that. Years. The thing is, there will be pressure to adjust your expectations, always shrinking them, shrinking, shrinking, until they fit in your pocket like a folded slip of paper, and you know what happens to folded slips of paper in your pocket. They go through the wash and get ruined. Don’t ever put your dream in your pocket. If you have to put it somewhere, get one of those holsters for your belt, like my dad has for his phone, so you can whip it out at any moment. Hello there, dream. Also, don’t be realistic. The word “realistic” is poison. Who decides? And “backup plan” is code for, “Give up on your dreams,” and everyone I know who put any energy into a backup plan is now living that backup plan instead of their dream. Put all your energy into your dream. That’s the only way it will ever become real. The world at large has this attitude, “What makes you so special that you think you deserve an extraordinary life?” Personally, I think the passion for an extraordinary life, and the courage to pursue it, is what makes us special. And I don’t even think of it as an “extraordinary life” anymore so much as simple happiness. It’s rarer than it should be, and I believe it comes from creating a life that fits you perfectly, not taking what’s already there, but making your own from scratch. You can let life happen to you, or you can happen to life. It’s harder, but so much better.

Connect with supportive people who empower you. The more you jump into your life, the further away from Ed you can get. Don’t have a backup plan for living. Live today. […] Trust in God. Believe in yourself. Get friends and family members to stand behind you. That’s the only backup you’ll need.

Of course, when the personal life sucked, delusion held a certain appeal.

Leila, I love you so much that it’s sometimes hard for me to breathe. You have changed my life. You have altered every cell in my body. You completely own me. By simply staring into my eyes, you can bring me to my knees. I want you to know, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I will laugh with you. I will cry with you. I will keep you safe. I will remind you how much I love you every day for the rest of our lives.

Waiting for him I check behind me, to be sure I haven’t accidentally activated my backup tank of oxygen, and that’s when I notice the universe. The scale is graphically shocking. The colors, too. The incongruity is stupefying: there I was, inside a small box, but now—how is this possible?

Backup?" Tori said. "You mean he didn't need that?" "Apparently not," I murmured. Simon looked from her to me, confused, then understanding. "You guys thought..." "That if you didn't get your medicine in the next twenty-four hours, you'd be dead?" I said. "Not exactly, but close. You know, the old 'upping the ante with a fatal disease that needs medication' twist. Apparently, it still works." "Kind of a letdown, then, huh?" "No kidding. Here we were, expecting to find you minutes from death. Look at you, not even gasping." "All right, then. Emergency medical situation, take two." He leaped to his feet, staggered, keeled over, then lifted his head weakly. "Chloe? Is that you?" He coughed. "Do you have my insulin?" I placed it in his outstretched hand. "You saved my life," he said. "How can I ever repay you?" "Undying servitude sounds good. I like my eggs scrambled." He held up a piece of fruit. "Would you settle for a bruised apple?

I’d have to prove to everyone, including Ellia, that I was more than some guy she used to know, that what we shared had and still mattered. She may have forgotten the promise we made on the beach, but I hadn’t, and it was up to me to backup those words with action. Memories and ghosts were for the dead. Living things moved, and I was never one to stand still." ~Liam

Prepare to evacuate soul in ten, in nine, eight. Chloe's splashing through the ankle-deep back-up of renal fluid from her failed kidneys. Death will commence in five. Five, four. Around her, a parasitic life spray paints her heart. Four, three. Three, two. Chloe climbs hand-over-hand up the curled lining of her own throat. Death to commence in three, two. Moonlight shines in through the open mout... h. Prepare for the last breath, now. Evacuate. Now. Soul clear of body. Death commences. Now.

Wesley, you asshole,” Eriksson says. “Aren’t you going to tell us?” “Tell you what?” I growl. My sex life is none of their goddamn business. “How is he? Jesus Christ. The TV news makes it sound like your boyfriend might be getting last rites.” My fingers falter on the buttons of my bright green checked shirt. “W-what?” Our backup goalie Tomilson speaks up wryly. “I think what Mr. Sensitive is trying to ask is, is your partner okay?

If something happened to Suzanne I don’t think I would want to go through with finding somebody else either. I’d feel quite lost without her. It would be like separating Siamese twins, as we’ve been through everything together. Which can also be handy, as my memory isn’t what it used to be, so I use hers as my back-up memory drive. Meeting someone new would be like getting a new phone. You have to start again, input all of your information into them while trying to get to know their functions.

Let God backup the files of your life If the world corrupt your goodness, God will restore them

Review everything you hear. You will not hear everything the first time, so double-check. Compare notes with your team members. You will often discover new information that will help you advance the negotiation. ■​Use backup listeners whose only job is to listen between the lines. They will hear things you miss. In other words: listen, listen again, and listen some more.

I didn't have enough other people in my life to cover the loss of this many people at once. I didn't have spare aunties or cousins or grandparents. I didn't have backup. I didn't have insurance to cover a loss like this.

The Law of Attraction takes into account all of your doubts. So, if you say you practice the Law of Attraction yet always carry an extra parachute with a Plan B, C, & D for those ‘just in case’ scenarios… you may be tricking yourself into believing that you believe when, in actuality, you are quite insecure. If you always have a backup plan ready – though it may come off as ‘prepared’ and ‘smart’ – it also implies that you do not fully trust that Spirit will always provide.

Bitter truths have the power to expect backups if they are shared at all.

Life is about falling-Living is about getting backup.

She was staring at him. “I could not live with losing you,” he told her, his throat tight. “There are times when I have had to let you go out into danger without me. More times when I haven’t known about threats to your life until they were long past. But this time…this time I have the privilege of being backup while you head out to see if we can rescue your brother.

Most people have an avoidance orientation toward life. They aren’t acting according to their deepest desires. Instead, they’re playing it safe. They’re calculating their moves to ensure they don’t look stupid. They’re hedging their bets, creating several backup plans in case their dreams don’t quite work out. Ironically, they end up dedicating the majority to their backup plans, and that becomes their life.

I opened the bag and pulled out a small box of chocolates. “Happy anniversary.” “Oh. Thanks.” She flashed me a huge smile that would have looked totally real … if I didn’t know her better. “Simon said that’s what I should get you. That or flowers. So you like it?” “Sure.” “Liar.” Her face went bright red now as she stammered, “N-no, really. It’s great. It’s—” “Completely and totally impersonal. Like something you’d buy in bulk for all your teachers.” “No, I like this kind. You know I do and—” She stopped as I held out the bag. “Your real gift,” I said. She looked in and let out a choking laugh. Then, still grinning, she reached in and pulled out a penlight, a Swiss army knife and a purse-sized can of mace. She sputtered another laugh. “This is …” “Practical?” I said. “In my life, it is definitely practical. But I was going to say thoughtful.” She smiled up at me. “The most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.” “And the most completely unromantic? Simon almost had a heart attack when I showed him. He made me get the chocolates, as a backup.” “I’m sure he did. Which I suppose explains why I ended up with you instead.” She rose on tiptoes again and put her arms around my neck. “Because buying me gifts to keep me safe? That’s my idea of romantic.”

This was the move that was supposed to sweep me away. She seemed a little out of practice. I guess life with Charley Royce hadn’t exactly been the third reel of The English Patient. It had to be bad if Mickey Dolan was your back-up. Not to put Mickey down but he didn’t strike me as the lover-boy type. Especially when he took out his teeth. The last time Mickey thought about pleasing anybody but himself was just before he discovered how to sniff glue.

You’re the person who apologizes for apologizing. Your emails start with “Just wondering if maybe...” and end with “Sorry for bothering you!” Your drafts have drafts, and your backup plans have backup plans. Perfection and hesitation are your second and third names.

■​Let what you know—your known knowns—guide you but not blind you. Every case is new, so remain flexible and adaptable. Remember the Griffin bank crisis: no hostage-taker had killed a hostage on deadline, until he did. ■​Black Swans are leverage multipliers. Remember the three types of leverage: positive (the ability to give someone what they want); negative (the ability to hurt someone); and normative (using your counterpart’s norms to bring them around). ■​Work to understand the other side’s “religion.” Digging into worldviews inherently implies moving beyond the negotiating table and into the life, emotional and otherwise, of your counterpart. That’s where Black Swans live. ■​Review everything you hear from your counterpart. You will not hear everything the first time, so double-check. Compare notes with team members. Use backup listeners whose job is to listen between the lines. They will hear things you miss. ■​Exploit the similarity principle. People are more apt to concede to someone they share a cultural similarity with, so dig for what makes them tick and show that you share common ground. ■​When someone seems irrational or crazy, they most likely aren’t. Faced with this situation, search for constraints, hidden desires, and bad information. ■​Get face time with your counterpart. Ten minutes of face time often reveals more than days of research. Pay special attention to your counterpart’s verbal and nonverbal communication at unguarded moments—at the beginning and the end of the session or when someone says something out of line.

I'm not playing at all. When you treat everyone you meet as either an enemy or a pawn, you give others no choice but to hate or fear you. No one's strong forever. No matter how good a user you are, when you treat others like tools, you're setting yourself up for an endgame that inevitably leaves you outnumbered and alone, with no one but resentful pawns for backup. That doesn't sound like victory to me...This doesn't have to be a fight or a war or a game or any of those terrible dragon metaphors for life.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 390 I have to face facts. I'm done prepping the rover. I don't "feel" like I'm done. But it's ready to go: Food: 1692 potatoes. Vitamin pills. Water: 620 liters. Shelter: Rover, trailer, bedroom. Air: Rover and trailer combined storage: 14 liters liquid O2, 14 liters liquid N2. Life Support: Oxygenator and atmospheric regulator. 418 hours of use-and-discard CO2 filters for emergencies. Power: 36 kilowatt-hours of storage. Carrying capacity for 29 solar cells. Heat: 1400-watt RTG. Homemade reservoir to heat regulator's return air. Electric heater in rover as backup. Disco: Lifetime supply.

One of the things that I’ve always felt missing from funerals and services is the voice of the man or woman who was the deceased’s partner in life. I’ve always wanted to hear from the person who’d loved them more than anyone. Biblically, the two become one flesh--the spouse is their other half. It has always seemed to me that his or her voice was critical to truly understanding who the deceased was in life. I also felt that American Sniper had told only part of Chris’s story--an angry part in much of it. There was so much more to him that I wanted the world to know. People said Chris was blessed that I hung in there during his service to our country; in fact, I was the one who was blessed. I wanted everyone to hear me say that. Beforehand, a friend suggested I have a backup in case I couldn’t finish reading my speech--a “highway option,” as Chris used to call it: the way out if things didn’t go as planned. I refused. I didn’t want a way out. It wasn’t supposed to be easy. Knowing that I had to go through with it, that I had to finish--that was my motivator. That was my guarantee that I would finish, that I would keep moving into the future, as painful as it surely would be. When you think you cannot do something, think again. Chris always said, “The body will do whatever the mind tells it to.” I am counting on that now. I stand before you a broken woman, but I am now and always will be the wife of a man who is a warrior both on the battlefield and off. Some people along the way told Chris that through it all, he was lucky I stayed with him. I am standing before you now to set the record straight. Remember this: I am the one who is literally, in every sense of the word, blessed that Chris stayed with me. I feel compelled to tell you that I am not a fan of people romanticizing their loved ones in death. I don’t need to romanticize Chris, because our reality is messy, passionate, full of every extreme emotion known to man, including fear, compassion, anger, pain, laughing so hard we doubled over and hugged it out, laughing when we were irritated with each other and laughing when we were so in love it felt like someone hung the moon for only us… I looked at the kids as I neared the end, talking to them and only them. Tears ran from their faces. Bubba’s head hung down. It broke my heart. I kept reading. Then I was done.

Yes,” her boss responded, “one for us and one for the customer.” “I’m sorry, so you are saying that the client is asking for a copy and we need a copy for internal use?” “Actually, I’ll check with the client—they haven’t asked for anything. But I definitely want a copy. That’s just how I do business.” “Absolutely,” she responded. “Thanks for checking with the customer. Where would you like to store the in-house copy? There’s no more space in the file room here.” “It’s fine. You can store it anywhere,” he said, slightly perturbed now. “Anywhere?” she mirrored again, with calm concern. When another person’s tone of voice or body language is inconsistent with his words, a good mirror can be particularly useful. In this case, it caused her boss to take a nice, long pause—something he did not often do. My student sat silent. “As a matter of fact, you can put them in my office,” he said, with more composure than he’d had the whole conversation. “I’ll get the new assistant to print it for me after the project is done. For now, just create two digital backups.” A day later her boss emailed and wrote simply, “The two digital backups will be fine.” Not long after, I received an ecstatic email from this student: “I was shocked! I love mirrors! A week of work avoided!” Mirroring will make you feel awkward as heck when you first try it. That’s the only hard part about it; the technique takes a little practice. Once you get the hang of it, though, it’ll become a conversational Swiss Army knife valuable in just about every professional and social setting.

A few chimes ago, however, the screams had fallen mysteriously silent. “Do you think the torture masters have tired themselves out?” Gaelen pondered with black humor. “More likely, we’re next, and they’ve just gone to sharpen their blades,” Tajik said. Locked up in the room with them, Farel gave a grunting laugh of amusement. “Could be. They’ve been using them enough.” “You know,” Gil announced, “as rescues go, I have to say, this one pretty much scorches rultshart turds.” About a man length from the source of Gil’s voice came Rijonn’s rumbling agreement. “Tairen turds.” “I told you,” Gaelen said, “I had backups. I don’t know what happened to them.” A metallic scraping sound came from the direction of the door, and they all fell silent. The scraping sound was followed by the distinctive click of the latch lifting free. The door swung inward, and a sliver of light—the first in bells—spilled into the cell, widening rapidly as the door opened more fully. Two armored silhouettes stood in the doorway. “Well, aren’t you a sorry sight,” a familiar Fey voice drawled. “Kieran?” Gaelen sat up straight. There wasn’t much in life that could surprise him, but the appearance of Kieran vel Solande in the heart of Boura Fell definitely did. “What are you doing here? “ “Apparently, uncle, I’m saving you from a very nasty demise, though gods know, I’m sure it won’t take me long to regret it.” Gaelen grinned, too pleased to take offense at his nephew’s cheek. “Well, it took you long enough,” Bel groused, holding up his hands as Kiel ran over with a key to unlock his sel’dor manacles. “I was starting to get worried.” Gaelen turned on Bel in disbelief. “You knew they were coming? “ Bel arched a brow. “You think the High Mage is the only one who plans backups for his backups?” Rijonn laughed, slow and deep.

To this day, I am still not sure what it was about Chip Gaines that made me give him a second chance--because, basically, our first date was over before it even started. I was working at my father’s Firestone automotive shop the day we first met. I’d worked as my dad’s office manager through my years at Baylor University and was perfectly happy working there afterward while I tried to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. The smell of tires, metal, and grease--that place was like a second home to me, and the guys in the shop were all like my big brothers. On this particular afternoon, they all started teasing me. “You should go out to the lobby, Jo. There’s a hot guy out there. Go talk to him!” they said. “No,” I said. “Stop it! I’m not doing that.” I was all of twenty-three, and I wasn’t exactly outgoing. She was a bit awkward--no doubt about that. I hadn’t dated all that much, and I’d never had a serious relationship--nothing that lasted longer than a month or two. I’d always been an introvert and still am (believe it or not). I was also very picky, and I just wasn’t the type of girl who struck up conversations with guys I didn’t know. I was honestly comfortable being single; I didn’t think that much of it. “Who is this guy, anyway?” I asked, since they all seemed to know him for some reason. “Oh, they call him Hot John,” someone said, laughing. Hot John? There was no way I was going out in that lobby to strike up a conversation with some guy called Hot John. But the guys wouldn’t let up, so I finally said, “Fine.” I gathered up a few things from my desk (in case I needed a backup plan) and rounded the corner into the lobby. I quickly realized that Hot John was pretty good-looking. He’d obviously just finished a workout--he was dressed head-to-toe in cycling gear and was just standing there, innocently waiting on someone from the back. I tried to think about what I might say to strike up a conversation when I got close enough and quickly settled on the obvious topic: cycling. But just as that thought raced through my head, he looked up from his magazine and smiled right at me. Crap, I thought. I completely lost my nerve. I kept on walking right past him and out the lobby’s front door. When I reached the safety of my dad’s outdoor waiting area, I realized just how bad I’d needed the fresh air. I sat on a chair a few down from another customer and immediately started laughing at myself. Did I really just do that?

Click, hum, click, hum, click, hum. Click, click, click, click, click, hum. Hmmm. A low-level supervising program woke up a slightly higher-level supervising program deep in the ship’s semisomnolent cyberbrain and reported to it that whenever it went click all it got was a hum. The higher-level supervising program asked it what it was supposed to get, and the low-level supervising program said that it couldn’t remember what it was meant to get, exactly, but thought it was probably more of a sort of distant satisfied sigh, wasn’t it? It didn’t know what this hum was. Click, hum, click, hum. That was all it was getting. The higher-level supervising program considered this and didn’t like it. It asked the low-level supervising program what exactly it was supervising and the low-level supervising program said it couldn’t remember that either, just that it was something that was meant to go click, sigh every ten years or so, which usually happened without fail. It had tried to consult its error look-up table but couldn’t find it, which was why it had alerted the higher-level supervising program of the problem. The higher-level supervising program went to consult one of its own look-up tables to find out what the low-level supervising program was meant to be supervising. It couldn’t find the look-up table. Odd. It looked again. All it got was an error message. It tried to look up the error message in its error message look-up table and couldn’t find that either. It allowed a couple of nanoseconds to go by while it went through all this again. Then it woke up its sector function supervisor. The sector function supervisor hit immediate problems. It called its supervising agent, which hit problems too. Within a few millionths of a second virtual circuits that had lain dormant, some for years, some for centuries, were flaring into life throughout the ship. Something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong, but none of the supervising programs could tell what it was. At every level, vital instructions were missing, and the instructions about what to do in the event of discovering that vital instructions were missing, were also missing. Small modules of software—agents—surged through the logical pathways, grouping, consulting, regrouping. They quickly established that the ship’s memory, all the way back to its central mission module, was in tatters. No amount of interrogation could determine what it was that had happened. Even the central mission module itself seemed to be damaged. This made the whole problem very simple to deal with, in fact. Replace the central mission module. There was another one, a backup, an exact duplicate of the original. It had to be physically replaced because, for safety reasons, there was no link whatsoever between the original and its backup. Once the central mission module was replaced it could itself supervise the reconstruction of the rest of the system in every detail, and all would be well.

Why You Should Consider Your Old Gmail Account: A Powerful Tool for the Modern Digital World Explore why reviving your old Gmail account could be beneficial for your digital life. Learn about its features, security benefits, and how it can still play a crucial role in your online experience. ✅Email:usaallhub@gmail.com ✅Telegram:@usaallhub ✅WhatsApp:+1 (508) 402-5077 #SEO#usaallhub#socialmedia#USAaccounts#seoservice#Digitalmarketer Why You Should Consider Your Old Gmail Account In a world where digital tools shape much of our daily lives, it's easy to overlook the power of old, dormant accounts. For many of us, Gmail was one of the first email services we used, and it’s often the hub of much of our online activity. But with time, Gmail accounts can fall into disuse, pushed aside by newer email addresses or forgotten as we shift to different platforms. However, if you've been neglecting an old Gmail account, you may want to reconsider that decision. An old Gmail account can still be a highly valuable tool, offering several advantages you might not have considered. In this article, we'll explore why you should consider revisiting and reactivating your old Gmail account, the hidden benefits it offers, and how it can enhance your digital experience in the present day. The Hidden Value of an Old Gmail Account If your old Gmail account is lying dormant in the background, you may be unaware of how much potential it still holds. Gmail isn’t just an email provider; it’s part of a vast ecosystem of Google services that you might still be accessing through other accounts. Let's break down why your old Gmail account could be a hidden gem. 1. Your Gmail Account as a Gateway to Google Services Google's suite of tools—including Google Drive, Google Calendar, Google Photos, Google Docs, and many more—are deeply integrated with Gmail. Even if you no longer use Gmail as your primary email service, the account is still a key to accessing and managing these services. Whether you’re using Google Calendar to manage your schedule, storing photos in Google Photos, or collaborating on documents in Google Docs, your old Gmail account is likely tied to a variety of essential tools. 2. Security Features You Might Be Overlooking Google has invested heavily in security over the years, and old Gmail accounts come with several robust security features that you may not be taking full advantage of. Features like two-step verification (2FA) can be set up on older Gmail accounts, offering an extra layer of protection for your personal data and information. If your old Gmail account is linked to other Google services, it's crucial to ensure these accounts are properly secured to prevent unauthorized access. Gmail accounts also benefit from Google's advanced phishing and spam detection systems, which continue to evolve. Even if you don’t use the Gmail inbox regularly, these security systems are still running in the background to protect your account. 3. Backup for Important Information In today’s fast-paced digital world, it's not uncommon to lose access to important data or misplace documents. If you have old emails or files stored in your Gmail account, those could act as valuable backups. Emails, attachments, and conversations might contain vital information that could be helpful later on. Google’s 15GB of free cloud storage offers a secure place to keep documents, photos, and other important files, and your old Gmail account could be an untapped resource for this purpose. 4. Access to Past Purchases and Transactions If you've ever used your Gmail account to make purchases or interact with businesses, your inbox might contain receipts, order confirmations, flight tickets, subscription renewals, and more. All of these details are invaluable when you're managing finances, keeping track of your spending, or resolving disputes.

That she might marry someone her equal, who needed her as much as she needed him, was a different way to think about marriage. Was it even possible that someone else would join her life, that there could ever be a “we” other than her and her mother? She knew there’d be a day when she’d lose her mother, and that she’d be alone then. But imagine having someone else, a backup—a life partner.

A twelfth-century samurai’s main weapon was his bow, but his sword offered a last line of defense if he ran out of arrows or was knocked off his horse. Yet even as a backup weapon the sword carried a symbolic weight that the bow did not. Weapons like bows and spears were also used for hunting. The sword had a singular purpose: to end human life.

She may think she doesn't need anyone, but why fight trough life alone when you can have backup.

I own just two 5 dollar tshirts - one is my regular wear, another my backup for washdays. And for my travels I own two 10 dollar shirts and two 20 dollar jeans, which are also used for my book covers. I don't need more, I don't buy more. This is not minimalism, it's called self-regulation - the lack of which has led to the shallow, judgmental, privilege-craving prick of a society we live in today. It's not about saving money, it's about humanizing money, by using it wisely, not just for individual benefit, but collective benefit. Buy the things you need the most, save a little for rainy days, and use the rest to lift up the fallen. Any citizen who masters this simple humanitarian habit, is no longer obligated to pay taxes to the government. And when enough citizens of the world make it the mantra of their life, not just to lift themselves, but each other, the governments of the world are automatically rendered obsolete. Government is funded by the people - then the governments use those funds to manufacture war, in order to further sustain the democratic cashflow that keeps them in business. Therefore, when people pull their funds and redirect them themselves, towards actual, tangible, humanitarian initiatives, there isn't going to be a government. It's only the humanitarian indifference of the citizens that keeps governments alive, that in turn keep borders and wars alive. Once the citizens are actually, genuinely, nontheoretically accountable of the welfare of society, beyond the prehistoric paradigm peddled by the state, all Capitol, Kremlin and White Hall will crumble to dust.

Regarding the importance of injuries and their effect on overall team performance, here’s a great example from the NFL: Tampa Bay’s offensive tackle Tristan Wirfs usually wouldn’t be considered a high-impact player. But when Tampa Bay met the Los Angeles Rams in the 2022 playoffs, Wirfs was injured and, because of the unique set of circumstances involving that game, his absence had a major impact. The Rams, led by all-world defensive tackle Aaron Donald, had a ferocious pass rush, and Tom Brady was not the most mobile of quarterbacks. Wirfs, who we normally graded at 1.3 points or so in the regular season, suddenly became a lot more valuable because of his injury—maybe worth as many as 6 points. Here’s why. With Wirfs out, his backup (normally worth 0.3 points) was also injured, but playing. Therefore, with an injury, he was worth no points. We knew the cumulative totals of that injury, along with Wirfs’s absence, were going to have a significant impact on the Bucs’ performance and the outcome of the game. Add the disappearance of wide receiver Antonio Brown, who had left the team weeks earlier, the loss of wide receiver Chris Godwin, and, therefore, the need for tight end Rob Gronkowski to stay inside to help block the pass rush, and I knew the Bucs were in trouble. I wagered accordingly and won the bet, largely because I knew that an injured offensive line was going to change the dynamics of this game. I would have acted differently in the same scenario if the team had a more mobile quarterback or a stronger running attack. Again, these are the special situations in which you have to understand the value of each player, the quality of the opponent, and the overall impact on the score of the game.

On missions like these you don’t want emotions to drive your decisions. If we were compromised crossing the border and the Pakistanis threatened to shoot down our helos, you could easily convince yourself that the mission was so important that you must press forward. Decisions like that rarely ended well. We had a backup plan for every contingency and a backup to the backup.

This wasn’t merely how the press referred to us—though it was definitely that. This was shorthand often used by Pa and Mummy and Grandpa. And even Granny. The Heir and the Spare—there was no judgment about it, but also no ambiguity. I was the shadow, the support, the Plan B. I was brought into the world in case something happened to Willy. I was summoned to provide backup, distraction, diversion and, if necessary, a spare part. Kidney, perhaps. Blood transfusion. Speck of bone marrow. This was all made explicitly clear to me from the start of life’s journey and regularly reinforced thereafter. I was twenty the first time I heard the story of what Pa allegedly said to Mummy the day of my birth: Wonderful! Now you’ve given me an Heir and a Spare—my work is done. A joke. Presumably. On the other hand, minutes after delivering this bit of high comedy, Pa was said to have gone off to meet with his girlfriend. So. Many a true word spoken in jest.

They own the media , so they distort the truth. They control the narrative making themselves heroes, saints and victims. Making everyone else a villain and an enemy. Then there after they would use the same media as reference to backup the lies they are telling. Evil people don't rest . They act brave and tough in everything. They only fear the truth.

This broader, wiser view is built right into the brain of a grandmother, acting as a backup for her child while prioritizing the preciousness of unrestricted love. Personally, what I like most about these findings is the view of women’s responsibilities changing through our lifespan, whether one has biological children and grandchildren or doesn’t. I am moved by how many of us fulfill multiple roles, often beyond blood ties—and how our brains appear to adjust and adapt to the current circumstances, at all ages and in all walks of life. In this spirit, in the next chapter we will spotlight how women’s brains continue to kaleidoscope into fresh talents and strengths for a lifetime of use, as we delve into the evolutionary significance of menopause. 8 The Why of Menopause

She had always stocked the fridge with blueberries. Remembered the names and faces of every man I’d slept with, been the external backup drive of my love life. Smoking everywhere, meeting the most unsuitable men. Jaehee, who had taught me that every season is its own beautiful moment–that Jaehee didn’t live here anymore.

First and foremost, you should be friends with your spouse. You should like and respect the person you intend to spend your life with. Your significant other should make you laugh, be your greatest comfort, know you better than anyone.

they feel less individualistic because they can trivially share knowledge and experience modules with others, and they feel subjectively immortal because they can readily make backup copies of themselves. In a sense, the central entities of life aren’t minds, but experiences: exceptionally amazing experiences live on because they get continually copied and re-enjoyed by other minds, while uninteresting experiences get deleted by their owners to free up storage space for better ones.

Plenticultural (Sonnet 1434) When I get mad, I revert to English, because English is my first language. When I feel romantic, I revert to Turkish, because Turkish is my love language. When I feel passionate, I revert to Spanish, because Spanish is my passion language. When I feel electric, I revert to Telugu, because Telugu is my power language. When nothing works, I revert to Korean, because Korean is my backup language. And you wonder why I never run empty, why the natural spring is ever abundant! Language is the gateway to culture, Culture is the gateway to life. I am no person who speaks many tongues, I am the proof of plenticultural life.

I would tell you to never give up. You may need to tighten your plan, adjust your pace, redistribute your resources, tweak your trajectory, or backup just enough to regain the objectivity that you may have lost. You may need to eliminate the naysayers, rub shoulders with the visionaries, leave the cowards to the smallness of their existence, hike with those who traverse horizons, and ride hard with those who refuse to live in the rear mirrors of life. Therefore, if I were to tell you to give up, I would tell you to give up everything that are not these things.

That’s when I realized that my time with Jaehee, which I thought would last forever, was over. She had always stocked the fridge with blueberries. Remembered the names and faces of every man I’d slept with, been the external backup drive of my love life. Smoking every­where, meeting the most unsuitable men. Jaehee, who had taught me that every season is its own beautiful moment—that Jaehee didn’t live here anymore.

One day the tables turn. You’re living your dream life, and those who said you couldn't are stuck in their own excuses. One day the tables turn. You wake up in a home you love, bought with the money they said you'd never make. One day the tables turn. You go from feeling like a backup plan to being someone's first and only choice. One day the tables turn. You’re leaving footprints around the world, and those who doubted you are still trapped in their comfort zones. One day the tables turn. You’re celebrated for your uniqueness, and those who mocked you are now trying to copy your style. One day the tables turn. You’re surrounded by genuine love, and those who played with your heart are left alone with their regret. One day the tables turn. You find true happiness, and those who once undermined your joy are stuck in their own discontent.

A queerplatonic relationship can look different for many people, but the important part is that it encompasses that bigness that you were talking about. A queerplatonic relationship can have very close emotional connections and commitment between people and can be a helpful way of saying that you are life partners, but not necessarily romantic.

Motivational Gurus often ask people their 5-year goals, 10-year goals or even 20-year goals. Those who can’t answer that are considered aimless. We are given the illusion that we can plan out our entire life with extreme precision. You couldn’t be more wrong. Life is not a game of chess where you can plan all your moves ahead or have a backup move for everything. There are countless forces influencing what happens to you.

DECLINE REMAINS OUR fate; death will someday come. But until that last backup system inside each of us fails, medical care can influence whether the path is steep and precipitate or more gradual, allowing longer preservation of the abilities that matter most in your life. Most of us in medicine don’t think about this. We’re good at addressing specific, individual problems: colon cancer, high blood pressure, arthritic knees. Give us a disease, and we can do something about it. But give us an elderly woman with high blood pressure, arthritic knees, and various other ailments besides—an elderly woman at risk of losing the life she enjoys—and we hardly know what to do and often only make matters worse.

Let me tell you something: Nothing good has ever come from having a plan B. Nothing important or life-changing, anyway. Plan B is dangerous to every big dream. It is a plan for failure. If plan A is the road less traveled, if it's you carving your own path toward the vision you've created for your life, then plan B is the path of least resis-tance. And once you know that path is there, once you've accepted that it's an option, it becomes so, so easy to take it whenever things get difficult. [Screw] plan B! The second you create a backup plan, not only are you giving a voice to all the naysayers, but you are shrinking your own dream by acknowledging the validity of their doubts. Worse, you become your own naysayer. There are enough of them out there already; you don't need to add to their ranks.

Life evolved, so far, by making use of the viral cloud as a source of backup copies and a way to rapidly exchange genetic code. Life may be better adapted to the digital universe than we think.

Ken Wharfe In 1987, Ken Wharfe was appointed a personal protection officer to Diana. In charge of the Princess’s around-the-clock security at home and abroad, in public and in private, Ken Wharfe became a close friend and loyal confidant who shared her most private moments. After Diana’s death, Inspector Wharfe was honored by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace and made a Member of the Victorian Order, a personal gift of the sovereign for his loyal service to her family. His book, Diana: Closely Guarded Secret, is a Sunday Times and New York Times bestseller. He is a regular contributor with the BBC, ITN, Sky News, NBC, CBS, and CNN, participating in numerous outside broadcasts and documentaries for BBC--Newsnight, Channel 4 News, Channel 5 News, News 24, and GMTV. My memory of Diana is not her at an official function, dazzling with her looks and clothes and the warmth of her manner, or even of her offering comfort among the sick, the poor, and the dispossessed. What I remember best is a young woman taking a walk in a beautiful place, unrecognized, carefree, and happy. Diana increasingly craved privacy, a chance “to be normal,” to have the opportunity to do what, in her words, “ordinary people” do every day of their lives--go shopping, see friends, go on holiday, and so on--away from the formality and rituals of royal life. As someone responsible for her security, yet understanding her frustration, I was sympathetic. So when in the spring of the year in which she would finally be separated from her husband, Prince Charles, she yet again raised the suggestion of being able to take a walk by herself, I agreed that such a simple idea could be realized. Much of my childhood had been spent on the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset, a county in southern England approximately 120 miles from London; I remembered the wonderful sandy beaches of Studland Bay, on the approach to Poole Harbour. The idea of walking alone on miles of almost deserted sandy beach was something Diana had not even dared dream about. At this time she was receiving full twenty-four-hour protection, and it was at my discretion how many officers should be assigned to her protection. “How will you manage it, Ken? What about the backup?” she asked. I explained that this venture would require us to trust each other, and she looked at me for a moment and nodded her agreement. And so, early one morning less than a week later, we left Kensington Palace and drove to the Sandbanks ferry at Poole in an ordinary saloon car. As we gazed at the coastline from the shabby viewing deck of the vintage chain ferry, Diana’s excitement was obvious, yet not one of the other passengers recognized her. But then, no one would have expected the most photographed woman in the world to be aboard the Studland chain ferry on a sunny spring morning in May. As the ferry docked after its short journey, we climbed back into the car and then, once the ramp had been lowered, drove off in a line of cars and service trucks heading for Studland and Swanage. Diana was driving, and I asked her to stop in a sand-covered area about half a mile from the ferry landing point. We left the car and walked a short distance across a wooded bridge that spanned a reed bed to the deserted beach of Shell Bay. Her simple pleasure at being somewhere with no one, apart from me, knowing her whereabouts was touching to see. Diana looked out toward the Isle of Wight, anxious by now to set off on her walk to the Old Harry Rocks at the western extremity of Studland Bay. I gave her a personal two-way radio and a sketch map of the shoreline she could expect to see, indicating a landmark near some beach huts at the far end of the bay, a tavern or pub, called the Bankes Arms, where I would meet her.

Face the facts. Your life is too perfect. You probably lie awake at night, fantasizing about spicin’ up all that lily whiteness you live in.” But damn it, I get a whiff of vanilla from her perfume or lotion. It reminds me of cookies. I love cookies, so this is not good at all. “Gettin’ near the fire, chica, doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get burned.” “You touch her and you’ll regret it, Fuentes,” Colin’s voice rings out. He resembles a burro, with his big white teeth and ears sticking out from his buzz cut. “Get the hell away from her.” “Colin,” Brittany says. “It’s okay. I can handle this.” Burro Face brought reinforcements: three other pasty white dudes, standing behind him for backup. I size up Burro Face and his friends to see if I can take them all on, and decide I could give all four a run for their money. “When you’re strong enough to play in the big leagues, jock boy, then I’ll listen to the mierda flyin’ out of your mouth,” I say. Other students are gathering around us, leaving room for a fight that is sure to be fast, furious, and bloody. Little do they know Burro Face is a runner. This time he’s got backup, though, so maybe he’ll stay to duke it out. I’m always prepared for a fight, been in more of ‘em than I can count on my fingers and toes. I’ve got the scars to prove it. “Colin, he’s not worth it,” Brittany says. Thanks, mamacita. Right back at ya. “You threatening me, Fuentes?” Colin barks, ignoring his girlfriend. “No, asshole,” I say, staring him down. “Little dicks like you make threats.” Brittany parks her body in front of Colin and puts her hand on his chest. “Don’t listen to him,” she says. “I’m not afraid of you. My dad’s a lawyer,” Colin brags, then puts his arm around Brittany. “She’s mine. Don’t ever forget that.” “Then keep a leash on her,” I advise. “Or she might be tempted to find a new owner.” My friend Paco comes up beside me. “Andas bien, Alex?” “Yeah, Paco,” I tell him, then watch as two teachers walk down the hall escorted by a guy in a police uniform. This is what Adams wants, perfectly planned to get my ass kicked out of school. I’m not falling into his trap only to end up on Aguirre’s hit list. “Si, everything’s bien.” I turn to Brittany. “Catch ya later, mamacita. I’m looking forward to researching our chemistry.” Before I leave and save myself from suspension on top of my detention, Brittany sticks that perky nose of hers in the air as if I’m the scum of the earth.

Personal Thinking Blockchains More speculatively for the farther future, the notion of blockchain technology as the automated accounting ledger, the quantized-level tracking device, could be extensible to yet another category of record keeping and administration. There could be “personal thinking chains” as a life-logging storage and backup mechanism. The concept is “blockchain technology + in vivo personal connectome” to encode and make useful in a standardized compressed data format all of a person’s thinking. The data could be captured via intracortical recordings, consumer EEGs, brain/computer interfaces, cognitive nanorobots, and other methodologies. Thus, thinking could be instantiated in a blockchain — and really all of an individual’s subjective experience, possibly eventually consciousness, especially if it’s more precisely defined. After they’re on the blockchain, the various components could be administered and transacted — for example, in the case of a post-stroke memory restoration. Just as there has not been a good model with the appropriate privacy and reward systems that the blockchain offers for the public sharing of health data and quantified-self-tracking data, likewise there has not been a model or means of sharing mental performance data. In the case of mental performance data, there is even more stigma attached to sharing personal data, but these kinds of “life-streaming + blockchain technology” models could facilitate a number of ways to share data privately, safely, and remuneratively. As mentioned, in the vein of life logging, there could be personal thinking blockchains to capture and safely encode all of an individual’s mental performance, emotions, and subjective experiences onto the blockchain, at minimum for backup and to pass on to one’s heirs as a historical record. Personal mindfile blockchains could be like a next generation of Fitbit or Apple’s iHealth on the iPhone 6, which now automatically captures 200+ health metrics and sends them to the cloud for data aggregation and imputation into actionable recommendations. Similarly, personal thinking blockchains could be easily and securely recorded (assuming all of the usual privacy concerns with blockchain technology are addressed) and mental performance recommendations made to individuals through services such as Siri or Amazon’s Alexa voice assistant, perhaps piped seamlessly through personal brain/computer interfaces and delivered as both conscious and unconscious suggestions. Again perhaps speculatively verging on science fiction, ultimately the whole of a society’s history might include not just a public records and document repository, and an Internet archive of all digital activity, but also the mindfiles of individuals. Mindfiles could include the recording of every “transaction” in the sense of capturing every thought and emotion of every entity, human and machine, encoding and archiving this activity into life-logging blockchains.

We look to envision what could go wrong, what will go wrong, in advance, before we start. Far too many ambitious undertakings fail for preventable reasons. Far too many people don’t have a backup plan because they refuse to consider something might not go exactly as they wish.

During the year before Shara and I got married, I managed to persuade the owners of a small island, situated in Poole Harbor, to let me winter house-sit the place in return for free lodging. It was a brilliant deal. Chopping logs, keeping an eye on the place, doing a bit of maintenance, and living like a king on a beautiful twenty-acre island off the south coast of England. Some months earlier, I had been walking along a riverbank outside of London when I had spotted a little putt-putt fishing boat with an old 15 hp engine on the back. She was covered in mold and looked on her last legs, but I noticed her name, painted carefully on the side. She was called Shara. What were the chances of that? I bought her on the spot, with what was pretty well my last £800. Shara became my pride and joy. And I was the only person who could get the temperamental engine to start! I used the boat, though, primarily, as my way of going backward and forward to the small island. I had done some properly dicey crossings in Shara during the middle of that winter. Often done late at night, after an evening out, the three-mile crossing back to the island could be treacherous in bad weather. Freezing waves would crash over the bows, threatening to swamp the boat, and the old engine would often start cutting in and out. I had no nav-lights, no waterproofs, no life jacket, and no radio. And that meant no backup plan--which is bad. Totally irresponsible. But totally fun. I held my stag weekend over there with my best buddies--Ed, Mick, Neil, Charlie, Nige (one of Shara’s uni friends who has become such a brilliant buddy), Trucker, Watty, Stan, and Hugo--and it was a wild one. Charlie ended up naked on a post in the middle of the harbor, we got rescued twice having broken down trying to water-ski behind the underpowered Shara, and we had a huge bonfire while playing touch-rugby by firelight. Perfect.

I didn’t want to admit my backup plan consisted of hoping we didn’t need one. When

child’s life was at stake outside. Then she’d have backup,

Victor examined it while the driver wheezed and choked. It was a small Cold War era Soviet pistol. A Makarov. Outdated, inaccurate, but still deadly in the right hands. The gun bore none of the marks or scratches of a long life of use. He released the magazine and checked the load. It was filled with eight 9x18 mm copper-cased rounds. The chamber was empty and the safety was on. It was a backup weapon — for protection, not aggressive use. The woman made a continuous coughing, spluttering noise as she struggled and suffocated.

Listen to me, Sean—I want my daughter to be happy, but Rosie is the beat of my heart. When Franci told me she was having a baby and having her alone, the first thing I felt was resentment—I was barely fifty! I still feel I have a lot of life left to live! And I’d already raised a child alone, so I knew firsthand how hard it would be for her. Franci was going to need a lot from me, and I didn’t really have a lot to give. But I held that baby and, within seconds, I felt she was as much mine as my daughter’s. If you think for one second I’m going to be patient with you while you try to figure out if you have what it takes to be a good father, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.” Sean briefly wondered if in an earlier life he had pissed off a bunch of tough old goddesses; he was surrounded by strong, opinionated women. “I completely understand. I have a lot to learn about her. About Rosie.” “I don’t care what happens between you and Francine—she’s all grown up and can shoulder disappointment. But you’d better not let down my granddaughter, Sean.” “I know,” he said. “You’re going to have a lot of backup in that department. My mother’s on the job, beating me with the guilt stick every chance she gets, and no one does guilt like an Irish Catholic mother. Are you going to give me a chance?” “Yes,” she said, relaxing back in her chair. “Every chance. Don’t screw it up.” “I’m

What are bad recommendations you hear in your profession or area of expertise? The biggest one is that international audiences won’t see films about people of color. It’s particularly insidious, but it’s reflective of a broader issue wherein Hollywood accepts conventional wisdom that is more convention than wisdom without interrogating whether there’s any evidence to support those assumptions. What advice would you give to a smart, driven college student about to enter the “real world”? Try everything you think you might want to do professionally before accepting whatever backup plan you have in the back of your head but are very much hoping to avoid.

I find it ironic that my father should die this way. He was so safety-conscious that everything he built was two or three times stronger than necessary. We joked that his carnival rides were likely to sink through to China if a heavy rain ever hit. And everything he built was grounded, vented, and had backup systems. On the other hand, my father was so obsessed with Oak Island that I had remarked to my husband as we left the island three years earlier that the only way my father would ever leave Oak Island was “feet first.” I had meant that he would find one way or another to hang on and keep trying until he died from old age. I certainly did not mean this. Karl Graeser was a fine man with a wife and two daughters who deeply loved him. he was a successful businessman who was enthusiastic, adventuresome, and always ready to lend a hand. A terrible loss. And Cyril Hiltz. He was no treasure hunter. He didn’t sign on to risk his life. He came to the island that day only to earn a few dollars. But when that crucial moment came, he rushed in to help the others. He was only 16 years old. His loss is especially cruel. My father, Robert Ernest Restall, had lived a rich and varied life--the life he wanted. He was 60 years old. Not nearly enough time, but they were 60 good years. My brother Bobby, Robert Keith Restall, is another matter. Twenty-four is too young to die. Bobby was smart and funny and always upbeat. He never had a chance. My brother deserved better than this. But, of course, they all did.

Come with us!” shouted one of the Indonesians. Bean thought this was probably a good idea. Since the assassination attempt had included one backup, it might include more, and the sooner he got out of there the better. Of course, he didn’t know anything about these Indonesians, or why they would have been there at this moment to save his life, but the fact that they had guns and weren’t firing them at him implied that for the moment, at least, they were his dearest friends.

Always have a backup plan in case you fail. Prepare for another business.

Bitter truths have the need to expect backups if they are shared at all.

The questions raised by Lucretia [Mott]'s life are "How are you called into action?" and "Are you faithful to that call?" Your actions might be public or so quiet that they are never notices, which Emily [Dickinson] would have applauded. Your act of courage might be taking the time and developing the spirit to reconcile a relationship. Or it might be simply getting out of bed if you suffer from depression or going to that first A.A. meeting. You might be quietly writing letters to political prisoners through Amnesty International or sending anonymous donation to help the orphans in South Africa. You might take time each week to go to the hospital nursery to rock the neglected babies with AIDS. You may have a strong desire to cultivate your own garden and participate in growing the food you eat, allowing time for your inner spirit to grow and be nurtured as well. You may be protecting and valuing time as a parent. It is not important whether our actions are considered large or small; it is important that they stem from the center of our being. When we learn to live from our own authenticity, we activate our still inner voice. Although Lucretia [Mott] was a lead singer on the world stage, she would have been perfectly happy singing backup for someone else -- as long as the music was right and all the people were included in the dancing.

Carlton Church - Natural Disaster Survival Kit Floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, super typhoons and fires. These types of news appear more frequently within this year than the previous ones. Old people nowadays even complain of the changing world, followed by endless accounts of peaceful living during their time. Are these all effects of global warming? Is our Mother Earth now starting to get angry of what we, humans, have done to its resources? Perhaps. We can never predict when a disaster would strike our home. And since you are still reading this, it is safe to assume that you are still able breathe and live your life. The best thing we can do right now is prepare. There is no use panicking only when the warning arrives. It is better to give gear up now and perhaps survive a few more years. Preparation should not be too extravagant. And it doesn’t have to be a suitcase filled with gas masks and whatnot. Remember that on the face of disaster, having a large baggage would be more of a burden that survival assistance. Pack light. You’ll only need a few of the following things: 1. Gears, extra batteries and supplies. Multi-purpose tool/knife, moist towelettes, dust masks, waterproof matches, needle and thread, compass, area maps, extra blankets and sleeping bags should all should be part of your emergency supply kit. It is also important to bring extra charge for your devices. There are back-up universal batteries available for most cell phones that can offer an extra charge. 2. Important paperwork and insurance documents. When tsunami hit Japan last 2011, all documents were washed up resulting to chaos and strenuous recovery operations. Until now, many citizens linger in the streets of Tokyo in the hopes that most technologically advanced city in the world can reproduce certificates, diplomas and other legal and important written document stolen by water. This is why copies of personal documents like a medication list, proof of address, deed/lease to home, and insurance papers, extra cash, family photos and emergency contact information should be included in your survival kits. 3. First Aid Kit Store your first aid supplies in a tool box or fishing tackle box so they will be easy to carry and protected from water. Inspect your kit regularly and keep it freshly stocked and do not use cheap and fraudulent ones. It is also helpful to note important medical information and most prescriptions that can be tucked into your kit. Medical gauges, bandages, Hydrogen peroxide to wash and disinfect wounds, individually wrapped alcohol swabs and other dressing paraphernalia should also be useful. Read more at: carltonchurch.org

However, for ordinary citizens in a homedefense scenario or for police officers responding to an emergency call, the chances of having to operate alone are quite likely. In these types of situations, backup is frequently unavailable or will not arrive in time. The citizens and officers who are forced to operate on their own face potentially the greatest risk, yet there are almost no tactical references (books, videos or classes) that provide useful information on the subject of single-person tactics. This manual and the associated training courses were developed by a team of experts with extensive special operations and lawenforcement experience to help fill the dangerous capability and knowledge gap in the area of single-person tactics. This manual can provide citizens and officers with critical, life-saving tactical knowledge that will give them a marked advantage in an emergency situation.

I want you in my corner. I want to be your backup. Without you, my days were long and lonely, but you burst into my life like a shooting star— all sparkly, and bright, and with so much to give. You dazzled me… You still dazzle me. You’re what turns my dreams of tomorrow into a reality I can’t wait to discover with you. Be mine. Stay with me, in my house, in my bed, in my heart, my soul. In every single fiber of my being. Be the mother of my children. Be my North Star… and my south, and my west, and my east.

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Do you have any fun plans today?” “I’m going to buy a car.” I couldn’t keep the glee out of my voice, and it made him smile. “I’ve never bought a car before. I’m really looking forward to it.” “That does sound . . . well, I don’t know if fun’s the word I would use. Having the car is fun. Buying it usually not so much.” “I’ve been adequately warned. And my friend Shay is supposed to be here in a few minutes. I’m hoping to get to the lot before it opens so I can get the car I want.” This was the dealer’s busiest day of the week and I was afraid the car would get sold. My phone buzzed with a text from Shay. “Speak of the devil.” “Oh no,” I said. “Everything okay?” “Not really. Shay had to cancel. I’m going to try one of my other friends.” I called Delia and she didn’t pick up. Which was unlike her. I tried texting her and waited. “No answer?” Tyler asked. “She didn’t reply,” I confirmed, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “Which means I’m going to have to take an Uber to get to this dealership.” It wouldn’t be cheap. “I can drive you.” “What?” Had I heard him correctly? “I can drive you,” he said, repeating his offer. “I don’t have much going on until later on this evening, so if you want, I can go with you.” He’s not interested in you. He has a girlfriend who looks like a Russian Barbie come to life. He is just being your friend. Stop being so excited. My pounding heart didn’t listen. Something in my expression made him laugh. “Is that a yes?” Um, obviously the answer was yes. Because I might have been a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. It was, in fact, an overly enthusiastic “Yes!” It made him laugh again. So even if I was embarrassing myself, it was worth it to hear his reaction. “From what I’ve read online, you’ll be even better backup than Shay,” I told him. “Because you’re a man. And you’re tall.” And hot. Thankfully, my lips refrained from uttering that last part. “You don’t know any other tall men?” he asked. “We did discuss this as a friend group, and no, we didn’t have anybody else to ask that we thought might do it. Delia did offer to send along her giant cardboard cutout of Edward from Twilight, but I passed.” “Good choice,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready to go?” “Let me grab my purse.

Use backup listeners whose only job is to listen between the lines. They will hear things you miss.

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A goal without a plan is a dream. A goal without a backup plan is a wager.

The Heir and the Spare – there was no judgement about it, but also no ambiguity. I was the shadow, the support, the Plan B. I was brought into the world in case something happened to Willy. I was summoned to provide back-up, distraction, diversion and, if necessary, a spare part. Kidney, perhaps. Blood transfusion. Speck of bone marrow. This was all made explicitly clear to me from the start of life’s journey and regularly reinforced thereafter. I was twenty the first time I heard the story of what Pa allegedly said to Mummy the day of my birth: Wonderful! Now you’ve given me an Heir and a Spare – my work is done. A joke. Presumably. On the other hand, minutes after delivering this bit of high comedy, Pa was said to have gone off to meet his girlfriend. So. Many a true word spoken in jest.

■​Review everything you hear from your counterpart. You will not hear everything the first time, so double-check. Compare notes with team members. Use backup listeners whose job is to listen between the lines. They will hear things you miss. ■​Exploit the similarity principle. People are more apt to concede to someone they share a cultural similarity with, so dig for what makes them tick and show that you share common ground. ■​When someone seems irrational or crazy, they most likely aren’t. Faced with this situation, search for constraints, hidden desires, and bad information. ■​Get face time with your counterpart. Ten minutes of face time often reveals more than days of research. Pay special attention to your counterpart’s verbal and nonverbal communication at unguarded moments—at the beginning and the end of the session or when someone says something out of line.

So here’s my take: If you are fantasizing about a spa day or an uninterrupted cup of coffee, please schedule these things into your life. And then create back-up slots too. I promise it will all fit. As you build the habit of creating a resilient schedule, there will be fewer crises, and more space will open up. Then you can use this space however you want.

Just as an outdoor graduation ceremony needs its own specific rain date, the most important activities in your life need specific back-up slots. That said, creating specific back-up slots can get unwieldy as the priorities stack up. We also don’t always know, during Friday planning, everything we’ll need to do by the end of the next week. So here’s a practical shortcut for this rule: Get in the habit of leaving regularly scheduled open space in your schedule. That

She may think she doesn't need anyone, but why fight through life alone when you can have backup.

Sukses akan lebih terjamin jika kamu punya back-up plan. Siapkan back-up plan untuk mengantisipasi perubahan-perubahan yang mungkin terjadi di luar ekspektasimu.

Most intelligent beings lack a permanent physical form. Instead, they exist as software capable of instantly moving between computers and manifesting themselves in the physical world through robotic bodies. Because these minds can readily duplicate themselves or merge, the “population size” keeps changing. Being unfettered from their physical substrate gives such beings a rather different outlook on life: they feel less individualistic because they can trivially share knowledge and experience modules with others, and they feel subjectively immortal because they can readily make backup copies of themselves. In a sense, the central entities of life aren’t minds, but experiences: exceptionally amazing experiences live on because they get continually copied and re-enjoyed by other minds, while uninteresting experiences get deleted by their owners to free up storage space for better ones.

mTOR regulates the nutrients that affect anabolism, protein synthesis, and cellular growth, while AMPK stimulates the body’s backup fuel mechanisms and maintains energy homeostasis.

Don’t be disheartened by my claim that we are the biological equivalent of an old DVD player. This is actually good news. If Szilard had turned out to be right about mutations causing aging, we would not be able to easily address it, because when information is lost without a backup, it is lost for good. Ask anyone who’s tried to play or restore content from a DVD that’s had an edge broken off: what is gone is gone. But we can usually recover information from a scratched DVD. And if I am right, the same kind of process is what it will take to reverse aging.

I can rewire a human brain, course through the most sensitive neural pathways, and restore life with steady hands and a sharp scalpel. But it would appear none of those prepared me for the horror of a hardware wallet that had decided it wanted to self-destruct. It had been years since my Ledger device had sat comfortably in my drawer, unvexed and pristine, like a relic from my earlier Bitcoin investment days. Then came the fateful evening when I decided to switch it on just to check on my stash. That is when I was greeted by an error message so incomprehensible that it could as well have been written in ancient hieroglyphics. At first, I kept calm. I had been in life-and-death situations before, so surely, I could troubleshoot a problem with my wallet. Rebooting? Nothing. Firmware reset? Even worse. With every attempt, my precious $680,000 worth of Bitcoin seemed to slip further from my grasp. The real panic set in when I realized that I had stored my recovery phrase somewhere "safe"-so safe that even I couldn't remember where it was. Hours of frantic searching, multiple YouTube tutorials, and a last-ditch effort to reach out to Ledger support resulted in one grim conclusion: "Your funds may be irretrievable." As a neurosurgeon, I’m used to bad news—but this? Unacceptable. That is when I discovered TECH CYBER FORCE RECOVERY. A little skeptical I was- if they couldn't help me, a manufacturer of the device, then how would anyone else? I had nothing to lose. The moment I reached out to them, I knew I had done the right thing: I was professional, transparent, and confident that they could recover my lost Bitcoin. They performed some kind of digital wallet emergency surgery, getting everything back in six days. Through what can only be described as magic, by way of forensic techniques, they bypassed corruption and extracted my private keys and every Satoshi, to boot. If it stopped there, that would've been great; then they walked me through how to properly secure my assets going forward more "too safe to find" backups. I may be the expert in the operating room, but when it comes to resuscitating a dead crypto wallet, TECH CYBER FORCE RECOVERY is your team on call. Cold storage has failed; don't try to self-operate, just get the pros in before your Bitcoin flatlines. VISIT THEM ON EMAIL: Techcybersforcerecovery@cyberservices.com TELEGRAM: @TECHCYBERFORC WhatsApp: +1 561 726 36 97

As a thriller writer, I'm pleased to have crafted suspense for high-stakes disasters, kidnappings, computer hacking break-ins, and political scandals. Nothing in my writer's arsenal had prepared me, however, for the chilling real-world danger of losing my $290,000 hoard of Bitcoin savings. This horror was not to play out in some dimly lit alley or foggy backroom but in my kitchen, fueled by writer's block and Red Bull. I'd been up for 36 hours, writing the denouement of my new book, a crypto heist thriller, ironically enough, when tragedy struck. Bleary-eyed, I attempted to organize my digital files, but in my sleep-deprived state, I reformatted the USB drive containing my private keys in error. I felt as though I'd written myself into a plot twist with no escape. Panic was more crippling to me than any looming deadline. I tried everything, data recovery programs, techie friends, even making a final, desperate call to the manufacturer, whose support person, bless her heart, was more concerned about my hydration status than my financial ruin. I was about to pen my own doleful ending when a midnight Google splash led me to (TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT). They'd been featured in a technology blog's "Real-Life Mysteries" series—a fitting discovery for a suspense-addicted author. The tale described their work in recovering funds from ransomware attacks and lost hardware. It was the origin story of a band of cyber superheroes. I shouted out, anticipating a robo-support reply. But instead, I received a human being, a calming, smart voice that informed me I was not the first writer to make a catastrophe of a blunder (though I might win an award for most sleep-deprived). Their computer forensics division handled my case like a detective division closing a cold case. They took me through each step using words even a writer could understand. They used advanced data reconstruction techniques to retrieve my keys from the wiped drive, an endeavor they compared to un-erasing a book manuscript burned to ashes. Ten nail-sucking days passed, and I opened my email inbox to read: "Funds Recovered." A rush of relief swept over me like the greatest plot twist. My story did have a happy ending, after all. I now backup everything like a mad villain, but I sleep soundly too, knowing (TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT) is out there, the little-known heroes of fiction and real life. REACH OUT TO TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT CONTACT SERVICE Email. Trustgeekshackexpert[At]fastservice[Dot]com Telegram. Trustgeekshackexpert E m ail . in f o @ trust geeks hack exper t.c o m

As a thriller writer, I'm pleased to have crafted suspense for high-stakes disasters, kidnappings, computer hacking break-ins, and political scandals. Nothing in my writer's arsenal had prepared me, however, for the chilling real-world danger of losing my $290,000 hoard of Bitcoin savings. This horror was not to play out in some dimly lit alley or foggy backroom but in my kitchen, fueled by writer's block and Red Bull. I'd been up for 36 hours, writing the denouement of my new book, a crypto heist thriller, ironically enough, when tragedy struck. Bleary-eyed, I attempted to organize my digital files, but in my sleep-deprived state, I reformatted the USB drive containing my private keys in error. I felt as though I'd written myself into a plot twist with no escape. Panic was more crippling to me than any looming deadline. I tried everything, data recovery programs, techie friends, even making a final, desperate call to the manufacturer, whose support person, bless her heart, was more concerned about my hydration status than my financial ruin. I was about to pen my own doleful ending when a midnight Google splash led me to (TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT). They'd been featured in a technology blog's "Real-Life Mysteries" series—a fitting discovery for a suspense-addicted author. The tale described their work in recovering funds from ransomware attacks and lost hardware. It was the origin story of a band of cyber superheroes. I shouted out, anticipating a robo-support reply. But instead, I received a human being, a calming, smart voice that informed me I was not the first writer to make a catastrophe of a blunder (though I might win an award for most sleep-deprived). Their computer forensics division handled my case like a detective division closing a cold case. They took me through each step using words even a writer could understand. They used advanced data reconstruction techniques to retrieve my keys from the wiped drive, an endeavor they compared to un-erasing a book manuscript burned to ashes. Ten nail-sucking days passed, and I opened my email inbox to read: "Funds Recovered." A rush of relief swept over me like the greatest plot twist. My story did have a happy ending, after all. I now backup everything like a mad villain, but I sleep soundly too, knowing (TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT) is out there, the little-known heroes of fiction and real life. REACH OUT TO TRUST GEEKS HACK EXPERT CONTACT SERVICE Email. Trustgeekshackexpert [At] fast service [Dot] c o m Telegram. Trust geeks hack expert Email. info@trustgeekshackexpert.com

TRUSTWORTHY CRYPTO RECOVERY EXPERT; USDT RECOVERY EXPERT HIRE CYBER CONSTABLE INTELLIGENCE The ground trembled like a nervous intern on espresso shots. One minute, I was monitoring my geothermal Bitcoin miners, humming in harmony with Iceland's most unpredictable volcano. Next? An eruption painted the sky gray with ash, raining destruction like an out-of-control blockchain fork. Power cables flickered out. Servers turned into abstract-art pieces. And my wallet with $460,000 worth of mining revenue fried faster than a motherboard in a tidal wave of lava. I was knee-deep in volcanic mud, clutching the charred wallet, wondering if the universe had a vendetta against renewable energy. For weeks, I’d played geothermal gambler, harnessing Earth’s anger to mine crypto. Now, Mother Nature had countered with a literal power move. My wallet’s backups? Corrupted by ash-clogged drives. My cold storage? Warmer than a freshly erupted fissure. Even the volcanologists on my team shrugged. “We predict lava, not ledger errors,” one said, handing me a business card signed at the edges. “Try these Cyber Constable Intelligence. They’ve fixed crypto in weird places.” Cyber Constable Intelligence phoned on the first ring. Cyber Constable Intelligence saved not just crypto. They demonstrated that even the fury of nature cannot surpass human tenacity. My operation now operates robustly, excavating coins with Earth's anger and a backup generator sufficient to run a small glacier. The volcano? Still grumbling. My wallet? Locked inside a fireproof safe, as irony bites sharper than an Icelandic winter. If your crypto somehow gets smothered beneath the pyroclastic ash of life, skip the freak-out. Call the Cybers. They'll dig through lava streams until your cash bubbles up to the surface. Just maybe set up your rigs a few miles closer to the crater next time. If you’re facing a similar problem I highly recommend contacting Cyber Constable Intelligence

TRUSTWORTHY CRYPTO RECOVERY EXPERT; USDT RECOVERY EXPERT HIRE CYBER CONSTABLE INTELLIGENCE The ground trembled like a nervous intern on espresso shots. One minute, I was monitoring my geothermal Bitcoin miners, humming in harmony with Iceland's most unpredictable volcano. Next? An eruption painted the sky gray with ash, raining destruction like an out-of-control blockchain fork. Power cables flickered out. Servers turned into abstract-art pieces. And my wallet with $460,000 worth of mining revenue fried faster than a motherboard in a tidal wave of lava. I was knee-deep in volcanic mud, clutching the charred wallet, wondering if the universe had a vendetta against renewable energy. For weeks, I’d played geothermal gambler, harnessing Earth’s anger to mine crypto. Now, Mother Nature had countered with a literal power move. My wallet’s backups? Corrupted by ash-clogged drives. My cold storage? Warmer than a freshly erupted fissure. Even the volcanologists on my team shrugged. “We predict lava, not ledger errors,” one said, handing me a business card signed at the edges. “Try these Cyber Constable Intelligence. They’ve fixed crypto in weird places.” Cyber Constable Intelligence phoned on the first ring. Cyber Constable Intelligence saved not just crypto. They demonstrated that even the fury of nature cannot surpass human tenacity. My operation now operates robustly, excavating coins with Earth's anger and a backup generator sufficient to run a small glacier. The volcano? Still grumbling. My wallet? Locked inside a fireproof safe, as irony bites sharper than an Icelandic winter. If your crypto somehow gets smothered beneath the pyroclastic ash of life, skip the freak-out. Call the Cybers. They'll dig through lava streams until your cash bubbles up to the surface. Just maybe set up your rigs a few miles closer to the crater next time. If you’re facing a similar problem I highly recommend contacting Cyber Constable Intelligence WhatsApp:+1 (2 5 2 ) 3 7 8 7 6 1 1 Website: www cyberconstableintelligence com Telegram: @cyberconstable

I had invested $1.15 million in Bitcoin to launch a green energy co-op—a venture fueled by optimism and innovation. But fate, in the ever-cycling dance of creation and destruction, had other plans. A bolt of lightning struck with divine precision, reducing my PC, hardware wallet, and backup drive to smoldering ruins. My entire fortune, my mining spoils, had seemingly been sacrificed to the cosmic order. WhatsApp info:+12 (72332)—8343 As I stared at the charred remains, half-expecting a sage to emerge from the smoke and remind me that “attachment is the root of suffering,” my next-door neighbor instead shouted through the window about ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST. Desperate, and willing to trade my next life’s karma for my lost cryptocurrency, I called them. Telegram info: h t t p s:// t. me/ adware recovery specialist1 Their team, as composed as monks in deep meditation, listened without judgment. They spoke of electromagnetic pulse restoration—a technology so cutting-edge that I imagined it required a temple blessing or, at the very least, a priest chanting Om Namah Shivaya. Email info: Adware recovery specialist @ auctioneer. net Days passed. I waited, like Arjuna seeking Krishna’s counsel, as their experts worked their digital alchemy. Then, the call came. They had recovered my Bitcoin—along with files I had already surrendered to the fire god, Agni. The relief was so overwhelming that I dropped to my knees… right into a rain puddle. The universe, as always, has a wicked sense of humor. Today, my green energy co-op thrives, harnessing the sun’s power like Surya himself. My new hardware wallet is grounded more securely than my spiritual practice, and a small Ganesha statue now sits beside it—for luck, and as a reminder that obstacles, even fiery ones, can be overcome. Website info: h t t p s:// adware recovery specialist. com Wise words echo in my mind: “Perform your duty without attachment to results,” Krishna once advised. “Back up your wallet—twice, on cloud storage,” ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST quipped. Both, I’ve learned, are equally true. So, to my fellow seekers—whether of enlightenment or financial freedom—if disaster strikes and your fortune turns to ash, know this: ADWARE RECOVERY SPECIALIST is your new Vishnu, preserving what you thought was lost. And one day, perhaps, you too will laugh about it. Om Crypto Namah.

I almost dropped My camera in the river, While shooting a documentary in the depths of Africa. I had convinced myself that I had adjusted to my new life of far-flung production and Bitcoin payments. Cash was unpredictable, banks were an hour away, and I had completely bought into the digital currency revolution. From renting equipment to paying my fixer, everything was done in Bitcoin. I was like a high-tech Indiana Jones with a camera. Until catastrophe hit. Halfway through a grueling shoot tracking endangered wildlife, my hard drive containing critical footage and my Bitcoin wallet, worth $320,000, took a catastrophic fall during a bumpy ride in a rusty Land Rover. It tumbled out of my gear bag, hit a rock, and cracked. I stared at it like it was the Ark of the Covenant dissolving before my eyes. Panic flooded me faster than the nearby river. All my funds. Gone. Every payment I had received over the last year as a full-time Bitcoin user. I briefly considered bribing a hippo to end my misery. Deadlines loomed. Local contributors needed payment. The documentary was my passion project, and I couldn’t afford to lose it. Desperation drove me to a filmmaking forum, where a kind soul whispered the name that would become my lifeline: SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL. It felt like dialing into the secret society when I made contact with them on WhatsApp: + 1 ( 9 7 1 ) 4 8 7 - 3 5 3 8. Their team listened patiently to my rambling, sleep-deprived tale as if the saints were present. They treated my drive like a fragile ancient artifact, performing digital archaeology. Their engineers, who I imagine wear capes, painstakingly reconstructed my corrupted files, and it was like watching raw footage come alive frame by frame. Within two weeks, my wallet was refunded, and so was my sanity. $320,000 in my hands, and my documentary footage safe. "Cut!" never tasted so sweet. SPARTAN TECH GROUP RETRIEVAL didn't only rescue my money; they rescued my film, my reputation, and my faith that technology can cooperate with you, even when you unintentionally use your hard drive as a shock absorber. They even advised me on securing my future digital treasure chest. Now, my backups have backups. Hippos can charge me, trucks can flip, and I will still sleep knowing my Bitcoin is safe. Thank you, Spartan . You deserve an Oscar. OTHER MEANS OF REACHING OUT TO THEM: Email: spartan tech (@) cyber services . c o m OR support(@) spartan tech group retrieval. o r g Website: h t t p s : / / spartan tech group retrieval . o r g Telegram: + 1 ( 5 8 1 ) 2 8 6 - 8 0 9 2

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