Death of an iMac, part 2: Farewell, old friend

I did something on Tuesday that I needed to do: I recycled my iMac.

Purchased in early 2006 during my last semester of college, my iMac served me well until its graphics processor overheated in 2012. (It cannot be replaced because it is soldered to the motherboard.) I pulled the hard drive and converted it to an external device, but the computer and its accessories sat in their handy-dandy carrying case in my closet for years. Recycling it was on my to-do list forever, so I decided to finally do it.

With an all-in-one design featuring a 17-inch screen and blazing fast 1.83 GHz Intel processor, my iMac replaced my very outdated Power Mac G3 from 1998. It was my first computer with Wi-Fi, a built-in camera, and a mouse with two buttons and a trackball, which were amazing! I finally had a computer I could upload my music to, watch movies on, and surf the internet with current browsers. (I was not using Netscape on my G3, but it sometimes felt like it. The only browser that worked on the operating system was Internet Explorer for Mac, which Microsoft stopped updating in 2003.) Needless to say, my iMac was a dream come true, my entrance into 21st century computer technology.

Sadly, my iMac is the only Apple product I have owned that stopped working, that I could not use anymore. My history with Apple products dates to September 1993, so that is saying something about the company’s computers and accessories—and perhaps how I treat them.

Why did it take me so long to recycle my iMac? Because it was very near and dear to me. Though it was dead, useless, a paperweight taking up much-needed space on my closet floor, I held on to it because of its sentimental value. Affection always trumps reason.

My iMac played a prominent role in a pivotal part of my life. It moved with me across the country, up and down the California coast, and back to the Midwest—always in its convenient carrying case, securely buckled in the back seat. It was my most prized possession, my constant companion on the West Coast. When I did not have any furniture, I sat at the screen and keyboard on the floor. I did a ton of writing on it, planned countless routes for adventures and job interviews in NorCal and SoCal, and stayed connected to family and friends. It enabled me to do and discover amazing things, and for that I am grateful beyond words.

But it was time to let it go.

Yes, I cried after I dropped it off. That’s what I do; I am a sentimental dude. Endings and goodbyes crush me, even for inanimate objects like my dead iMac. I was composed and unemotional when I dropped it off and paid the fee, but my eyes overflowed with tears after turning around and walking away.

Farewell, old friend.