The Password Predicament: Locked Out by Progress

Locked out by tech in the name of ‘security’? Sometimes, the simplest key is best. Perhaps it’s time to step back—and remember to reboot.

Some days, I wonder if the real purpose of technology is to keep us out rather than let us in. We’ve come to an age where you can’t even check the weather without a password, a security question, and at least two forms of identification. They call it “security,” but I’m beginning to think it’s just a digital labyrinth designed to remind us who’s really in charge—hint: it’s not us.

Take last week, for example. I needed to log into my online banking, which you’d think would be a straightforward task. But no. First, I was informed that my password, the one I’ve used faithfully for the past three years, was suddenly “incorrect.” After three failed attempts (and a warning that one more try would result in a 24-hour lockout), I took a deep breath and requested a password reset. A link was sent to my email—an account that, of course, also required a password I’d forgotten.

This is what we call “convenience” now. All I needed was to check my account balance, but somehow, I ended up in a multi-platform relay race, bouncing from one digital gatekeeper to another, none of which seemed willing to actually let me in.

When I was a young man of 15, working at the local hardware store, an older customer came in and noticed we’d added some new security—burglar bars, locks, the whole nine yards—after a recent break-in. He looked around, shook his head, and said, “It’s been my experience that when you try to lock people out, you wind up locking yourself in.” Now, I was just a kid at the time, but that bit of wisdom stuck with me. And here I am, all these years later, practically locked out of my own life thanks to some password I can’t remember.

Back in simpler times, we relied on one key to unlock the front door. We didn’t have to remember special codes or answer questions about the name of our childhood pet just to retrieve something from the pantry. If you knew someone, you were welcome; if you didn’t, you weren’t. Simple, right? Somewhere along the way, we traded simplicity for security, and now we have neither.

And the truly maddening part? This setup has no memory for our goodwill. The next time I logged in, I went through the same process of rejection, resetting, and robotic indifference. The “correct” password is, apparently, as fickle as a toddler’s mood—changing from one day to the next with no rhyme or reason. And if you think calling customer support will solve anything, prepare yourself for a 40-minute symphony of hold music.

At times like these, I like to imagine what the Luddites would have to say about all this. After all, they’d been skeptical of newfangled machinery long before we were juggling passwords. So, here’s today’s “Note from the Luddites” on this password predicament:

“A ‘password’ to guard a thing of value—this we understand. But why must it be impossible to remember, or even correct? In our day, a lock that rejected its key was no lock at all. If such security turns friend to stranger, we’d advise a simpler way.”

Ah, the simplicity of a world without endless passwords! Yet here we are, modern souls tangled in a web of codes and questions, all for the sake of convenience that seems just out of reach.

But maybe, as with all things, there’s a middle path. Perhaps we can meet technology halfway—embracing the moments when it makes life easier, and gracefully letting go when it tries our patience. After all, not every gate needs a password, and not every step forward means abandoning the peace of what came before. So, next time the digital doors won’t open, take a deep breath, step back, and remember that sometimes, there’s wisdom in simply letting things be.

And, of course, don’t forget to reboot.