Write down every address you have lived at

Every address, every job, with dates — and the people here have struggled with exactly these forms — four accounts say a five- or ten-year history defeated their memory. Eight separate conversations — the widest agreement in these conversations — keep a written record of every place they have lived, with the month and year they moved in and out, because that is what background checks and financial applications ask for and it is exactly the thing that slips the memory; four accounts say a five- or ten-year history defeated their memory, and one has had to reconstruct it more than once. Six conversations keep the employers alongside: exact dates, the company’s address and contact details, because a gap or a wrong month can cost a job or a clearance; two conversations write a short paragraph under each role — what you did, the projects — so the list doubles as the master copy every future résumé is cut from; two say to write the employer’s name, address and phone number whenever you change jobs. Two conversations add landlords’ names and numbers under each address, and for anyone with a driving record, the place, date and court of each ticket. One account fills in a copy of the most demanding form they will ever face — the US federal clearance questionnaire — once, as the master, and updates it rather than starting again; two conversations keep a physical binder of every important document for the same reason. One account tracks more than dates — the projects, the professional contacts, the people who could vouch for each period — and says it made every later job search shorter. The rule that makes it work, from two conversations: update it whenever you move or change jobs.

From the places that kept it for you, and the people here have a surprisingly long list. Six separate conversations say the saved shipping addresses in an online shopping account are a list of everywhere you have lived, because you ordered something at each place; five accounts in one place say their whole history was sitting there. Three conversations say a free credit report lists your previous addresses with rough dates, and one account says a free credit report lists past addresses and dates; that free reports are available in the US is federal consumer-protection guidance, checked for this page. Two conversations name government sources: the credit file, a motor-vehicle record — which one account, in the US, says only reaches back seven years — and social-insurance earnings records for the employers. Two conversations scan old utility bills that carry your name at an address, which one account says is also the proof a US state asks for before releasing unclaimed money. Single accounts add the rest of the trail: old leases and their emails, expired driving licences with the old address on them, a phone’s location timeline, a payment service’s address book, food-delivery apps, airline booking emails, old résumés — which used to carry your address — and, for employers, old tax forms and payslips. Now the caution the people here attach, five times over: none of these is permanent. Two accounts say an online account’s history can be deleted or lost, two say a data broker’s file may not be reachable, one says online account histories do not hold work history, one says emailing the sheet to yourself is not a perfect backup because the account can go too. So the rebuild is a one-time job: pull the addresses from wherever they are, write them into your own list, and then keep the list.

Fewer people than the anxiety suggests and more than you expect, and the people here argue it in the one exchange that splits three to three, so here are both sides. Three accounts say a ten-year address history is invasive, legally questionable and irrelevant for an ordinary job, and one exchange, one to two, calls the whole apparatus a pretext; three say it is standard for security clearances, government badges and identity checks at banks, and the accounts’ decider is plain: does the role need a clearance or a badge? A second exchange, four accounts to three, asks whether the checks are fair — the four say they are used against people with employment gaps, spells of homelessness or a record, and are sometimes unlawful to ask; the three say that for a clearance, a mortgage, or work with children or sensitive data they are standard, and having the answers ready is practical whatever you think of the question. Three conversations describe the strictest case: the US federal clearance questionnaire asks for every residence and employer for the last ten years, with a person who knew you at each address — a correction in these conversations confirms the ten years, and this page checked it. Single accounts widen the circle: medical credentialing, immigration paperwork, military-to-civilian transitions, a bank opening an account that asked for phone numbers ten years back, an international assignment that wanted bills proving each address. One exchange, two to two, is whether private employers ask at all; one account says a retail chain’s two-hour application wanted it, another that hardly any ordinary employer does. And an exchange on precision resolves by the same decider: for a clearance, the month and the dorm room number; for a civilian job, the year and the street, and one account says hiring managers rarely see a civilian check fail over a house number. Two things this page carries as the accounts’ own: one account says this is largely a US habit and another that Canada asks too; readers elsewhere should look at their own forms before keeping anything. And the gaps these conversations name: how far back an ordinary employer may legally ask, and what the law in your state or country lets you refuse — the accounts do not know, and neither does this page.

Yes, if you build it wrong, and the people here are clear about this. Two conversations, two contraindications and five cautions rated high say that a plain document holding addresses, employers, dates and — worst of all — identity numbers or scanned documents is exactly what identity theft needs; two accounts say automated scanners search for such files, and one says the aggregated details are enough to answer security questions and guess account-recovery answers. One exchange, two accounts to two, asks whether centralising is worth it at all: the two say the odds are small and the convenience large, the two say do not do it. The rest of the accounts do it and argue about how, three to three: three want it digital — a note app, or the secure-notes section of a password manager with a second factor, because searchable beats safe-in-a-drawer; three want it offline — a paper binder, a locked file on a machine that never touches the internet — because what is not online cannot be reached from elsewhere. The accounts’ decider is your own fear: a remote breach, or a fire. This page’s own position, marked as its own and built from the accounts’ cautions: keep the list itself — places and dates — wherever you will actually maintain it, but keep identity numbers, licence scans and account details out of it entirely, so that the file a thief might find is a list of where you used to live and nothing more. Single accounts add the details: encrypt anything sensitive locally and sync it only across your own network; keep a copy in three places, two of them online and one on a drive in a drawer; use unique passwords and a second factor on any email account that holds a copy; and if the file worries you, freeze your credit. One correction closes a door: an encryption tool one account recommended is no longer considered secure — this page checked, and it has also been discontinued — so use a current one. A caution says one note app has raised prices and restricted access over the years, which is the general warning about any single service holding the only copy.

Then you are in the part of these conversations the accounts could not fill, and this page will name it rather than paper over it. One caution says the standard methods fail for someone who was homeless for a stretch; the gaps these conversations list include living with relatives or a partner with no lease in your name, an employer that no longer exists with no one left to confirm you worked there, and the question of what counts as an address at all. One account, who has been through a clearance, says the investigators they met were used to human lives and flexible about hardship — one experience, not a rule — a period of homelessness, an illness — if you can say where you were and can find anyone who knew you then; one caution says the same for anyone who moves often or lives with friends: the shortage is references, not dates. What the accounts and this page will not do is fill the gap with a guess: one account suggested a plausible invented address, and a caution rated high answers that incorrect information removes you from consideration, and a second caution says submitted histories that disagree can stop the check passing. Write ‘unknown, roughly spring to autumn of that year’ and say so — the accounts asked what to do with a gap like that and did not answer, so that line is this page’s own. Two more things these conversations leave open: how family would get into this file if you could not — one gap names wills and powers of attorney, which are a different page — and what to do when the trail is truly gone for a short period. And one neighbouring habit the people here keep, which is a different page: four conversations keep the same kind of running log for the house — repairs, receipts, improvements — for insurance and for the day it is sold.