A seemingly innocent email from the United States Postal Service when we moved: Do you want to sign up for Informed Delivery? Sure, I thought, it will be nice to know what’s coming.
Every day, I open an email with photos of what’s arriving (or not arriving) in my mailbox that day, a scanned digital version. I know exactly what to expect (or not expect).
I’ve done this to myself, ruined the magic of the mail. It used to be so romantic, the waiting and the walking and the hope for something unexpected, like a love letter written in familiar handwriting.