I read a piece of wisdom long ago that went something like this:
Make a habit of only handling mail once.
I can picture this person (one of those people with dust-free baseboards who never leaves clothes in the dryer overnight) working out his weekly schedule and penciling in thirty minutes on Thursday evening to tend to the mail. He’s not me.
Just before spring break this year, a student asked for my exciting spring break plans.
“Unfortunately, I have to get an oil change.”
“That’s easy. Take it to an oil change place and it’s done in thirty minutes.”
“You don’t understand. I have about fifty pounds of mail in the floorboard of my car.”
Here’s proof that taxpayers’ educational dollars are well-spent. He said, “But don’t you need to open some of that mail?”
Yes, child. I do need to open some of that mail, and sometimes that’s a problem. I’m occasionally seen digging through my car for a bill I don’t think I paid this month.
The behavior is strange, but it’s not a mystery. An ex-boyfriend figured it out about fifteen years ago when he was talking about how teachers were always rumored to bring home hours of work every night. I didn’t.
Only I did bring it home. It just never left the car. “I don’t want work contaminating my home,” I explained.
He knew me. He understood immediately why I would not want reminders of my days in hellish educational settings invading my private haven. However, it didn’t explain the mail.
It turns out, the mail problem is also work-related. Mail is something else begging for my attention. It asks questions. It wants me to take action. It persuades me to part with money. It argues. Simply explained, after a workday of constant human interaction, I don’t need more of it. Not even on paper.
Understanding the weirdness didn’t help at all.
Until April of this year, I continued hauling mail in my car. After the last oil change, I resolved to make a change. I started piling it in the mudroom on the table by the door instead.
My sister is visiting my home this weekend. This morning I faced off with the new fifty pounds of mail, piece by piece, regretting ever having a mailing address.
In hindsight, storing mail in the car was better. Handling mail once, like a wise person, is clearly not for me. No change, no growth–this is real life, folks.
1. Switch the essentials to paperless billing.
2. Remove your mailbox. The mail person will either be forced to consider the pieces of mail undeliverable, or they will create the pile for you outside of your home.
3. Only that which survives the forces of nature should be dealt with.
If only everyone would offer paperless billing!