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I’m breaking up with mail.
We were in a toxic relationship where it would show up with its junk and just lay around like an unwanted fruit cake. Eventually, I’d have to uncurl from the warm spot on the couch and look at it, again. Then, I’d have to use my mental bandwidth to decide between trash or recycling. Sometimes it would have a party, all its friends would RSVP yes, and they’d fill up the trash and recycling with their useless ways.
It sucked time away from things I preferred like taking a bath, nap, or pondering why Mr. BuLL thinks the microwave has it out for him.
Mere minutes and fragments of energy, but it still took something without asking.
Rude!
So, I’m breaking up with my mail.
Unlike some breakups where I can move to another zip code to prevent unwanted contact, mail always finds me like I’m wearing a bedazzled ankle bracelet.
A break of this intensity requires repetition. So. Much. Repetition.
Analogue Mail
From magazines and donations to credit cards and travel offers, plenty of mail shows up in the mailbox.
The common term for it is junk mail.
The sprites at Urban Dictionary define junk mail as, “United States Postal Service sanctioned mail consisting of advertisements that 99.5% of the population doesn’t want, but they insist on forcing down the captive postal customers throats anyway.”
Some junk mail continues to find its way to my mailbox, but I’m less than average in that department and proud of it too! When a new piece shows up, I call the company it’s attached to, and asked to be removed from their mailing list.
I have yet to be denied, but it does involve waiting, sometimes lots of waiting, for a real human to provide real results.
Breaking up with mailing lists does create mail-free days or fragments of what the neighbors receive.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. Less mail is better for the planet with less paper wasted and gives space and grace to my postal person.
Recently, I chatted with a postal worker. He said they were working mandatory 12-hour shifts, six days a week. They hire new people but can’t keep them because the schedule intensity burns them out.
I can’t give them the staffing or funding they deserve, but I can give them a break by being one less address to visit.
Inbox Zero
I’m addicted to inbox zero.
I love opening up my email and being great with a cheerful, “You’re all done!”
Yes, yes, I am you box of joy.
My work email is brimming with emails in various states of progress, but my personal email gets to live the Zen life.
I keep a folder for bills, donations, and chats, but if it doesn’t fall into that category it gets dealt with or deleted.
Another boon is that once something arrives, I can deal with it quickly versus sifting through new or old mail and wondering what to tackle first.
To keep the inbox sparkling, I unsubscribe from marketing emails. I love sales and invites, but it’s not worth sacrificing serenity. When days have more chaos than clarity, having inbox zero is slightly less inflation for a painful pimple.
Physical Dilemmas to Digital Delights
Bills are how I know I’m adulting right.
Everything has a bill, from water and electricity to home and insurance. Even radio waves (WiFi) have a bill.
If it doesn’t have a bill does it even exist?
Bills always bring their little papers too. Luckily in the digital era, it’s undergoing a slow and sometimes painful transition from physical to digital.
I prefer digital because fewer trees are consumed, I don’t need a filing cabinet, and no postage is required!
The catch is that companies don’t start with paperless billing. Accounts have to be logged into, toggles toggled, and data inputted. Similar to passive income, the best income, once the initial effort is installed, it automatically performs into perpetuity.
Wins for me, the postal person, and the planet.
Breaking Up with Mail
There was a time when mail meant instant excitement. For small children or anyone born in the 1700s, mail was exciting because it was rare and special.
In a world of double-stuffed Oreos, mailboxes, and inboxes, mail has become another common concern. Instead of letting it pile up, I’m breaking up with mail.
