Just tried to mail an envelope. You forgot the return address Fyl said. I tried writing it legibly, failed, scratched it out, tried again but it was even less legible than the first attempt. I stared at the envelope helplessly. Fyl rescued me with a self address sticker. It glowed with candy canes and gingerbread men. It’s kind of Christmasy, she said, but it at least they can read it. I sat there, shamed by the simple act of trying to mail a check. So I signed up with Venmo. Only took a minute or two, as I’m so familiar with signing my life away for some app or another. I couldn’t quite figure out why it’s better than PayPal, which I already use, not that I ever doubted that I shouldn’t worry about it. Anything to avoid the humiliation of trying to scrawl my name and address in the corner of an envelope. You’d never know that I once used to manage the mail center of a major International corporation. Years of experience had made me an expert in all things mail, from mass mailings to the simple act of mailing a letter. Secretaries would come down to the mailroom and ask me how many stamps they needed to put on an envelope, then lay it across my open palm, and I’d tell them, and I was always right.

Now I can’t even write my address on an envelope.