Feature STORY/Book Excerpt Plus!
How I Changed Forever
The story behind the new book Mailman
Former mailman Stephen Starring Grant
WHEN THE pandemic hit, Stephen Starring Grant had a secure career. As a seasoned marketing consultant, he ran a behavioral economics lab, collaborated with best-selling academics and gave talks at important conferences. But then, at 50, the father of two was laid off, newly diagnosed with cancer—and about to lose his health insurance. So he took a job as a rural mail carrier in his Appalachian hometown. We asked him about it.
What was the transition like?
It was like getting dropped into someone else’s life. I thought it’d be a humiliating stopgap, but it ended up being the most clarifying, meaningful year of my life.
What surprised you the most?
Honestly? How bad I was at it. I was a terrible mailman at first. Sorting mail in route order, driving one-handed on dirt roads—I was overwhelmed. But that was part of the gift. I had to tolerate sucking for a while. And then I got better.
How did you manage to stop sucking at it and keep the job?
When you’ve been in your career 20, 30 years, you forget how fluent you are. You forget what it feels like to be new at something. I started to use what I was good at—meticulous prep, planning, learning. I wrote out every street name. I studied the route on Google Maps like a military operation. Eventually, it clicked.
Did this job change how you saw yourself?
Before this, I’d been in rooms where people listened to me because of my title. I got respect for free. Once I put on that uniform, I realized, Oh—this is who I am without the business card. That’s when things got interesting.
Did the job change how you saw other people?
Absolutely. I tell people: Your mail carrier sees everything. How you talk to your kids [Grant with his daughters, above]. How you treat your dog. There’s a kind of post office group chat in every town—“Watch out for that guy” or “That house leaves out snacks.” You learn to recognize decency. And you remember how much it matters.
You had what you call small “religious experiences” on the route. Tell us about those.
They weren’t dramatic. Just moments of total awe. The way the sun hit a frozen tree. A hawk flying low. Sometimes I’d be out there and feel this overwhelming sense of connection—like, This is it. This is life. I started saying “thank you” out loud. I never did that before.
Was there a moment when you realized, This is who I really am?
There was this day—spring rain, rough route—and I’d just delivered a candy box to a woman named Mabel. I forded a creek in a beat-up truck to get to her. And I thought: I’m 50 years old, I have cancer, I’m soaking wet, and this is the most useful I’ve ever felt in my life.
And then you went back to your old line of work in consulting. Did it feel different?
Totally. I’m still in ideas work, but it doesn’t own me. I don’t confuse it with who I am anymore. I still miss delivering mail. I miss the solitude, the physicality, being outdoors, the small human moments. Honestly, I think about it every day.
Any advice for someone who has lost their footing after a forced life change?
Use what you know to learn what you don’t. Don’t confuse being humbled with being humiliated. And remember: You’re probably not done growing. You’re just overdue for a little discomfort. That’s where the good stuff starts.
Anything else you want us to take away from your experience?
I hope the book comes across as a love letter to the post office, because that’s what it is. If you’re an American today, you’ve never lived in a world without the U.S. Postal Service. It was founded alongside our government. The USPS is one of our nation’s crown jewels, like the National Park System. I hope readers walk away with a bigger appreciation for the people and systems we take for granted—the folks who work quietly and hard to bring services to the American people.