Was there life before Post-it notes?

Probably. But it wasn’t nearly so rich with sticky reminders, clinging memos and glue-backed lists.

The advent of written reminders is nothing new. But somehow our notes seem to vanish when we most need them. They get buried under papers, books, bills and, yes, other notes.

Nothing so augments the usefulness of a note as its mere presence. Showing up is indeed half the battle.

The distinction between a Post-it and any other breed of note is a fine line ”“ edged with adhesive and ready to stick on the surface of one’s choice. Once there, it can serve several functions.

Some Post-its are like grunts, one-word exhortations whose meaning is perfectly clear. “Rubbish,” the note declares. This is not a criticism or response to some unwanted remark; it’s a command. “Soccer” or “Hairdresser” may be less imposing, but they carry the same weight. We don’t need the entire text, just a keyword that gets the barrels to curbside, Tommy to the playing field, and one’s hair to the salon.

I would hate to count the number of Post-its that occupy surfaces in my house. Even worse is the amount of redundancy.

As inveterate note-takers know, repetitive notes are a remote form of nagging. They don’t whine, yell, or scold ”“ they just sit doggedly in multiple sites, waiting for the assigned task to be complete. The reward is not simply that the much-announced chore is done; it’s that you can chuck the notes and start afresh. Indeed, you may even renew your acquaintance with the surface below, before a new note sprouts up. Surely this must be what it’s like for men when they shave off their beards: There’s a whole other world under there, a sort of naked truth.

No doubt, there are Post-it users who are just garden variety note-takers. A shopping list, a memo on the run, are their stock in trade. But there’s often a cartography to Post-it use ”“ a path that leads from one room to the next, a trail of clues about tasks, projects, even intimate details of a user’s life. A good sleuth could easily piece together an entire map of one’s daily life, based solely upon these notes. Public though they may be ”“ affixed to the back door, kitchen counter or front hall mirror ”“ they add up to some strangely personal math: The whole of one’s Post-it life may be greater than the sum of its parts.

As middle age settles in more firmly each year, I realize the benefit of a strong adhesive attached to any reminder. When I was young, a sharp memory was that adhesive. These days, Post-it notes are a close second.

— Joan Silverman is a writer in Kennebunk. This article appeared earlier in The Oregonian.