I very distinctly remember opening my first bank account.

I was probably ten years old. It came with a small, crisp book that recorded in stacked type my first ten dollar deposit. I was so excited and held that passbook proudly. Each time I visited the bank with another deposit, I actively watched my deposits grow. My passbook became historical evidence of my savings. Each entry showed how far I was towards accomplishing whatever financial goal I had set at the time. As the pages filled up, I felt rich.

Fast forward.

Sitting at my kitchen table tonight I took a picture of a check with my phone, confirmed that I wanted to deposit it into my daughter’s bank account and hit “Deposit”. More convenient, for sure. But to be honest, I kind of miss the passbook.