The other day, my husband and I were discussing a vacation we took within the last few years.
"Was that 2021?" he asked. "Or 2020?"
I racked my brain but, despite it having been a lovely trip, I had no idea. Something similar happened when a good friend living far away asked when we'd last met up.
Two years ago? Three? Four? It was all a blur.
As a so-called geriatric Millennial (who comes up with these names?), my first impulse was to blame my aging brain. But while I'm as guilty as anyone of occasionally losing my keys or forgetting where I parked, on reflection I had to admit that my memory overall has improved recently.
It's only when it comes to certain biographical details that I have a hard time remembering. The culprit isn't the passing of the years, I concluded, it's that the entirety of the pandemic is becoming one indistinct blob that I'm having increasing trouble recalling.
Am I alone in this? Am I crazy? Richard Sima, a neuroscientist turned science journalist who writes for The Washington Post, and who interviewed several academic experts on memory to explore the idea, says no.
Sima offers readers a detailed description of the neuroscience of memory. It's fascinating, but here's the quick and dirty takeaway in case you remember nothing else (ironic), pulled from Sima's consultation with people like cognitive psychology professor Norman Brown:
"What we remember tends to be distinctive, emotionally loaded, and deemed worthy of processing and reflecting upon in our heads after the event happened," Sima writes. "Our memories are centered on our life stories and what affected us personally the most."
Now, you might think this might have made the pandemic—with its dramatic shutdowns, sky-high anxiety, terrifying headlines, and constant discord and debate—the perfect example of an event worth remembering.
That's true, except that much like how if you say you have 100 priorities, you actually have zero, the issue here isn't that the pandemic wasn't memorable. It's that too much of it was.
"Even for such salient emotional events and life-threatening events, the more you have of it, the more you will have trouble capturing all of them," explains Suparna Rajaram, a psychology professor who researches memory and with whom Sima also consulted.
In other words, the pandemic presented us with a fire hose of developments. (See how many of these you remember): delta, omicron, omicron B.1.1.529, super spreaders, bivariate boosters. But for many of us, all those epidemiological details emerged against a backdrop of profound personal monotony.
The news was terrifying, but for many of us, especially if you lived somewhere with mandatory quarantines, our day-to-day was dull as dry toast.
"When events are uniform, they are harder to recall," Sima notes. Plus, very few of us are making a special effort to recall the worst days of the pandemic and thus strengthen those memories. As a result of this overload of news and uneventful day-to-day life, pandemic memories are quickly fading into one great, undifferentiated blob for many people.
All of which makes me feel a bit better about my inability to remember recent life details.
But, from a collective perspective, the idea of institutional forgetting (the idea that society will forget the lessons about how to handle a pandemic and find itself on the back foot if another virus crops up again) is a bit more scary.
Pandemic disruption and the soul searching it generated kicked off a vast reassessment of where, when, and how we work, for example. From the Great Resignation and the Great Relocation to quiet quitting and the return-to-office wars, a blizzard of recent workplace trends can trace their roots to our collective experience with Covid.
Allowing those experiences to fade in our minds is natural and inevitable to some extent, but I hope we won't forget the hard-won knowledge that came with our Covid struggles.
In other words, I'm glad to know my forgetful brain is performing as designed. But, it would be a real loss if our collective reassessment of hustle culture, work-life balance, and employee flexibility faded along with our Covid memories.
Dreams
Nathan Apodaca was late for work at the potato warehouse in Idaho Falls, but his truck had 320,000 miles on it and refused to go another inch. So, he got on his skateboard, sipped a bottle of Ocean Spray Cran-Raspberry juice, and recorded a TikTok video, accompanied by Fleetwood Mac’s 1977 song, Dreams.
Everything happened: the video went viral, Fleetwood Mac topped the charts, Ocean Spray tracked down Apodaca and gave him a new truck, and TikTok turned it into a commercial. But what would you do now, three short years later, if you wanted to have a similar branding hit? Easy answer: consider sponsoring newsletters like the Understandably Daily Newsletter.
The Understandably Daily Newsletter is now part of the ConvertKit Sponsor Network, connecting businesses to loyal newsletter readers. If you’d like to reach nearly 150,000 of them every day, we’d love to talk.
Thanks for reading. Photo by Unsplash. Jess wrote about some of this once upon a time on Inc.com. See you bright and early tomorrow.
Big Optimism
Quick note: Big Optimism is getting a new home. I'm rolling it into my other newsletter, Understandably. So Big Optimism will become a regular Monday feature. If you're already subscribed to Understandably, you're all set—you'll keep getting these optimistic history essays every Monday, right alongside everything else. If you're not subscribed to Understandably (or not sure), click the link below and I'll add you. (And yes, the Big Optimism book is still coming—more on that soon.) Honestly, I...
BIG NEWS before we dive in ... I'm writing a Big Optimism book! As a loyal subscriber, you can get an advance copy for free. How? With the one-click link below. Click that and I'll put you on the list for a free advance copy, and also bring you over to the new home of Big Optimism on Substack. This will be your only chance to come along! I hope you'll click the link (just click it; that's all you have to do) and keep moving forward with me on this optimistic journey. Yes! Keep sending me Big...
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