When my husband and I watch a documentary or a recap regarding a 90s event, we usually look at each other and shrug. If something occurred in the 90s, it might as well be fresh news.

It seems the brain’s capacity (at least, my brain) is finite regarding the amount of information it can process. I’m guessing my mind was packed with raising kids, earning a paycheck, cleaning the house, cooking meals, going to kids’ basketball games and theater productions, doing laundry… well, you get the idea. The 90s whizzed by me in a flurry of diapers and daycares.

I still voted (at least I think I did). I still read the paper (after all, I taught journalism). But somehow so many important events found no permanent storage within my little gray cells. You mean a jury acquitted OJ? There was a baseball strike? And who’s this Monica Lewinsky person? Okay, okay. Of course I recall those people and places. But to be honest, the details are murky. And don’t even try to talk to me about the music of the 90s. If Garth Brooks didn't sing a particular song, I doubt I heard it.

My husband and I watched the Waco miniseries on Netflix a couple of months ago, and we were stunned at how little we’d remembered of the siege's circumstances—and that happened a hundred miles from where we lived. It makes me feel guilty that I wasn’t... a better citizen, I suppose. 

At the same time, though, it provides a sense of relief. After all, the world continued to spin without my intense attention and constant worry. These past few years, I’ve felt somewhat overburdened and even burned out with current event overload, so it’s good to remember that I can take a break and life will go on.

Maybe I just shouldn’t let that break turn into a decade.