In these uncertain times, you need a steady hand at the wheel. An unblinking beacon of sure-footed decisiveness. A fearless, damn-the-torpedoes leader who will flawlessly accomplish every goal.
You don’t have that person. But good news: You have me, a uniquely well-qualified ball of anxiety, ready to worry about the fact that you don’t have that person. And also about the fact that you have torpedoes. That seems like a bad idea for a rudderless organization.
“But our budget can’t accommodate another executive!” you may protest. Shhh. Don’t worry your pretty little head; that’s my job. My perturbation is completely pro bono. I will knit my brows, second-guess, and perseverate without compensation of any kind.
I require no specific hours of work. I stand ready to contribute round-the-clock, unmitigated what-ifisms to any and every to-do list, whether or not it’s in my job description.
You may point out that there is no job description, because your organization has never advertised for a Chief Executive Worrier. To be honest, I’m deeply concerned that you haven’t thought to do so. You’re missing an opportunity to tap the greatest energy resource that God and unresolved trauma have ever devised.
I’m talking about overthinking so intense that it could power a good-sized factory building. Throw in a giant hamster wheel and a steady source of caffeine, and your electricity bills are a thing of the past. You’ll be saving money and the planet. Also, my fingers, which are basically just chewed-down nubbins at this point.
“But wait,” you may say. “What if we’ve omitted ‘worrying’ from our org chart by design? What if we want to fill our company with people who will never doubt the decisions they make? People who would never imagine the smoking carcass of their burned-down house while fretting, with 67.9 percent certainty, that they forgot to turn off a stove burner?”
Well, now I fear you won’t need a Chief Executive Anything. If you can’t visualize every possible worst-case scenario—as well as the merely messy or inconvenient ones—how can you achieve success, let alone recognize it?
You can’t know that things are good without understanding all the ways they could be bad. And that’s where I come in: I worry so you won’t have to. Even though you absolutely should.
You may not be a multinational conglomerate, a governmental entity, or a large corporation, and that’s okay. There is no job too small or detail too unimportant to merit a Chief Executive Worrier.
For example, just today, you accidentally wore your black top with your navy bottoms because the lighting in your closet is weird.
You may be concerned that everyone is judging your fashion sense, and you’re right. But that’s not all. I can muse over your black-and-navy misfire, sure, but I’m also wary of more lethal risks.
You may shrug at weird lighting, but I know how to fixate on your electrical system. Is it up to code? What if your incontinent cat inadvertently piddles in the wrong place, arcing a current between your poorly maintained wiring and your dry-rotted window sash? It could spark a conflagration.
You really can’t put a price on my exceptional skills in anticipatory anxiety. Or my capacity to imagine smoking carcasses. Or my quiet conviction that you’re probably mad at me.
But the price is still gratis. Because I will worry for you, for your organization, for your incontinent cat, and for the world at exactly the same rate that I worry for myself. I will worry for free.
Thank you for welcoming me as your Chief Executive Worrier. You didn’t even have to hire me. I’ve been here the whole time.
