I Don't Jump to Conclusions. I Build Them 👷🏻‍♀️

Some people have an imagination. I have a fully staffed risk-management department.

I don't know exactly when this happened, but somewhere along the way, my brain decided that simply experiencing life wasn't enough. No. Every tiny questionable detail must be investigated, analyzed, cross-referenced, and presented to a committee that apparently has unlimited funding and absolutely no regard for my peace.

I can see one little thing that seems… off, and my brain immediately goes, “Interesting. Let's explore every possible explanation.” Oh, you mean every possible explanation? Apparently.

Before I know it, we've gone from “Huh, that's weird” to a 47-page internal report titled Potential Scenarios, Associated Risks, Secondary Risks, and Things That Could Possibly Happen If That One Thing Is Actually Something. Nobody asked for this report. Nobody commissioned this report. And yet here it is. With appendices.

The funny thing is, I don't necessarily consider myself a worrier. There's a difference between worrying and being aggressively curious about potential outcomes. At least that's what I tell myself.

I don't think, “Something terrible is going to happen.” I think, “Okay, but what if this seemingly insignificant thing is actually connected to that other seemingly insignificant thing, which would explain this third thing, and if that's true, then wouldn't that mean…” And suddenly I'm three exits past reasonable.

My brain doesn't jump to conclusions. It builds a fucking bridge to them. And then installs lighting.

The What-If Department is particularly talented at taking something that requires absolutely no action whatsoever and turning it into a full-scale strategic planning exercise. Something happens, and a normal person might think, “Huh.” I think, “Interesting.” My brain says, “Let's not overreact,” and then four seconds later adds, “BUT LET'S CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF A MUCH LARGER PATTERN.”

Oh, for God's sake.

And heaven forbid there be missing information. Missing information is basically an all-you-can-eat buffet for my brain. If I don't know why something happened, my brain will happily generate possibilities until we have enough material for a six-part documentary series.

It doesn't even require a particularly dramatic situation. A strange email? Investigation. Someone behaves differently than usual? Analysis. A detail doesn't quite make sense? Call the department.

And the department is always open. There are no business hours. There is no “we'll revisit this tomorrow.” Nope. Apparently we're staying up until 1:17 a.m. constructing hypothetical scenarios involving events that have not happened, may never happen, and in some cases aren't even remotely likely to happen.

But here's the thing I've learned about having a What-If Department: sometimes it's annoying, sometimes it's exhausting, and sometimes it's useful.

Because that same brain that can turn a minor mystery into an investigative documentary is also pretty damn good at noticing things. Patterns. Inconsistencies. Little details that other people might overlook. Questions that haven't been asked yet. Potential problems before they become actual problems.

There's a difference between being consumed by every possible scenario and simply being someone whose brain naturally looks around corners.

I'm learning that I don't have to fire the What-If Department. I just need to stop letting it schedule emergency meetings over every damn thing.

There can be a middle ground. I can notice something. I can ask a question. I can consider a few possibilities. And then, occasionally, I can tell my brain, “Thank you for your analysis. There is currently no action required. Please return to your regularly scheduled nonsense.”

Will it listen? Probably not. But we're working on it.

In the meantime, if you ever see me staring off into space looking perfectly calm, there's a good chance I'm not actually doing nothing. There's a committee meeting happening in my head. Someone has a spreadsheet. Someone else has created a flowchart. And Karen from Risk Management is standing at the whiteboard saying, “Okay, hear me out…”

God help us all.