Performance anxiety. Separation anxiety. Social anxiety. As if those weren't enough, add contingency anxiety to the mix. Contingency anxiety, as defined by the car guy in the WSJ: “It’s that fear of needing extra seating, once in a blue moon and not having it that pushes buyers toward third row seat car models. It’s a kind of hoarding of cubic inches.”
Contingency anxiety, like its cohorts, is born of worry that is out of proportion; of fear that has gone from reasonable to irrational. Perilous at best. Ruinous at worst. Rather than settling on a reasonable work-around, we settle on expensive and irrational. It’s more than a weird form of hoarding. Keeping up with the Jones (the toxic combo of social and performance anxiety) often plays a part.
Contingency anxiety and contingency planning are very different. Planning is reasonable and prudent. I highly recommend it. Whole industries are devoted to this and forward-thinking businesses, well-run households and thoughtful individuals routinely plan for the unexpected, the once in a blue moon. An oft quoted adage is “Plan for the worst and hope for the best.” Maybe it’s the other way around- hoping before planning but either way, it’s good advice.
Cars don’t have a corner on the contingency anxiety market. It manifests in myriad ways and it’s easy to be bamboozled by bedrooms, appliances, apparel- you name it. A huge house for a small family. A trophy kitchen for the very occasional cook. Dozens of subtly different white shirts to suit any situation. All of these are born of contingency anxiety which is enough to make you scream. So consider contingency planning and you’ll realize that if/when your car, house, kitchen or closet have encountered “once in a blue moon'“, there are reasonable work-arounds. A rental car, a hotel room, a caterer or someone in the rag trade will come to your rescue. I promise.
But in the Age of Corona, when toilet paper has joined the ranks of things about which we are anxious, go ahead. Scream. Edvard Munch would approve.