I worry. It's what I do. If you ask me what I do for a living, I would have to say "worry." It isn't what I get paid to do, but if it were, I would be a very rich woman indeed.
I have found the most effective worrying, and by "effective," I mean worrying that leads to more worrying, perpetuating the "Cycle of Worry," is to worry about things over which I have absolutely no say. Some of my go-to worry topics include: the stock market, rodents in the garage, the battery life of my iPhone, Warren Buffet's health, whether it will be John Lackey's turn in the rotation for an important game, and how Republicans have gutted all three branches of the government.
Mind you, I do not worry about everything out of my control. I have no concerns about not recycling, nuclear war, droughts, or how much television my children watch. Well, I suppose the last one is technically in my control since I am their mother, but I am too busy worrying about the aforementioned issues to monitor their TV intake. Of course, that is not to say that I don't have moments, usually at 2 a.m., when I am not worrying about why these issues do not worry me.
A number of years ago, I had a friend who was a Harvard-educated psychiatrist, trained in psychoanalysis. He told me that I worried more than anyone he had ever met, professionally or personally. I thought that was really cool. If I am going to do something, I want to strive to be the best. However, the world has become even more worrisome since he crowned me Freud's Queen of Worry. I worry that in the intervening years he has identified someone who worries more than I do.