A paranoid person is merely someone in possession of all the facts, or so I like to think. I am what you would call a reasonably paranoid person; basically, I like to be prepared. If I'm driving somewhere I've never been, I want handwritten or printed directions and the phone number of where I'm going; no GPS for me. When preparing for a trip, I over-pack. My iPhone battery has more than enough juice at all times. Oh, you cut yourself? Here, I keep a Band-Aid (and at least one guitar pick) in my wallet.
This, of course, is the type of mindset that has evolved into the discipline of risk management, in which all manner of public and private enterprise has one or several people whose job it is to lie awake at night wondering what else could go wrong. Last month, I attended the RIMS conference in Los Angeles, the annual gathering of The World's Most Successful Paranoid People, and I imagine that during said conference, the number of carefully set alarm clocks in the City of Angels must have been at a record high.
I kid, of course. Managing risk is far more than professional worrying; it is about protecting that which we hold dear. In doing so, the question that inevitably emerges is this: What in this world do I value the most, and what steps can I take to protect it?
Which leads me to a revelation I made recently to my new boss, Bill Coffin: I keep a shoebox filled with cassettes under my bed, ready to grab at a moment's notice in the event of a fire.
Yes, cassettes. Mind you, I also possess a rather large collection of movie memorabilia, worth a considerable amount of money—but that box of tapes is the one thing I would save, were the house to go up in flames.
Full disclosure: In addition to enjoying a very fulfilling career in journalism, I've been a musician and songwriter since I was a teenager. Throughout a countless string of bands, rehearsals, recording sessions, late-night gigs for mostly little money and numerous lineup changes over the course of 27 years, my good friend Alan Miller and I have released several albums (yes, I will always call them "albums") and we will continue to do so, until both of us are six feet under. I wish everyone could share in the boundless creative joy that comes from writing a song that you love with your best friend and being able to play it for people.
On those cassettes are nearly three decades' worth of song ideas. Riffs, a great chorus to flesh out into a song someday, melodies … all little pieces of magic captured on tape, some of which would otherwise pop into your head in one moment and be lost to the ether in the next. And I've kept it all, surely tempting fate along the way.
Sure, risk management and insurance are about the myriad things that can go wrong, and having a plan in place for a worst-case scenario. But they're also about taking a good, hard look at what you deem precious and making sure it's protected. Aside from loss of life, the most gut-wrenching tales I've heard from Superstorm Sandy—which wiped out entire communities in my hometown of Staten Island—are those in which people wept openly after losing precious photos, letters and other irreplaceable family heirlooms. Grandma's jewelry. Mom's wedding ring. Grandpa's medals.
It begs the question: What is your most treasured possession, other than your family members? If you have not yet answered that question yourself, now might be the perfect time.
Shawn Moynihan is Executive Managing Editor of NUP&C. He can be reached at smoynihan@sbmedia.com.
© Arc, All Rights Reserved. Request academic re-use from www.copyright.com. All other uses, submit a request to TMSalesOperations@arc-network.com. For more information visit Asset & Logo Licensing.