I don’t like to blow my own trumpet but I’m really good at worrying. If a family member fails to answer my message within 30 seconds, they’re definitely dead. Every name I forget means I’ve got Alzheimer’s disease; every brown envelope is a court summons for a crime I’ve forgotten doing (because of Alzheimer’s disease); every “Do you have time for a quick chat?” is a cataclysm about to detonate, destroying my life. I’ve long wondered if this superpower has any practical application, and I’ve finally worked out what it is: it’s telling people what not to worry about. From mass coral bleaching to the march of the robots, 2024 offers plenty of real worries, but even more absolute non-issues. I know, because, whatever the putative problem, I overthink all angles in nanoseconds and, if I’m not worried, trust me, you needn’t be either.

Take straw wrinkles. Straw wrinkles, I discovered the other day, are the wrinkles you might conceivably get from pursing your lips to drink through a straw. I don’t suppose you’ll be surprised to hear that capitalism has a solution: an “anti-wrinkle straw”, much admired by TikTok influencers (who arguably bear some responsibility for lip wrinkles, given their earlier enthusing about giant toddler cups with built-in straws).

I’ve run straw wrinkles through my problem processor and concluded: no. Not because you won’t get them – you will – but because, as a weary-sounding dermatologist confirmed to the New York Times, they come from all sorts: genetics, the sun, playing the oboe, pretending to be Kenneth Williams (the dermatologist didn’t mention this, but I’m extrapolating). And now I’m on a roll, let me unburden you of some other things I’ve considered recently that might be preying on your mind.

Can I prevent pillow wrinkles?

It’s a cruel betrayal that the things we’re most frequently urged to do for health – sleep and drink water – might give us wrinkles. Deep facial creases from pillows could, you’ve guessed it, be solved with an expensive anti-wrinkle pillowcase, but here’s my take: pillow creases mean you’ve slept soundly, stationary, all night. No 14 trips to the loo, no 43 pillow turns, no thrashing, restless rundown of your worst life decisions. You are winning at life; take the wrinkly win.

Glazed doughnut v matt skin?

Which diametrically opposed 2024 makeup trend to choose? Should you look like your whole face has been rolled in sticky Dunkin’ Donuts glaze, making you irresistible to Ben Affleck, wasps and your own fringe? Or should you cultivate the velvety-soft finish of 70s flock wallpaper? Listen, if you’re reading this, you’re almost certainly over 22, so relax: neither of these are remotely available to you. Problem solved.

Is sitting down all the time killing me?

As a person whose brain only operates seated, I’ve really worked the “sitting is worse than smoking” conundrum over. My conclusion? Having housing, food and clothing are also important to my health. I need to sit to get them; you probably do too. Let’s give ourselves a (seated) break.

Should I give up fruit because it’s full of sugar?

You come to me in this, the season of the good mangoes, with this question? Have a word with yourself. Then have a mango.

Am I “languishing”?

There’s a new book about “languishing” – lacking relish for life, feeling purposeless, existing at baseline of blah – how bad it is and what you should do about it. But maybe you’re just … alive? Yes, the proportion of spreadsheets to skittles and beer may be suboptimal, but if you can reframe that as “languishing” you sound like a romantic poet. I say embrace it.

Where can I berth my superyacht?

Finally, a real problem! I’ve been losing sleep over the paucity of parking spots for the 100-metre-plus giga-yacht, but now that I’ve read a Financial Times article about this I can put your mind at rest: a broker wonderfully named “Splinter Fangman” can help you secure space in the most desirable ports. You’re welcome.

• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist