Of all the mental occupations fallen into, invented, or discovered by man, the most needless, futile, and useless of all is the occupation of worry.  We have heard it said often, when one was speaking of another’s work, or something he had done:  “He ought to be in a better business.”  So, in every case, can it be said of the worrier:  He’s in a bad business; a business that ought not to exist, one without a single redeeming feature.  If for no other reason the fact implied by the title of this chapter ought to be sufficient to condemn it.  Worry is needless, useless, futile, of none effect.  Why push a heavy rock up a mountain side merely to have it roll down again?  Yet one might find good in the physical development that came from this needless uphill work.  And he might laugh, and sing, and be cheery while he was doing it.  But in the case of the worrier he not only pushes the rock up the hill, but he is beset with the dread that, every moment, it is going to roll back and kill him, and he thinks of nothing but the fear, and the strain, and the distress.

When one calmly considers, it is almost too ridiculous to write seriously about the needlessness and uselessness of worry; its futility is so self-evident to an intelligent mind.  Yet, because so many otherwise intelligent and good people are cursed by it, it seems necessary to show its utter uselessness.  These say:  “I would stop worrying if I could; but I can’t help it; I worry in spite of myself!”

Don’t you believe it!  You doubtless think your statement is true, but it is nothing of the kind.  Worry could find no place in your mind if it was full to overflowing with something really useful and beneficial.  It is a proof either that your mind bosses you,—­in other words, that you cannot direct it to think upon something worth while, that it is absolutely untrained, undisciplined, uncontrolled,—­or that it is so empty, it takes to worry as a refuge against its own vacuity.  The fact of worry implies either that the worrier has no control over his mind, or has an empty mind.

Now no intelligent person will, for one moment, confess to such weakness of mind that he has no control over it.  An unoccupied mind can always be occupied if one so wills.  No human being is so constituted that nothing appeals to him or interests him, so every mind can be awakened and filled with contemplation of good things—­things that will help, benefit and bless, if he so desires.

In the Foreword I have referred to my own experience.  Many who knew some of the facts and saw the change that came over my life, have asked me how I succeeded in eliminating worry.  I refused to allow my mind to dwell upon harassing topics or events in my life.  If I awoke during the night, I turned on the light and picked up a book and forced my thought into another channel.  If the objectionable thoughts obtruded during the day I did one of many things, as, for instance, turned to my work with a frenzy of absorption; picked up my hat and went for a walk; called upon friends; went to a concert; or a vaudeville show; took in a lecture; stood and watched the crowds; visited the railway stations—­anything, everything, but dwell upon the subjects that were tabooed.