Calm Yourself

An Excerpt

THE selection of a title is no trifling matter. Chesterton says he once refrained from calling a work "What is Wrong?" because it was awkward to state that he was doing it! I really wanted to put in something about "fretting the gizzard," a term borrowed from Butler's "Hudibras," and defined in Webster's Dictionary as "to vex one's self." In that case I might have used for a text the lines from "Canterbury Tales ": —
And whoso gruccheth ought, he dooth folye,
And rebel is to him that all may gye, —
which I have ventured to imagine Butler might have translated something like this:—
Fret not thy gizzard under adverse fates, For the fret gizzard incapacitates.

This rather appeals to me, and to prevent gaining credit for a more serious turn of mind than I possess, I hasten to state that it was only outside pressure that prevented my choosing for a title, "The Unfret Gizzard, and How to Achieve It" The title I have selected may suggest to some a journey through life with the placidity of a Venus de Milo, but I fear this would be a little deadly. Indeed, we need not penetrate beyond the opening chapters of Reinach to learn that if Greek art itself "had made no further development after producing the pediments of the Parthenon, it would have been as incomplete in its way as that of Assyria or of Egypt." It does not follow, however, that we must play either the festive satyr or the suffering Laocoon to attain that mental attitude which shall render us a comfort to ourselves and to our neighbors. All I really wish to imply by the word poise is equanimity, and the kind of equanimity I have in mind is a purely practical one, such, for example, as will enable us to take a subway car in the Park Street Station during rush hours without losing our temper. Not that I expect any one really to attain this degree of equanimity, but I have carefully limited my title and shall limit myself to such suggestions as may put us in the way of cultivating that poise, to the extent, at least, of lessening our fears, of taking the edge off our acute resentments against things and persons, of modifying somewhat our impatience, and materially curbing our worry.
What is the practical value of cultivating such a mental attitude? Speaking as a neurologist, it is this: In my belief, nervous prostration would be rare if we were so constituted that we could leave out needless fear and fret, avoid swearing or even feeling like swearing, if we could argue without acrimony, could stifle our aversions, could resist the temptation to play the martyr, and could listen to criticism and ridicule without getting " hot under the collar." And, further, I believe that if such a millennium could be attained, the actual amount of effective work in the world would be easily doubled. Not that people wouldn't get tired, but it would be a healthy tired, the kind a normal child has after a long day's play; not the .kind of tired that puts you where you can't sleep if a clock ticks, but the kind that makes you relax every muscle in your body and sleep until the breakfast bell rings, or if you don't sleep, makes you lie still in one position and think what a good time you are having, instead of churning the bedclothes and fussing about that eight hours' sleep on which you had set your mind.
Unfortunately we are not by nature so endowed that we can expect, without effort, to adopt the poise that insures such slumber, nor is it likely that the laws of heredity will be so far subverted that our descendants will be so constituted, unless by infusion of dominant blood of another color than ours. But there is one thing we can do, and that is by training modify, to a certain extent, these faulty mental habits, take the edge off our fret and worry, in short, cultivate emotional poise. For the cure of "nervousness " (which is often only another name for faulty habit of mind) change of scene is often advised, and is, indeed, often essential by way of breaking up the associations under which the faulty mental habits have developed, and by which they are fostered. But one can sit tight wherever he is and materially modify his character, if he is ready to sacrifice his pride to his cure, and if he be sufficiently broad-minded to recognize in this description his own short-comings as well as those of his neighbor.
To such an one, the unfavorable environment becomes merely an obstacle in the game, something to be overcome instead of avoided. And if he succeed in viewing with placidity not only the brusque affront, but the sly criticism, the covert glance, and the daily reminder of his asininity, he will be repaid by an accession of self-respect which may even carry with it the respect of his own family; and that is "going some."
Is it not worth while to try and approximate, if we cannot hope to attain, the ideal of fretless, fussless, and unworrying poise? A friend to whom I recently propounded this question promptly answered, "No. If everybody was like that it would be a very tiresome world." But I have a fancy that if such equanimity could be achieved there would still be enough variety left in life to make up for missing the fun of being timid and of getting mad.
Another friend says that nervous prostration could not be so easily disposed of. He says he frets because he is tired. In point of fact, I think the principal reason he gets so tired is because he frets. But I did not tell him so for fear of an explosion. The effect of psychotherapy on the man who is not anxious to be psychotherapied is like that of water on parched earth. If you let it lie it may percolate, but there is no use trying to rub it in! And even suppose a person is tired, much of the consequent fret is a mere obsession, or fixed idea. What I mean is this: The association "tired and cross" has become so fixed in our minds that to separate them would do violence to our ideas of the proprieties. But just try the experiment once, as I have elsewhere suggested, of going home after a hard day's work, saying to yourself, "Why tired and cross; why not tired and good-natured?" You will find it a good deal easier than you think to carry out the suggestion, and the chances are you will give your family a surprise party. Or better yet, at the outset of your day, try this experiment: Start out with the de- termination that you will do each piece of work in its turn without unnecessary fret, without burdening your mind with such questions as whether So-and-So will keep his appointment, whether So-and-So will pay his bill, whether So-and-So will understand your motives, and whether your business is all gone and will never come back again for the thousandth time. Try the experiment of limiting your thoughts to the task in hand, dismissing the one just finished and leaving the next one to take its turn. When you have entrusted some one else with a part of your work, dismiss that part from your mind and, most important of all, hold yourself in readiness to react comfortably instead of irritably to the ordinary incidents of life. If you succeed in doing this you will be surprised to find yourself comparatively fresh at the end of a hard day's work, and I venture to predict, meantime, that your affairs will not suffer.
This sort of training is by nature easier for some than for others. There are sweet-apple trees and sour-apple trees. If we happen to be a sour-apple tree it will take considerable pruning and grafting of ourself to produce the kind of fruit I have in mind. But if we succeed we shall be better than he who taketh a city; in any event the net result will mean progress. It is greatly to a man's credit if he can accumulate wealth without capital to start with; the same is true of good spirits; they are like lost spectacles — it is hard to find them without them.

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