Small habits, well pursued betimes,
May reach the dignity of crimes.
_Hannah More_.
More than one "sunbeam" and "life of the party" in society is the "cross
patch" and "fuss budget" of the home. His gracious smiles and quips abroad
are matched at home by darkened brows and moody silence, only broken by
conversation of the italicized variety: "_Will_ it ever stop raining?"
"_Can't_ you see that I am busy?" "What _are_ you doing?" and the like.
Whatever banner is exhibited to the outside world, the motto at home seems
to be "Whatever is, is wrong." Defects in the ménage, carefully overlooked
when dining out, are called with peculiar unction to the attention of the
housekeeper of the home, whose worry to please is only matched by the
"sunbeam's" fear that she shall think him satisfied with what is placed
before him.
"There's something kind of pitiful about a man that growls
Because the sun beats down too hot, because the wild wind howls,
Who never eats a meal but that the cream ain't thick enough,
The coffee ain't been settled right, or else the meat's too tough--
Poor chap! He's just the victim of Fate's oldest, meanest trick,
You'll see by watching mules and men, they don't need brains to kick."
_Chicago Interocean_.
Add to the "kicking habit" the insistence that each member of the family
must be reminded at frequent intervals of his peculiar weaknesses, and that
the discussion of uncomfortable topics, long since worn threadbare, must be
reopened at every available opportunity, and the adage is justified, "be it
ever so humble, there's no place like home."
Try the following suggestion on approaching the house after a hard
day's work. Say to yourself, "Why tired and cross? Why not tired and
good-natured?" The result may startle the family and cause inquiries for
your health, but "Don't Worry," if it does; console yourself with the
thought they will like you none the less for giving them a glimpse of that
sunny nature of which they have often heard.
As a further preparation for the evening meal, and the evening, by way of
alleviating the mental and physical discomfort following a trying day, one
is surprised by the effectiveness of taking a bath and changing all the
clothing. This treatment, in fact, almost offers a sure cure, but the
person who would be most benefited thereby, is the person so obsessed to
pursue the miserable tenor of his way that he scouts the suggestion that
he thus bestir himself, instead of sinking into the easy chair. He may,
however, accept the suggestion that simply changing the shoes and stockings
is extremely restful, when reminded that if he had worn kid gloves all day
he would be relieved to free his hands from the incubus, and, if gloves
must still be worn, to put on a cool pair.
It is a further aid to physical, and indirectly to mental, comfort, if one
can learn to wear low shoes and the thinnest of underwear the year
round; the former offer a panacea for fidgets; the latter lessens the
perspiration, which increases the susceptibility to drafts, and to even
moderate lowering of temperature. The prevailing belief that this procedure
is dangerous is disproved by the experience of the many who have given it a
thorough trial. The insistent belief of the neurotic that he cannot acquire
this habit is touched upon in the chapter on Worry and Obsession. If he
thinks he is "taking cold," let him throw back his shoulders and take a few
deep breaths, or if convenient, a few exercises, instead of doubling the
weight of his underwear, and in the long run he will find that he has not
only increased his comfort, but has lessened, rather than increased, the
number of his colds.
Much of the worry of the home is retrospective. "If I had only made
Mary wear her rubbers,"--"If we had only invested in Calumet & Hecla at
25,"--"If we had only sent John to college," represent a fruitful source of
family discomfort. The morbid rhyme is familiar to all:
"Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest these, 'It might have been.'"
I should be glad to learn of any advantage accruing from the indulgence of
this attitude toward the bygone. A happier and more sensible habit of mind
may be attained by equal familiarity with the following:
"Add this suggestion to the verse,
'It might have been a great deal worse.'"
A fruitful source of discomfort for the worrier at home is the absence of
occupation. He looks forward to mental rest after using his brain all day,
but there is no rest for him unless in sleep. The most valuable rest he
could give his mind would be to occupy it with something worth while, yet
not so strenuous as to cause solicitude. As Saleeby points out, the mock
worry of a game is a good antidote for the real worry of life, and a game
is far better than nothing, unless the player make, in turn, a work of his
play, in which case worry continues.
The hardest task for the worrier at home is to get away from home. With
advancing years the temptation grows upon us to spend our evenings by the
fireside, to make no new friends and seek no new enjoyments. But this
unbroken habit is neither the best preparation for a happy old age, nor the
best method of counteracting present worry. Nor should one stop to decide
whether the special entertainment in question will be worthwhile--he must
depend rather on the realization that if he accepts most opportunities he
will be, on the whole, the gainer.
The man whose occupation keeps him in-doors all day should make special
effort to pass some time in the open air, if possible walking or driving
to and from his place of business, and taking at least a stroll in the
evening.
As more than one writer has suggested, the best resource is the _fad_. The
fad will prove an inestimable boon after withdrawing from active work, but
it should be commenced long before one discontinues business, else the
chances are that he will never take it up, but will fret away his time like
the average man who retires from an occupation which has engrossed his
attention.
The fad should not be pursued too strenuously, or its charm is lost. A lady
once told me that she had given up studying flowers because she found she
could not master botany in the time at her disposal. Another sees no use in
taking up history unless he can become an authority on some epoch. Another
declines to study because he can never overtake the college graduate. But
one of the best informed men of my acquaintance had no college education.
One of his fads was history, with which he was far more familiar than any
but the exceptional college man, outside the teachers of that branch of
learning.
The usefulness of the fad does not depend upon the perfection attained in
its pursuit, but upon the pleasure in its pursuit, and upon the diversion
of the mind from its accustomed channels. The more completely one learns
to concentrate his thoughts on an _avocation_, the more enthusiasm and
effectiveness he can bring to bear on his _vocation_ in its turn. A fad
that occupies the hands, such as carpentering, turning, or photography, is
peculiarly useful if one's taste runs in that direction.
One handicap in cultivating the fad is the lack of interest on the part of
our associates, but if we become genuinely interested in any fad that is at
all worth while, we shall inevitably add new acquaintances likely to prove
at least as interesting as those of our present friends, who have no
thoughts outside their daily round of toil. The more fads one cultivates,
so long as he avoids the obsession to obtrude them at all times and places,
the more interesting he will, in his turn, become to others.
The over-solicitude that defeats its own end, in the case of a parent,
has been admirably portrayed by Arthur Benson in "Beside Still
Waters,"--"there was nothing in the world that he more desired than the
company and the sympathy of his children; but he had, beside this, an
intense and tremulous sense of his responsibility toward them. He
attached an undue importance to small indications of character, and thus
the children were seldom at ease with their father, because he rebuked
them constantly, and found frequent fault, doing almost violence to his
tenderness, not from any pleasure in censoriousness, but from a terror,
that was almost morbid, of the consequences of the unchecked development
of minute tendencies."
Something must be left to natural growth, and to fortune, even in such
important matters as the rearing of children.