A gifted American psychologist has said, 'Worry is a spasm of the emotion; the
mind catches hold of something and will not let it go.' It is useless to argue
with the mind in this condition. The stronger the will, the more futile the
task. One can only gently insinuate something else into its convulsive grasp.
And if this something else is rightly chosen, if it is really attended by the
illumination of another field of interest, gradually, and often quite swiftly,
the old undue grip relaxes and the process of recuperation and repair begins.#
The cultivation of a hobby and new forms of interest is therefore a policy of
the first importance to a public man. But this is not a business that can be
undertaken in a day or swiftly improvised by a mere command of the will. The
growth of alternative mental interests is a long process. The seeds must be
carefully chosen; they must fall on good ground; they must be sedulously
tended, if the vivifying fruits are to be at hand when needed.#
To be really happy and really safe, one ought to have at least two or three
hobbies, and they must all be real. It is no use starting late in life to say:
'I will take an interest in this or that.' Such an attempt only aggravates the
strain of mental effort. A man may acquire great knowledge of topics
unconnected with his daily work, and yet get hardly any benefit or relief. It
is no use doing what you like; you have got to like what you do. Broadly
speaking, human beings may be divided into three classes: those who are toiled
to death, those who are worried to death, and those who are bored to death. It
is no use offering the manual labourer, tired out with a hard week's sweat and
effort, the chance of playing a game of football or baseball on Saturday
afternoon. It is no use inviting the politician or the professional or
business man, who has been working or worrying about serious things for six
days, to work or worry about trifling things at the weekend.#
As for the unfortunate people who can command everything they want, who can
gratify every caprice and lay their hands on almost every object of desire -
for them a new pleasure, a new excitement is only an additional satiation. In
vain they rush frantically round from place to place, trying to escape from
avenging boredom by mere clatter and motion. For them discipline in one form
or another is the most hopeful path.#
It may also be said that rational, industrious, useful human beings are
divided into two classes: first, those whose work is work and whose pleasure
is pleasure; and secondly those whose work and pleasure are one. Of these the
former are the majority. They have their compensations. The long hours in the
office or the factory bring with them as their reward, not only the means of
sustenance, but a keen appetite for pleasure even in its simplest and most
modest forms. But Fortune's favoured children belong to the second class.
Their life is a natural harmony. For them the working hours are never long
enough. Each day is a holiday, and ordinary holidays, when they come, are
grudged as enforced interruptions in an absorbing vocation. Yet to both
classes, the need of an alternative outlook, of a change of atmosphere, of a
diversion of effort, is essential. Indeed, it may well be that those whose
work is their pleasure are those who most need the means of banishing it at
intervals from their minds.&