Any psychiatrist will tell you that work-keeping busy—is one of the best anesthetics ever known for sick nerves.Henry W.Longfellow found that out for himself when he lost his young wife.His wife had been melting some sealing-wax at a candle one day，when her clothes caught on fire.Longfellow heard her cries and tried to reach her in time；but she died from the burns.For a while，Longfellow was so tortured by the memory of that dreadful experience that he nearly went insane；but，fortunately for him，his three small children needed his attention.In spite of his own grief，Longfellow undertook to be father and mother to his children.He took them for walks，told them stories，played games with them，and immortalised their companionship in his poem The Children’s Hour.He also translated Dante；and all these duties combined kept him so busy that he forgot himself entirely，and regained his peace of mind.As Tennyson declared when he lost his most intimate friend，Arthur Hallam：“I must lose myself in action，lest I wither in despair.”
Most of us have little trouble “losing ourselves in action”while we have our noses to the grindstone and are doing our day’s work.But the hours after work-they are the dangerous ones.Just whenwe’re free to enjoy our own leisure，and ought to be happiest-that’s when the blue devils of worry attack us.That’s when we begin to wonder whether we’re getting anywhere in life；whether we’re in a rut；whether the boss “meant anything”by that remark he made today；or whether we’re getting bald.
When we are not busy，our minds tend to become a near-vacuum.Every student of physics knows that “nature abhors a vacuum”.The nearest thing to a vacuum that you and I will probably ever see is the inside of an incandescent electric-light bulb.Break that bulb—and nature forces air in to fill the theoretically empty space.
Nature also rushes in to fill the vacant mind.With what？Usually with emotions.Why？Because emotions of worry，fear，hate，jealousy，and envy are driven by primeval vigour and the dynamic energy of the jungle.Such emotions are so violent that they tend to drive out of our minds all peaceful，nappy thoughts and emotions.
James L.Mursell，professor of education，Teachers College，Columbia，puts it very well when he says：“Worry is most apt to ride you ragged not when you are in action，but when the day’s work is done.Your imagination can run riot then and bring up all sorts of ridiculous possibilities and magnify each little blunder.At such a time，”he continues，“your mind is like a motor operating without its load.It races and threatens to burn out its bearings or even to tear itself to bits.The remedy for worry is to get completely occupied doing something constructive.”
But you don’t have to be a college professor to realise this truth and put it into practice.During the war，I met a housewife from Chicago who told me how she discovered for herself that “the remedy for worry is to get completely occupied doing something constructive.”I met this woman and her husband in the dining-car while I was travelling from New York to my farm in Missouri.
This couple told me that their son had joined the armed forces the day after Pearl Harbour.The woman told me that she had almost wrecked her health worrying over that only son.Where was he？Was he safe？Or in action？Would he be wounded？Killed？
When I asked her how she overcame her worry，she replied：“I got busy.”She told me that at first she had dismissed her maid and tried to keep busy by doing all her housework herself.But that didn’t help much.“The trouble was，”she said，“that I could do my housework almost mechanically，without using my mind.So I kept on worrying.While making the beds and washing the dishes I realised I needed some new kind of work that would keep me busy both mentally and physically every hour of the day.So I took a job as a saleswoman in a large department store.
“That did it，”she said.“I immediately found myself in a whirlwind of activity：customers swarming around me，asking for prices，sizes，colours.Never a second to think of anything except my immediate duty；and when night came，I could think of nothing except getting off my aching feet.As soon as I ate dinner，I fell into bed and instantly became unconscious.I had neither the time nor the energy to worry.”
She discovered for herself what John Cowper Powys meant when he said，in The Art of Forgetting the Unpleasant：“A certain comfortable security，a certain profound inner peace，a kind of happy numbness，soothes the nerves of the human animal when absorbed in its allotted task.”
And what a blessing that it is so！Osa Johnson，the world’s most famous woman explorer，recently told me how she found release from worry and grief.You may have read the story of her life.It is called I Married Adventure.If any woman ever married adventure，she certainly did.Martin Johnson married her whenshe was sixteen and lifted her feet off the sidewalks of Chanute，Kansas，and set them down on the wild jungle trails of Borneo.For a quarter of a century，this Kansas couple travelled all over the world，making motion pictures of the vanishing wild life of Asia and Africa.Back in America nine years ago，they were on a lecture tour，showing their famous films.They took a plane out of Denver，bound for the Coast.The plane plunged into a mountain.Martin Johnson was killed instantly.The doctors said Osa would never leave her bed again.But they didn’t know Osa Johnson.Three months later，she was in a wheel chair，lecturing before large audiences.In fact，she addressed over a hundred audiences that season-all from a wheel chair.When I asked her why she did it，she replied：“I did it so that I would have no time for sorrow and worry.”
Osa Johnson had discovered the same truth that Tennyson had sung about a century earlier：“I must lose myself in action，lest I wither in despair.”
