they said. Here were two little orphans much worse off than I hadever been. They made me feel ashamed of my sorrow and selfpity. I showed them the Christmas tree and then took them toa drugstore and we had some refreshments， and I bought themsome candy and a few presents. My loneliness vanished as if bymagic. These two orphans gave me the only real happiness andself-forgetfulness that I had had in months. As I chatted withthem， I realised how lucky I had been. I thanked God that all myChristmases as a child had been bright with parental love andtenderness. Those two little orphans did far more for me thanI did for them. That experience showed me again the necessityof making other people happy in order to be happy ourselves.
I found that happiness is contagious. By giving， we receive. Byhelping someone and giving out love， I had conquered worry andsorrow and self-pity， and felt like a new person. And I was a newperson—not only then， but in the years that followed.”
I could fill a book with stories of people who forgot themselvesinto health and happiness. For example， let’s take the case ofMargaret Tayler Yates， one of the most popular women in theUnited States Navy.
Mrs. Yates is a writer of novels， but none of her mystery stories is half so interesting as the true story of what happened to herthat fateful morning when the Japanese struck our fleet at PearlHarbour. Mrs. Yates had been an invalid for more than a year： abad heart. She spent twenty-two out of every twentyfour hoursin bed. The longest journey that she undertook was a walk intothe garden to take a sunbath. Even then， she had to lean on themaid’s arm as she walked. She herself told me that in those daysshe expected to be an invalid for the balance of her life.
“I would never have really lived again，” she told me， “if the Japshad not struck Pearl Harbour and jarred me out of my complacency.
“When this happened，” Mrs. Yates said， as she told her story，“everything was chaos and confusion. One bomb struck so nearmy home， the concussion threw me out of bed. Army trucksrushed out to Hickam Field， Scofield Barracks， and Kaneohe BayAir Station， to bring Army and Navy wives and children to thepublic schools. There the Red Cross telephoned those who hadextra rooms to take them in. The Red Cross workers knew that Ihad a telephone beside my bed， so they asked me to be a clearinghouse of information. So I kept track of where Army and Navywives and children were being housed， and all Navy and Armymen were instructed by the Red Cross to telephone me to find outwhere their families were.
“I soon discovered that my husband， commander RobertRaleigh Yates， was safe. I tried to cheer up the wives who didnot know whether their husbands had been killed; and I tried togive consolation to the widows whose husbands had been killedand they were many. Two thousand， one hundred and seventeenofficers and enlisted men in the Navy and Marine Corps werekilled and 960 were reported missing.
“At first I answered these phone calls while lying in bed.
Then I answered them sitting up in bed. Finally， I got so busy， soexcited， that I forgot all about my weakness and got out of bed and sat by a table. By helping others who were much worse offthan I was， I forgot all about myself; and I have never gone backto bed again except for my regular eight hours of sleep each night.
I realise now that if the Japs had not struck at Pearl Harbour， Iwould probably have remained a semi-invalid all my life. I wascomfortable in bed. I was constantly waited on， and I now realisethat I was unconsciously losing my will to rehabilitate myself.
“The attack on Pearl Harbour was one of the greatest tragediesin American history， but as far as I was concerned， it was oneof the best things that ever happened to me. That terrible crisisgave me strength that I never dreamed I possessed. It tookmy attention off myself and focused it on others. It gave mesomething big and vital and important to live for. I no longer hadtime to think about myself or care about myself.”
A third of the people who rush to psychiatrists for help couldprobably cure themselves if they would only do as MargaretYates did： get interested in helping others. My idea? No， that isapproximately what Carl Jung said. And he ought to know—ifanybody does. He said： “About one-third of my patients aresuffering from no clinically definable neurosis， but from thesenselessness and emptiness of their lives.”
To put it another way， they are trying to thumb a ride throughlife—and the parade passes them by. So they rush to a psychiatristwith their petty， senseless， useless lives. Having missed the boat，they stand on the wharf， blaming everyone except themselves anddemanding that the world cater to their self-centred desires.
You may be saying to yourself now： “Well， I am not impressedby these stories. I myself could get interested in a couple oforphans I met on Christmas Eve; and if I had been at PearlHarbour， I would gladly have done what Margaret Tayler Yatesdid. But with me things are different： I live an ordinary humdrumlife. I work at a dull job eight hours a day. Nothing dramatic ever happens to me. How can I get interested in helping others? Andwhy should I? What is there in it for me?”
A fair question. I’ll try to answer it. However humdrum yourexistence may be， you surely meet some people every day of yourlife. What do you do about them? Do you merely stare throughthem， or do you try to find out what it is that makes them tick?
How about the postman， for example—he walks hundreds of milesevery year， delivering mail to your door; but have you ever takenthe trouble to find out where he lives， or ask to see a snapshot ofhis wife and his kids? Did you ever ask him if his feet get tired， orif he ever gets bored?
What about the grocery boy， the newspaper vendor， the chapat the corner who polishes your shoes? These people are human—