We cannot do this by confining our interests and sympathies to the territory which is actually bounded by the geographical horizon that surrounds our home. We may not be able to actually do much for ours, but there is no limit to what we may be interested in. And the larger our interests the larger are we. It is impossible for us to accustom ourselves to large views of life and broad sympathies for the world’s charities and remain narrow and petty ourselves.
Of course, it was a little Boston girl, sitting at the family dinner table while her father and his friends carried on a serious discussion as to the child of nowadays. They were lamenting the fact that the children to-day seem so blasé, so little affected by things grave or gay. “Why,” said the father, “my children read without a tear, books that used to make me weep! It seems as if all emotion has gone out of them.” Whereupon our little friend looked up and remarked, with overpowering dignity, “Oh, papa, it is not that emotion has gone out, but self-control has come in.” Wasn’t the child right? This is an age of self-control. It is supposed to be the correct thing to hide our emotions, and, like most correct things, it is often carried too far. How often we hear people wax eloquent, even to tears, over the help they have received from some friend who is no longer with them on earth—some quiet, unseen personality, whose power over their lives they now fully realize. Are we not sometimes tempted to wonder, in listening to such tributes, how often in their lifetime they received such devotion, such recognition? Do we not catch ourselves hoping that they used sometimes to put their arms about their mother and say, “What a good mother you are to me!” But how sadly true it is that the glowing tribute, the costly monument, the piled-up roses, are often attempts to atone for lost opportunities.
He was a wise man who said, “Give me a little taffy now rather than a lot of epitaphy later on.” Not “taffy,” but honest appreciation is due the woman who goes patiently day after day about her business, not worrying about the future, not getting easily discouraged, and knowing just how to conserve herself for their best interests.
We might all be helped by adopting the following, which was put forth some years ago as a “Business Man’s New Year Endeavor,” although I cannot see why it will not do for an every-day endeavor for every woman:
“To be joyous in my work, moderate in my pleasures, chary in my confidences, faithful in my friendships; to be energetic but not excitable, enthusiastic but not fanatical; loyal to the truth, as I see it, but ever open-minded to the newer light; to abhor gush as I would profanity, and hate cant as I would a lie; to be careful in my promises, punctual in my engagements, candid with myself and frank with others; to discourage shams and rejoice in all that is beautiful and true; to do my work and live my life so that neither shall require defence or apology; to honor no one simply because rich or famous, and despise no one because humble or poor; to be gentle and considerate toward the weak; respectful yet self-respecting toward the great, courteous to all, obsequious to none; to seek wisdom from great books and inspiration from good men; to invigorate my mind with noble thoughts, as I do my body with sunshine and fresh air; to prize all sweet human friendships and seek to make at least one home happy; to have charity for the erring, sympathy for the sorrowing, cheer for the despondent; to leave the world a little better off because of me; and to leave it, when I must, bravely and cheerfully, with faith in God and good will to all my fellow-men; this shall be my endeavor during the coming year.”
When a woman learns to turn her back upon the common, the regular, the accepted, and prove for herself the blessedness of solitude, she learns to find her mental balance.
“The love or hatred of solitude,” says Schopenhauer, “does not depend on the good or evil disposition of the heart, but on the natural wealth or poverty of the mind.” Let us go farther and say it depends also upon the amount of mental discipline and the habit of standing upon one’s own intellectual feet. We need to love the silence of the stars and the blackness of midnight. We need the courage to face ourselves in the blessedness of solitude. What the crowd gives is only an average, a commonplace goodness; let us be strong enough to seek acquaintanceship with the highest by the only legitimate path, which is marked “Solitude,” and be thankful if it be not hedged about by thorns and thick darkness.
To the woman who would be individual, who wants to be an inspiration and a beneficence, there is but one message: Be not afraid of yourself; get acquainted with the deeps of your own nature; face the shortcomings of your own spirit. Go into the open country alone if you can; if not, take a little time out of every twenty-four hours to think. Just as the observance of the Sabbath is a wise thing from a physiological standpoint, so are self-communion and its breathing spaces a blessing to the individual.
As I have said before and say often, it rests with the woman herself whether she will be like a rose tree, full of brightness and fragrance, a help, a comfort and an inspiration; or whether she will degenerate into a mere replica of other women who wear good clothes, do and say the conventional, commonplace thing and are as uninteresting as a sunset without a flush of color. Are we “building ourselves fairy palaces proof against all adversity?” Are we learning the continuous habit of serious consecutive thought and clearing our minds from the loose-fibred accumulations of generations?
If girls could be left to themselves as boys are, and allowed to know from childhood the blessed privilege of unconscious self-companionship, and the solitary communion of earth and air and sky, would not the other side of their natures be developed? Would not they learn to form their own opinions, and hold independent ideas, just as naturally as boys? To those occasional seasons when a woman seems to have lost her hold on life is owing some of the most helpful work ever given to the world. Take the case of Helen Hunt. What poet has ever given us more real heart-lifting words, more soulful encouragement and inspiration than she? And yet, not until after grief and bereavement had swept in a perfect storm over her life and left her prostrate, not till after she had for months blankly faced the problem of a seemingly blasted life, did she begin to realize the object of her existence—the message of help for the world which must come through bitter pain and trial. Not until after she knew the blessedness of solitude, and had wrestled alone with her angel of renunciation did she see the lesson of life and experience the strength that comes after drinking the cup of disenchantment.