Did he feel： “This is it！ This is the end of my life”？ No， to hisamazement， he felt quite gay. He even called upon his humour.
Floating “specks” annoyed him； they would swim across his eyesand cut off his vision. Yet when the largest of these specks wouldswim across his sight， he would say： “Hello！ There’s Grandfatheragain！ Wonder where he’s going on this fine morning！”
How could fate ever conquer a spirit like that？ The answer isit couldn’t. When total blindness closed in， Tarkington said： “Ifound I could take the loss of my eyesight， just as a man can takeanything else. If I lost all five of my senses， I know I could live oninside my mind. For it is in the mind we see， and in the mind welive， whether we know it or not.”
In the hope of restoring his eyesight， Tarkington had to gothrough more than twelve operations within one year. Withlocal anaesthetic！ Did he rail against this？ He knew it had to be done. He knew he couldn’t escape it， so the only way to lessen hissuffering was to take it with grace. He refused a private room atthe hospital and went into a ward， where he could be with otherpeople who had troubles， too. He tried to cheer them up. Andwhen he had to submit to repeated operations—fully consciousof what was being done to his eyes—he tried to remember howfortunate he was. “How wonderful！” he said. “How wonderful，that science now has the skill to operate on anything so delicateas the human eye！”
The average man would have been a nervous wreck if hehad had to endure more than twelve operations and blindness.
Yet Tarkington said： “I would not exchange this experience fora happier one.” It taught him acceptance. It taught him thatnothing life could bring him was beyond his strength to endure. Ittaught him， as John Milton discovered， that “It is not miserable tobe blind， it is only miserable not to be able to endure blindness.”
If we rail and kick against it and grow bitter， we won’t changethe inevitable； but we will change ourselves. I know. I have tried it.
I once refused to accept an inevitable situation with whichI was confronted. I played the fool and railed against it， andrebelled. I turned my nights into hells of insomnia. I broughtupon myself everything I didn’t want. Finally， after a year of selftorture，I had to accept what I knew from the outset I couldn’tpossibly alter.
I should have cried out years ago with old Walt Whitman：
Oh， to confront night， storms， hunger，
Ridicule， accident， rebuffs as the trees and animals do.
I spent twelve years working with cattle； yet I never sawa Jersey cow running a temperature because the pasture wasburning up from a lack of rain or because of sleet and cold orbecause her boy friend was paying too much attention to another heifer. The animals confront night， storms， and hunger calmly； sothey never have nervous breakdowns or stomach ulcers； and theynever go insane.
Am I advocating that we simply bow down to all the adversitiesthat come our way？ Not by a long shot！ That is mere fatalism. Aslong as there is a chance that we can save a situation， let’s fight！ Butwhen common sense tells us that we are up against something thatis so-and cannot be otherwise—then， in the name of our sanity，let’s not look before and after and pine for what is not.
The late Dean Hawkes of Columbia University told me that hehad taken a Mother Goose rhyme as one of his mottoes：
For every ailment under the sun.
There is a remedy， or there is none；
If there be one， try to find it；
If there be none， never mind it.
While writing this book， I interviewed a number of the leadingbusiness men of America； and I was impressed by the fact thatthey co-operated with the inevitable and led lives singularly freefrom worry. If they hadn’t done that， they would have crackedunder the strain. Here are a few examples of what I mean：
J.C. Penney， founder of the nation-wide chain of Penneystores， said to me： “I wouldn’t worry if I lost every cent I havebecause I don’t see what is to be gained by worrying. I do the bestjob I possibly can； and leave the results in the laps of the gods.”
Henry Ford told me much the same thing. “When I can’thandle events，” he said， “I let them handle themselves.”
When I asked K. T. Keller， president of the ChryslerCorporation， how he kept from worrying， he said： “When I amup against a tough situation， if I can do anything about it， I do it.
If I can’t， I just forget it. I never worry about the future， becauseI know no man living can possibly figure out what is going to happen in the future. There are so many forces that will affectthat future！ Nobody can tell what prompts those forces—orunderstand them. So why worry about them？”
K. T. Keller would be embarrassed if you told him he is aphilosopher. He is just a good business man， yet he has stumbledon the same philosophy that Epictetus taught in Rome nineteencenturies ago. “There is only one way to happiness，” Epictetustaught the Romans， “and that is to cease worrying about thingswhich are beyond the power of our will.”
Sarah Bernhardt， the “divine Sarah” was an illustriousexample of a woman who knew how to cooperate with theinevitable. For half a century， she had been the reigning queen ofthe theatre on four continents—the best-loved actress on earth.
Then when she was seventy-one and broke—she had lost allher money—her physician， Professor Pozzi of Paris， told her hewould have to amputate her leg. While crossing the Atlantic， shehad fallen on deck during a storm， and injured her leg severely.
