How to Stop Worrying & Start Living (Preface)
How This Book Was Written—and Why
Thirty-five years ago, I was one of the unhappiest young men in New York. I made my living selling motor trucks, yet I didn’t know—or even care—how they worked. I despised my job. I despised living in a dingy, cockroach-infested room on West 56th Street, where I’d reach for a necktie in the morning only to watch the roaches scatter. I loathed eating in cheap, grimy restaurants that likely harbored the same pests.
Every night, I returned to my lonely room with a throbbing headache—a headache fueled by disappointment, worry, bitterness, and rebellion. My college dreams had curdled into nightmares. *Was this life?* Was this the "vital adventure" I’d eagerly anticipated? Trapped in a job I hated, surrounded by filth, with no future in sight—while my hunger to read and write, the passions I’d nurtured in college, went unfulfilled?
I realized I had nothing to lose by quitting. I didn’t crave wealth—I craved *living*. So I reached my Rubicon, the decisive moment most young people face, and chose a path that transformed the next 35 years into a journey beyond my wildest hopes.
Here’s what I decided: I’d abandon the work I loathed. Having trained as a teacher at Missouri’s State Teachers’ College, I’d teach night classes for adults. That would free my days to read, prepare lectures, and write. I wanted to *"live to write and write to live."*
But what subject? Reflecting on my education, I saw that public speaking had been more practical than all my other studies combined. It erased my timidity, gave me confidence, and proved that leadership favors those who can articulate their ideas.
I applied to teach public speaking at Columbia and NYU—but they rejected me. At the time, I was crushed. Now, I thank God for it. Instead, I taught at YMCA night schools, where I had to deliver *immediate* results. These students weren’t chasing credits; they wanted to conquer fears. Salesmen sought courage to face tough clients. Others yearned for poise to speak up in meetings. They paid in installments—and stopped if they saw no progress. My pay? A cut of the profits. No results meant no dinner.
What seemed a handicap became priceless training. I had to motivate, solve problems, and make every session electrifying. To my astonishment, these men flourished—gaining promotions, raises, and confidence. Within three years, the YMCA, which once refused me $5 a night, paid $30.
Over time, I noticed another crippling problem: worry. My students—executives, engineers, housewives—were drowning in it. I scoured libraries for a textbook on conquering worry, only to find 22 books on the subject… and 189 on worms. Absurd! With worry plaguing humanity, why didn’t schools teach how to overcome it?
So I resolved to write my own. For seven years, I devoured philosophy, biographies (from Confucius to Churchill), and interviewed luminaries like Eleanor Roosevelt and Henry Ford. But the real lab was my classroom. Students tested anti-worry rules and reported back. I’ve heard more "How I Beat Worry" stories than anyone alive.
This book isn’t theory—it’s a battle-tested manual. The stories are real (names and addresses included). As the French philosopher Valery said, "Science is a collection of successful recipes." These recipes aren’t new; the challenge is applying them.
You didn’t pick this up for a writing lesson. You want action. So read the first 44 pages. If they don’t leave you feeling empowered, toss this book. It’s not for you.
—Dale Carnegie