On Christmas Eve, as usual, George Mason was the last to leave the office.  He stood for a moment at the window, watching the hurrying crowds below, the strings of colored Christmas lights, the fat Santa Clauses on the street corners.  He was a slender man in his late thirties, this George Mason, not conspicuously successful or brilliant, but a good executive--he ran his office efficiently and well.

Abruptly he turned and walked over to a massive safe set into the far wall.  He spun the dials, swung the heavy door open.  A light went on, revealing a vault of polished steel as large as a small room.  George Mason carefully propped a chair against the open door of the safe and stepped inside.

He took three steps forward, tilting his head so that he could see the square of white cardboard taped just above the topmost row of strongboxes.  George Mason stared at those words, remembering. . . .

Exactly one year ago he had entered this selfsame vault.  He had planned a rather expensive, if solitary, evening; had decided he might need a little additional cash.  He had not bothered to prop the door; ordinary friction held the balanced mass of metal in place.  But only that morning the people that serviced the safe had cleaned and oiled it.  And then, behind George Mason's back, slowly, noiselessly, the ponderous door swung shut.  There was a click of springlocks.  The automatic light went out, and he was trapped--entombed in the sudden and terrifying dark.

Instantly, panic seized him.  He hurled himself at the unyielding door.  He gave a hoarse cry; the sound was like an explosion in that confined place.  In the silence that followed, he heard the frantic thudding of his heart.  Through his mind flashed all the stories he had heard of men found suffocated in time vaults.  No time clock controlled this mechanism; the safe would remain locked until it was opened from the outside.  Tomorrow morning.

Then the sickening realization struck him.  No one would come tomorrow morning--tomorrow was Christmas Day.

Once more he flung himself at the door, shouting wildly, beating with his hands until he sank to his knees exhausted.  Silence again, high-pitched, singing silence that seemed deafening.

George Mason was no smoker; he did not carry matches. Except for the tiny luminous dial of his watch, the darkness was absolute.  The blackness almost had texture:  it was tangible, stifling.  The time was now 6:15.  More than thirty-six hours would pass before anyone entered the office.  Thirty-six hours in a steel box three feet wide, eight feet long, seven feet high.  Would the oxygen last, or. . .

Like a flash of lightning a memory came to him, dim with the passage of time.  What had they told him when they installed the safe?  Something about a safety measure for just such a crisis as this.

Breathing heavily, he felt his way around the floor.  The palms of his hands were sweating.  But in that far right-hand corner, just above the floor, he found it:  a small, circular opening some two inches in diameter.  He thrust his finger into it and felt, faint but unmistakable, a cool current of air.

The tension release was so sudden that he burst into tears.  But at last he sat up.  Surely he would not have to stay trapped for the full thirty-six hours.  Somebody would miss him, would make inquiries, would come to release him. . . .

But who?  He was unmarried and lived alone.  The maid who cleaned his apartment was just a servant; he had always treated her as such.  He had been invited to spend Christmas Eve with his brother's family, but children got on his nerves, and expected presents.

A friend had asked him to go to a home for elderly people on Christmas Day and play the piano--George Mason was a good musician.  But he had made some excuse or other; he had intended to sit at home, listening to some new recordings he was giving himself for Christmas.

George Mason dug his nails into the palms of his hands until the pain balanced the misery in his mind.  He had thrown away his chances.  Nobody would come and let him out.

Marked by the luminous hands of the watch, the leaden-footed seconds ticked away.  He slept a little, but not much.  He felt no hunger, but he was tormented by thirst.  Miserably the whole of Christmas Day went by, and the succeeding night.

On the morning after Christmas the head clerk came into the office at the usual time.  He opened the safe but did not bother to swing the heavy door wide.  Then he went on into his private office.

No one saw George Mason stagger out into the corridor, run to the water cooler, and drink great gulps of water.  No one paid any attention to him as he descended to the street and took a taxi home.

There he shaved, changed his wrinkled clothes, ate some breakfast and returned to his office, where his employees greeted him pleasantly but casually.

On his way to lunch that day he met several acquaintances, but not a single one had noticed his Christmas absence.  He even met his own brother, who was a member of the same luncheon club, but his brother failed to ask if he had enjoyed Christmas.

Grimly, inexorably, the truth closed in on George Mason.  He had vanished from human society during the great festival of brotherhood and fellowship, and no one had missed him at all.

Reluctantly, almost with a sense of dread, George Mason began to think about the true meaning of Christmas.  Was it possible that he had been blind all these years, blind with selfishness, with indifference, with pride?  Wasn't Christmas the time when people went out of their way to share with one another the joy of Christ's birth?  Wasn't giving, after all, the essence of Christmas because it marked the time God gave his own son to the world?

All through the year that followed, with little hesitant deeds of kindness, with small, unnoticed acts of unselfishness, George Mason tried to prepare himself. . . .

Now, once more, it was Christmas Eve.

Slowly he backed out of the safe, closed it.  He touched its grim steel face lightly, almost affectionately, as if it were an old friend.  He picked up his hat and coat, and certain bundles.  Then he left the office, descended to the busy street.

There he goes now in his black overcoat and hat, the same George Mason as a year ago.  Or is it?  He walks a few blocks, then flags a taxi, anxious not to be late.  His nephews are expecting him to help them trim the tree.  Afterwards, he is taking his brother and sister-in-law to a Christmas play.  Why is he so inexpressibly happy?  Why does this jostling against others, laden as he is with bundles, exhilarate and delight him?

Perhaps the card has something to do with it, the card he taped inside his office safe last New Year's Day.  On the card is written, in George Mason's own hand:  To love people, to be indispensable somewhere, that is the purpose of life.  That is the secret of happiness.

The Spirit, Not the Day

December 25 is just another day on the calendar.  There is nothing about the day that is different--it begins just at midnight and ends at midnight, twenty-four hours later.  The day holds 24 hours, and thus 1440 minutes, and sixty times that number of seconds.  It contains morning, mid-day, afternoon, evening, and night.  The sun rises on that day, and it sets.  Plants continue to grow at the same pace they grew the day before, weather systems continue to develop and unfold, ocean tides follow their same patterns, and the earth continues to spin on its same orbit.

There is nothing about the day itself that's different--but what is different is the spirit that we bring to the day.  We ourselves change during our holiest seasons, no matter what religions we may follow or what holidays we may keep, because we change our focus and we allow our perspectives to broaden so that we can see and understand more of the world around us.

Why are people more giving at Christmas than at any other time of the year?  It's simply because they allow themselves to be.  When Christmas is coming, we ask other people what their needs and wants are, and then we do our best to fulfill those needs and wants.  We focus on others, and what will make them happy, rather than focusing on ourselves and what will make us happy.

It isn't a subtle shift at all, but it is a surprising one, considering how self-focused we tend to be all year long.  Even people who seem to have the hardest of hearts can become generous and thoughtful at Christmastime, and we always marvel at the changes we see in their way of looking at the world.

For Thanksgiving this year, my wife and I both worked--she worked all day, and I worked until 9 p.m.  There are those who would say that we didn't have a Thanksgiving because we weren't able to take part in the festivities of the day.  Nothing, though, could be further from the truth.  We both said our thanks over breakfast that morning, and we both kept in mind all day long that the fact that we were working meant that someone else could have the entire day off.  And on Saturday, we had our turkey dinner, complete with stuffing and sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce.  Just because our Thanksgiving meal--and meals are very important ceremonies in most cultures--came 48 hours later than most people's didn't diminish its specialness for us at all.

Christmas is the same way.  There's nothing special about particular moments of time except what we make of them.  There is broad agreement all over the world that December 25 will be a special day, so those of us who consider the day to be a holiday treat the day differently and see it in a new light each year.  But what would happen if we all were to treat February 17 with the same reverence and respect?  Then, of course, that day would become a very special for all of us.

So why don't we?  What's wrong with treating February 17--or June 8, or September 22--with the same reverence and respect with which we treat December 25?  Why can't we spend the days leading up to each day finding out the needs and wants of others, and then trying to fulfill some--or one--of those needs?  What would our lives be like if we were to bring to each day the spirit that we bring to December 25?  What kind of a world would this be if we were to do so?

There's a good chance that both my wife and I will be working this Christmas, also.  But that's okay with us, for we know that we can make holy any day of the year.  It depends on us, and on what we bring to the day.  The day itself is ordinary, as all days are.

The key to success is a combination of the 17 principles presented here and in the program the Science of Personal Achievement.

These 17 principles serve as a dependable road map leading directly to the source of all riches--be they intangible or material.  Follow this map and you cannot miss the way.  But be prepared to comply with all of the instructions and to assume all of the responsibilities that go with achieving success.

And, above all, remember that enduring success must be shared with others.

Napoleon Hill spent a lifetime researching the secrets of success.  Some of the most celebrated and successful people of the 20th century shared their insights with him during the course of his work, initially inspired by the industrialist Andrew Carnegie.

The 500 greats who collaborated with Napoleon Hill included Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, Henry Ford, Woodrow Wilson, Charles Schwab, J. Pierpont Morgan, and F.W. Woolworth.

While you might not found an international corporation or invent a life-altering device (but then again, you might!), if you use these inspired and inspiring keys to success, you will learn how to take full possession of your mind and your life, understand how adversity can be turned to your advantage and develop nurturing, harmonious relationships.

Countless millions worldwide have benefited from Napoleon Hill's work.  Now it is your turn.

10.  Imagination.

Imagination is your mind's exercise, challenge and adventure.  It uses old ideas and established facts to reassemble them into new combinations and to put them to new uses.

Exercise:  Two imagination exercises:  First, imagine your "ideal" life, the one in which your goal has been reached, things are the way that you want them, you have everything you desire.  What is that life like?  Describe it in detail.  Describe all aspects of it--what you have, where you live, who you love, etc.

Second, imagine five alternative methods of achieving your goal; it's always good to have several choices.  Let your imagination soar, held back by no barriers.  Might these new ideas be incorporated into your current plan of attack?

Imagination is the workshop of the soul.

11.  Learning from Adversity and Defeat.

Hardship and adversity are a common language of nature in which she speaks to all living creatures and teaches them many things they would not learn in any other way.

Exercise:  Review your life--both professional and in the personal realm--and recall several obstacles that have stood in your way.  Think about those obstacles and what followed after encountering them.  Remember how many of them actually led to positive things: new knowledge, inspiration, a "lucky" break.  Describe one of these incidents in detail.

Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit.

13.  Positive Mental Attitude.

To govern your life, you must be able to govern your mind, and that is the starting point of all riches.

Exercise:  Over the next few days, review how much time you spend on the negative aspects:  complaining, gossiping, fearing or doubting, criticizing.  Make an effort to erase these from your life.  Apply the time you save to something positive (see #12).  Replace negative words--can't, won't shouldn't--with positive ones--can, will, shall (see #9).

Be careful what you wish for, for you will surely achieve it.

14.  Accurate Thinking.

The accurate thinker recognizes all the facts of life, both good and bad, and assumes the responsibility of separating and organizing the two, choosing those which serve his needs and rejecting all others.

Exercise:  Think of three statements about the obstacles you might encounter that you now consider facts.  Think hard about the truth of each, doing research if necessary (see #8).  Are these really true?  For example, you own a company that sells beach chairs.  Your obstacle is that beach chairs sell poorly in winter.  That is a fact.  But does that mean beach chairs must sell poorly in January or simply in cold weather?  What if you found a distributor in the Caribbean or South America?  The fact is, beach chairs could sell year round; it all depends on how you look at the facts!

You are what you think.

15.  Sound Physical Health.

The key that coordinates all other principles and sets all ideas into motion, sound health provides the "flavor" to the good things in life.

Exercise:  For one week, keep track of everything you eat and drink.  What percentage of that is "healthy"?  What did you eat or drink that could do you harm?  What should you do away with?  During the week, did you exercise?  What sort of exercise?  How many times and for how long?  And your sleep habits, how were they?  Did you get all of the sleep your body needed?  Why or why not?  How could you change your lifestyle or your schedule to incorporate a proper diet and sleep regimen?

Good health, a sense of well-being and a purpose for living make any day beautiful.

16.  Cooperation.

Harmony based on a definite motive, cooperation is the medium through which great personal power may be attained; the willing cooperation and coordination of effort to achieve a specific objective.

Exercise:  Returning to your Master Mind list (see #2), think of ways in which you might use your skills and knowledge to help the people named there in return for the help they can give you.

Harmonious cooperation is a priceless asset that you can acquire in proportion to your giving.

17.  Cosmic Habitforce.

The cosmic habitforce is the universe's law of equilibrium, the one natural law into which all other natural laws resolve themselves.

Exercise:  You manifest in your life that which you think.  List eight things you would like to manifest by thinking about them repeatedly and by truly believing in them.

When you learn to weave unpleasant circumstances into something useful, you're on the road to success.

I shall attend to my little errands of love
Early, this year,
So that the brief days before Christmas may be
Unhampered and clear
Of the fever of hurry.  The breathless rushing
   that I have known in the past
Shall not possess me.  I shall be calm in my soul
And ready at last
For Christmas:  "The Mass of the Christ."
   I shall kneel and call out his name;
I shall take time to watch the beautiful light
Of a candle's flame;
I shall have leisure--I shall go out alone
From my roof and my door;
I shall not miss the silver silence of stars
As I have before;
And, oh, perhaps--If I stand there very still,
And very long--
I shall hear what the clamor of living has
   kept from me;
The Angels' song.

Grace Noll Crowell