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There is an immense variety to human moments, so much so that it is difficult to define a human moment more precisely than I already have without losing the variety in the process. So, instead of offering further definition as you might find in a textbook, I will show you through the real-life examples in this book not only the meaning but also the power of the human moment. Let me now give you some examples of human moments taken from my own life.

My family and I had been driving in bad weather for six hours, and we had about another hour to go when my youngest child, Tucker, announced, "I can't hold it any longer."

I felt grumpy, tired and in no mood to stop. Having battled holiday traffic for ten hours the day before, spent the night at a Hampton Inn, and headed out for the second leg of our long trip from Boston to West Virginia early that morning, I was eager to arrive at my wife's sister's home where I envisioned my body gently collapsing into an easy chair like a parachute collapses when its cargo hits land, accompanied, I hoped, by some beverage consisting mostly of alcohol. I did not want to stop for anybody to do anything. But Tucker repeated his plea. "I reeeeeally need to pee!"

Annoyed, I pulled over onto the snow-covered shoulder of the highway way up in the West Virginia hills. Tucker, age five, got out while the rest of us waited. And waited.

Finally, Tucker climbed back into the car.

"What took you so long?" I gruffly asked.

"I was writing your name in the snow with my pee!" Tucker proudly replied. "D-A-D."

In a heartbeat my mood changed. "Thank you, Tucker," I replied with a smile, imagining my name being playfully carved into a snow bank by a little boy doing something little boys have done forever. Even though that warm-water inscription would soon disappear, it mattered more to me than any permanent inscription I could ever see in cold stone.

Human moments happen unannounced, and then they disappear, like names drawn in the snow. But if we capture them-by noticing them and letting them matter-they can infuse our daily lives with meaning and with love forever.

This is how we cherish what we have: by not looking past it, by not saying to ourselves, But this isn't what I really want, it isn't what I have been waiting for my whole life long.

Was Tucker peeing my name in the snow what I had been waiting for my whole life long? Well, in a way, yes it was. If I was ever going to be a happy man, I had to catch on to that fact. I had to relish that moment, cherish it, and remember it-eat it up like the spiritual food that it was-as I drove along through the hills of West Virginia and into the rest my life.

But what about the millions of dollars I might have wanted, the perfect marriage, perfect children, fame, power and who knows what else, maybe perfect teeth? No one has it all. Instead, we have this thing called life. Like an unnoticed child, life so wishes we would take notice. If we do that, it repays us, as that child would, with more than we ever, ever dreamed possible. It gives us the treasure of human moments, the blossoms of connection.

It is in connection that we are most fulfilled. The feeling of connectedness goes with us everywhere we go. It is the most stabilizing, comforting feeling there is.

Today's world both promotes and threatens connectedness. Thanks to technology, it is easier to be in touch with people than ever before in human history. Technology has given us miraculous tools of connection. Yet, oddly enough, the connections people need to feed their hearts and souls are gradually breaking down in many lives. We no longer spend as much good time with each other as we need to. We risk losing the human moment if we don't take care of it, and we need the human moment, just as dearly as we need a vitamin. As a doctor, I think of human contact like a vitamin in its own right. It is the other vitamin C. This one is not ascorbic acid but Vitamin Connect. We all need it, not only to feel happy and fulfilled, but for our physical health as well.

Numerous studies have shown that connected people live longer than those who are socially isolated. Connected people have lower rates of heart disease and colds and flu. Connected people suffer less physical illnesses, as well as mental illnesses such as depression and anxiety. Furthermore, they report much higher rates of satisfaction in life and general feelings of well-being. Connectedness and positive human contact not only feel good, they are good, in every measurable way. Science has proven that they prolong our lives, enhance our health, and deepen our enjoyment and appreciation of life.

But in today's world we have to hack through the bramble bush of our schedules to find time for each other. Unless we prune and cut, the bramble bush becomes a thicket. As one woman said to me, "I barely have time to go to my job, feed my kids, and do the laundry. Where am I supposed to find time to connect?" We have to pare down our daily schedules, if we intend to preserve our most important connections. We have to cut our way out of the thicket before it completely traps us. We must make time.

We are connected electronically - with television, the Internet, email, voice mail, and cell phones. If we use our electronics wisely, they can connect us heart-to-heart. But if we let the electronics control us, rather than vice-versa, we can spend our whole day watching a computer screen, answering voice-mails, or speaking on our cell phones as we hurry on through time, starved for one conversation we actually care about.

I chose the stories in this book, all of which are true, to illustrate the power of the human moment. Let me give you another example from my own life. My name for my grandfather on my mother's side was Skipper. He never had much money, but he was rich in the ways that count. He was a true gentleman. I could not have had a more accomplished expert to teach me one of life's most essential skills: how to shake hands. "Look the person straight in the eye," Skipper always said, "and give their hand a strong shake, like you really mean it." We often practiced this skill. After I would make a few attempts that Skipper deemed not firm enough, I would finally squeeze his hand as hard as I possibly could. To my surprise, my tightest grip always brought a smile to his face and a sparkle to his eyes. "Atta boy!" he would exclaim. "Now that's a real handshake!" To this day, people sometimes wince when I shake their hands.

© 2001. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Human Moments by Edward M. Hallowell, M.D. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher.

Tags: Personal Growth

About the Author

Edward M. Hallowell, M.D., is an instructor at Harvard Medical School and director of the Hallowell Center for Cognitive and Emotional Health in Sudbury, Massachusetts, an outpatient treatment center serving children and adults with a wide range of emotional and learning problems. He is the co-author of Driven to Distraction and the author of The Childhood Roots of Adult Happiness, and Worry, among other titles. He lives in Arlington, Massachusetts, with his wife and three children. He welcomes hearing from readers, and can be reached through his website at www.DrHallowell.com.