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Skipper worked in the financial industry, and he took many trips from his home in Newton, Massachusetts to New York, where he would win waltz contests dancing with his daughter (my aunt Duckie) to the music of Guy Lombardo (people said they looked just like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire). He became friends with Guy Lombardo, and with practically everyone he ever met. Skipper-known to the world as John McKey-was my first model of virtue. Even his appearance was stylish and honest: white hair, tortoiseshell glasses, well-worn three-piece suits, and knit ties adorned this six foot, two inch thin-as-a-rail Gentle Man. Skipper loved friends, he loved to dance, he loved baseball, he loved taking the train to New York, and he loved his "heists," his term for the scotch-and-water he imbibed often and to the enjoyment of all around him. In retrospect, I guess he drank more than a doctor might recommend, but no one cared. He was always one of the most kindly and dignified men I ever knew.

Skipper died slowly, and it was hard. He had emphysema, and he struggled to breathe. But he was a gentleman to the end. The last time I saw him, I was still a little boy. Skipper was lying on a couch, oxygen hooked up to his nose. I gave him a hug. But then he put out his hand, to shake one last time. I looked him squarely in the eye, as he had taught me to do. His hand trembled as he squeezed my hand, hard. As I squeezed back, hard as I could, I saw his eyes brighten for a few seconds, and the old twinkle I knew so well reappeared as if magically charged by the handshake. In that moment, I said good-bye to Skipper for the final time.

Human moments connect us not only to what matters, but also to what gives us joy. Unless you are careful, though, you can lose your sources of true joy. Just the other day, I was talking to a man in my office who told me his life had become one-dimensional. "I am very successful," he said. "I make a lot of money, and I am happy that I do. But it seems like that's all I do. I work my tail off, then I come home, often tired and grumpy, watch TV, say a few words to my kids and my wife, and go to sleep. The next day, I do it all over again. Is this all there is?"

Even in the midst of success, you can find yourself looking for something different, for what's called meaning. Even though you may be well off, you can have periods when you feel lost, tired or just not sure what your life adds up to.

Human moments provide the antidote to such feelings. As you begin to look for human moments in your own life, you will find them everywhere, even when you are alone and least suspect to. For example, I was driving to work by myself the other day and that corny old song, "Climb Every Mountain," came on the radio. The next thing I knew, I had tears coming down my cheeks as I thought of my mother, dead now for more than a decade, and her many struggles in life. But she sure did try to climb every mountain and ford every stream, as the song exhorts. I remembered seeing the movie in which that song became famous with my mother when it first came out, The Sound of Music, as I continued to cry and drive. Corny and silly? Sure. But my tears were real, and my feelings were true. In that moment I re-visited my mother and felt once more how much I loved her, no matter what. Suddenly, what had seemed mundane, an old song on the radio, radiated warmth, as I felt in the moment the power that was there, just waiting to be captured and taken in. All I had to do was suspend my critical, cynical side and let the human moment emerge. All I had to do was let it happen.

No one will stand next to you and tell you, "Look! This is a human moment! Cherish it! Make it last! You will be a happy person if you do!" That you have to do for yourself. This book will show you many examples, so as you read you will start recognizing human moments more and more in your own life.

I have observed many times in many ways that the antidote to the emptiness in the question, "Is this all there is?" isn't more money, or more fame, or more trophies, or fewer pounds, or a new lover, or a trip to Timbuktu.

The answer is learning how to value deeply what we already have. What makes life magic isn't hard to find, but it is invisible. It is the emotion found in close connections. That emotion shoots back the bolt that guards our hearts and opens us up to what matters the most.

The other night I came home from work late. Jack, who was supposed to be asleep, called to me as I was coming up the stairs. I was tired, so I ducked into his room, quickly said good night, and left. Jack called out, "Dad, come back." I could have said, no, go to sleep. But, thank goodness, I went back in. There, in the moonlight, I saw Jack, standing on his head in his bed. "Dad, I'm sleeping upside down!"

So, what's the big deal about that? Just that if I hadn't taken the extra ten seconds it took to go back, I wouldn't have had that moment with Jack, and more poignant to me, Jack wouldn't have had the moment of pride and delight he had as he showed me his new posture for sleeping. He would have gone to sleep thinking, Dad was too busy. I am sure there have been nights when he did go to sleep thinking that thought, but I hope not too many, because moments like that with Jack give us both what we need the most.

The vignettes in this book are all true. They each provide doses of that other vitamin C, the Vitamin Connect that ministers to our emotions. With enough of this kind of vitamin C in your system, you can do what otherwise would be insurmountable.

© 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.