Finding Gratitude in Hardship: How a Peach Tree Reminded Me of the Value of Human Connection

It’s not often I’m surprised in a class. After speaking on trauma for over 20 years, I’ve heard a lot. But on my last trip out west, I was surprised.

An important step in connecting a room of strangers is asking questions that reveal hidden parts of who we are—questions that are easy to talk about but go deeper than they seem. One of my favorites is: “What is your favorite memory from childhood?”

This usually brings familiar answers—family trips, Christmas mornings, time with grandparents. But this time was different.

One participant, originally from China, had moved to the United States for graduate school. During a break, she shared how she had overcome past depression by helping others and refusing to live self-centeredly. Her energy was infectious, her smile contagious.

Her answer to my question?

“Eating peaches from my grandfather’s tree. They tasted so good—especially because my family was starving to death.”

Starving to death.

She said it with a smile, but the weight of those words hung in the air. I pictured her as a little girl in rural China, literally starving—yet still finding joy in a piece of fruit. Now here she was, giving back to others, even offering free yoga classes to anyone who wanted to join. When she said, “I’m just thankful every day to wake up and be alive,” I believed her.

In a world dominated by our phones, which so often mirror our egos, self-centeredness has become a compelling darkness. It’s always been a human challenge, but it feels worse now. Traveling as much as I do, I see it everywhere—and it’s sad. So many stories, struggles, and triumphs go unheard because eyes are locked on screens or faces are turned away.

On my way home from that trip, I spent an hour walking around SFO Airport, purposely leaving my phone in the lounge. I made eye contact, hoping for another rich conversation like the one I’d had earlier in the week with the woman who gave me a tiny Jesus. Instead, I mostly saw people glued to their screens, some staring straight ahead to avoid interaction, and others still hiding behind masks.

If a young, starving girl can find joy in her grandfather’s peach, I’m not giving up—and neither should you. Wonderful strangers are all around us. Even the friends and family we already know might be carrying stories we’ve never taken the time to hear. Life is full of opportunities to enjoy a peach—if we’ll just turn off, slow down, and listen.