For years, I've asked people, ''What gives your life meaning?'' Some said religion. The majority didn't. During my journey of composing this column, a surprisingly vital ingredient emerged.

Last month, while placing a phone order for Bob's birthday, I asked, ''Do you like what you do?'' I ask that a lot. It changes things like money transactions to meaningful encounters.

The fellow said, ''I dream of starting a dog-walking business.''

''What are you waiting for?''

''Finding the time.''

''Please don't wait for time to come to you,'' I said. ''That won't happen. You have to make it happen.'' He was so receptive it was beautiful. He took my e-mail address, not for the order, but to announce his new business. ''Usually I just take orders,'' he said. ''This was great!''

This ''happens'' to me all the time. Why? Because I want it to. I don't mean to sound boastful, but during that order process, someone's life was profoundly changed.

So we can change an ordinary experience into an extraordinary one. And that, I discovered, gives my life meaning. Hence, the ingredient that emerged? Connection.

Last week, at White Hen Pantry, I saw my friend Marcy. We've both had astonishing physically disabling incidents. After a long talk, we hugged tightly - a hard thing for us. But even if it's painful, hugs matter.

Regarding meaning, she said, ''Life is our creator's gift to us. What we do with that life is our gift to the world. Integrating those beliefs in my work to alleviate human suffering gives my life meaning and purpose.''

I call myself disabled. I bet Marcy doesn't. She's as disabled as a world-class champion stallion. When I Googled her name, I was astounded at her national recognition, much of which she's accomplished since her devastating injury.

She e-mailed, ''We had one of those perchance meetings that was timely and meant to be. I was deeply touched, inspired and grateful.'' She was? I was bowled over.

Bob's birthday fell while the Cape Cod Maritime Museum was having a ''Cape Cod Seadogs'' photo exhibit. I secretly e-mailed the administrator, Cathrine, to surprise Bob by having our dogs' pictures included. During our e-mails, our connection blossomed.

On Bob's birthday, I said, ''We're driving somewhere.'' I brought Cathrine a box of some Lindor chocolates. For Wallace, her dog, I brought toys. When we walked into the exhibit, everyone sang ''Happy Birthday to You.'' Above our dogs' pictures was a huge birthday banner Cathrine had made herself. She also had éclairs, lemonade and presents for all of us. Her present for me? Lindor chocolates! Because of our new friendship and connection, we turned a fun surprise into a glorious celebration.

Cathrine's lovingly long answer about meaning was that she ''aspires'' to be like her phenomenal family.

I wrote, ''You are the sum parts of the finest qualities you ascribe to your family. I am blessed to know you.''

My friend Joan, who's 63, is my inspiration. She wrote, ''What gives my life the most meaning is connecting with people, helping people. And learning - especially learning the kind of stuff that I can turn into ways of helping people.'' If we lived by her credo, imagine the meaning it would bring to our lives and others'.

In truth, Cathrine would likely have hung our dogs' pictures anyway. The mail-order fellow would have taken my order. Marcy and I could have just said, ''Hi.'' But because we all made connections, these experiences became wondrous. This didn't happen automatically. We made it happen. Otherwise, none of what I've told you would have taken place.

Sometimes I feel like Dorothy's fourth pal in ''The Wizard of Oz.'' Tin Man wanted a heart. Cowardly Lion wanted courage. Scarecrow wanted a brain. But the Wizard said, ''You've had them all the time!''

Yet he gave Cowardly Lion a medal, Scarecrow a Th.D. diploma (Doctor of Thinkology) and Tin Man a heart-shaped ticking clock.

Picturing myself in the scene, I asked the Wizard, ''I'd like to find meaning.'' I imagined him saying, ''Remember, my sentimental friend, that meaning and purpose are not only judged by how others connect with you, but by how you connect with others.''

And naturally, (the no-longer cowardly) Lion would chime in, ''Ain't it the truth! Ain't it the truth!''