Later I seek refuge in the Red Room, remorse sweeping over me. A sincere man had expressed appreciation, and I’d dismissed him. Haven’t I learned anything? I apologize in my mind to the moist man, and recall the shake I want to master, the one that makes people feel special.

“Hi,” I say crouching before the seated man. He’s alone, slumped over the little desk attached to his wheelchair. “Your speech was terrific,” I tell him. “You make physics so . . . accessible. Thanks.” He smiles and shifts a little, preparing to type a reply into his speech synthesizer. Aware of the effort I say, “You needn’t respond.”

He looks up at me, into me, with deep dark eyes—no black holes here. His eyes embrace me in a down-duvet hug. And there it is: connection. I can feel his anguish, his giant, potent mind trapped in a tiny, twisted body. I no longer care that I’m not a player, that I lack real jewels and couture gowns, that I’ll probably never be all that important. Because my quest for success has been about being seen, about banishing the perpetual feeling of invisibility and inconsequence, about making sure I matter. And right now, I do. I feel seen all the way through.

And I realize that this . . . this is the moment that I’ll remember most—not attending a White House party, not shaking hands with the wealthy and well known, not breaking free from [entity display=”Bill Clinton” type=”person” active=”false” key=”bill-clinton”]Bill Clinton[/entity]—but this very real, better-than-a-handshake moment: the soulshake, the touchless shake, of Professor Stephen Hawking.

As a result of her handshake with Bill Clinton, Christine Comaford spent 2 years developing the Clinton Administration’s technology leadership strategy. Today she combines neuroscience and business strategy to help CEOs achieve rapid growth and create high performance teams. The complete version of her Handshakes story may be found in her NY Times bestseller “Rules for Renegades.”