Anyone who has ever walked through Washington, D.C. in the summer, leaving Georgetown and following the bridge over Rock Creek Parkway on M Street, will see an African-American man sitting by the street. You can't miss him. He's always there.

As a summer intern, I enjoyed my daily walk that took me past the colonial homes of Georgetown, through several parks, and into the bustle of midtown D.C. Like all my fellow commuters, I glided through town every day, always going somewhere and looking towards the future, never really mindful of those around me.

Then, one warm June day, I decided to stop. I said hello to the homeless man on the street, Breezy, and started a dialogue.

People are never what you expect them to be. It's a remarkable fact of life that if you just sit down and take the time to talk with someone, you'll begin to realize just how much beauty lies in each soul. It was easy to categorize the street bum as a poor crazy man, unworthy of my attention. Like the hundreds of people who cross that bridge every day, I placed Breezy in the category of "homeless," a sub-caste of people hardly worthy of my time. I might never have stopped. But what I would have missed!

Breezy is a very educated man. After college, he obtained a masters degree in English and worked as a librarian for 20 years. Then one day, he stopped. Breezy explained to me why. As an African American, he questioned the power systems in society that adversely affected him. As an educated man, he spoke of the narrow role society had laid out for him. "Eric," he said, pointing to the scurrying pedestrians and passing vehicles, "people are always running, always doing something. But where are they going? What are they doing? Me, I like to take things slow." Breezy had realized something: He wasn't going to spend his life hurrying everywhere. Instead, he was content to sit on his box, to say hi to everyone who passed, to read Kierkegard, Nietzsche and others. And if a curious young lad like myself were to stop, he had plenty of time to chat.

Over time I spoke with Breezy regularly. We discussed President Bush's policies. We debated the efficacy of organized religion and Marxism. I allowed myself to imagine life in someone else's shoes, seeing the world from a different perspective. It was an eye-opening experience.

In "American Beauty," Kevin Spacey reflects not only on how wonderful the little things in life are, but also on how rarely we take the time to look at them. Indeed we all have big projects to take on, big plans for the future. But though you must have dreams, you can't live your life in the future. The present is what's real, and it's what will always surround you.

Here at Amherst we all too often fall into a routine. I fear that in attending classes, doing work and partying on weekends we follow habits that preclude us from seeing the profound. The next time you party in Mayo-Smith, for example, take a look at the plaque on the wall commemorating the fallen veterans of the Chi Psi fraternity. I remember the first time I noticed that plaque. I was crowding around the keg, focused on simply having a good time, when I looked up. There, in front of me, was evidence that sixty years earlier bright, young souls like ourselves, probably ripe with the same mixed emotions that tear at us today, went away and laid down their lives so that we could be here. Truly, there are so many things around us if we take the time to notice.

Do you have a Breezy in your life? How many Breezys might you find if you only stopped for a moment? Life is too short to miss these moments.

There's beauty in this world. Let's go discover it.