I used to see a dirty and ragged man sit at the light where I turned onto the freeway on one of the many routes I took to work back when I lived in the city for a while. I couldn’t say he was an old man, neither could I say he was young. He had the look of another place. It was easy to see that he was without home or without food and without the comforts that so many of us take for granted. And there he would sit and wait upon the kindness of strangers, the bare soles of his feet worn black and hard from wearing no shoes. Many drivers would speed by him in the hope that he hadn’t seen - that they had seen him. It was if they acknowledged his presence, something was wrong with them, because they gave nothing. If they acted like they hadn’t seen him - they could deny he was there. I know because I pretended that I hadn’t seen him too. He never asked for money. He didn’t carry a sign. He just sat at this light, at this median in the road with his head bowed, heavy with thoughts unknown to any but himself. Sometimes, I would drive a different way, because I had nothing to give or I felt guilty because I was being selfish, clinging to the change for my Starbuck’s Venti Latte. And then I couldn’t stand it any more. This man, this solitary person, this being that had the look of another place stayed in my soul quietly hovering. It was as if something was telling me that I must give what I could to this weary soul. I made the decision that day to drive this route, and no matter what anyone thought, I could no longer drive by this being without giving something. I dug down deep and laid the change upon the passenger’s seat and rushed to greet him, full of myself. He was not there. —achieveezine.com