Every day, as I walk along the swept, well-paved pathways of my University's grounds, I meet the eyes of those I pass with an utter confidence I oftentimes do not feel. The relative veracity of it, however, on any given day, is irrelevant. I am here to interact with people. All people--the frat boy with the hemp necklace and sandals, his t-shirt only half tucked in--the pink-clad sorority girl in capri pants and bright, neon green flip-flops--the darkly-swathed theatre (God help you should you spell it "theater") in anti-establishment combat boots--the art student in once gaudy, now paint/clay/dust-covered clothing and sturdy leather shoes--the business grad students in their button-up shirts and ties--all the varied and myriad convolutions of the human animal are what interests me. I look in their eyes, and I try to peer into their souls. At the least, there is that flash of energy, the lightning-arc of recognition, the realization on both our parts that I see and am seen. Each of us passes on, no words being spoken, exultant in the knowledge that someone acknowledges the fact of our existence. Someone--even if only in our imagination--knows us as we are. Someone believes.