One feels wonderment upon witnessing a life transformed. What is expected is that life will stay the same in its essence or get worse with age. We get used to the idea of our burdens, are counseled to ‘manage’ or ‘cope’ with them. Sameness is our ailment, our life affliction once we have come of age. What is to be wondered at, then, is that a life transformed is and is not possible, is and is not explicable. On the one hand, a detailed record of accurate observations can be given, revealing the gradual turns, the granular gradations, the minute shifts. On the other hand, the transfiguring event or events remain unobserved, sorites paradox asserting itself, shrouding in vagueness the very moment when grace was bestowed upon one. Is it that transformation, puncturing and punctuated, occurs but only as what is unseen: unseen, unverbalized, yet experienced inasmuch as it is shown? Is it that transformation is revealed unspeakably to the one least expecting it, unawares yet fortunate, affirmed, redeeming the whole of my life?