In my thoughts, as of late, I often castigate myself for failing to follow Dostoevsky’s lead, which I undertook to follow in the months and weeks leading up to this year’s Turner Prize. My spiritual transformation, which I sincerely hoped for since this otherwise inconsequential event, often strikes me as insufficient and perhaps even nonexistent. Over and over again, day after day, I return to this point and I rack my brain in search of another—richer and more rewarding, as well as true—road in life. I had expected that the holiday lull would be an ideal period of unencumbered consideration of my own development, and the lack of palpable results is therefore even more painful than it has been to date. Or so I felt until this evening. Suddenly, I realized I had already changed in a way I did not—and most likely could not—believe possible. Namely, I am taking care of my mother not only diligently, carefully, and considerately; I am also attending to her lovingly, without the slightest feeling that she is a burden to me, or that she somehow encroaches on my own life. More important, I am taking a good care of my mother not only because she is my mother, or because she has no-one else to turn to, or because she is a fine person worth every trouble, all of which I sometimes mention when I talk to friends and acquaintances about my mother’s illness and my own ways of coping with it, but also because she is a human being and because she suffers. Well, I would probably take equally good care of a dog, for that matter, because it is a living being and because it suffers. Anyhow, all this is new to me. All this is already a clear indication of something unprecedented, indeed unexpected, which is budding in my heart. I am not saying any of this with pride or out of pride, of course. My primary goal here is to provide a brief account of my discovery, including my surprise at that discovery, as well as to begin to assuage my own conscience when it comes to my deep wish to take a different road in life. Chances are I am already on it.