Chapter 1: The Frog Dilemma

Why hasn’t science discovered a method to transform me into an everlasting frog, allowing me to dwell in a tranquil lake indefinitely? When might this breakthrough occur? Shouldn't we prioritize this over endeavors like space exploration, eradicating hunger, enhancing technology, combating climate change, or inventing three-dimensional TVs? Clearly, my metamorphosis into an immortal frog should top the list of priorities.

During a recent kayaking trip with my wife, we spotted a frog swimming somewhat far from the shore, which struck me as peculiar. Shouldn’t he be near the bank? I maneuvered my kayak closer and, using my paddle, carefully lifted the frog out of the water and placed him at the front of the kayak. To my surprise, the frog accepted this with poise, basking in the sunlight, appearing neither elated nor distressed—just completely at ease. Interestingly, he still had a tail, indicating he was still in his juvenile phase. I held no judgment against him for that.

“Let’s take him over there to the reeds,” my wife suggested, indicating the nearest shore.

We were already paddling in that direction, so her suggestion was convenient. However, even if it hadn’t been, I like to think we would have done it anyway because we are good people.

We continued our journey, with the frog calmly resting on my kayak, occasionally opening and closing his mouth, perhaps breathing or humming a tune about his kayaking adventure. We will never know.

On that hot, sunny day, I worried that the frog might overheat. So, occasionally, I scooped up some lake water with my paddle and drizzled it over him. This seemed to have no impact on his tranquility. He accepted everything that transpired around him as if he owned the lake, and I was merely a visitor.

Upon reaching the reeds, my wife gently lifted the frog and set him back into the water. He swam towards the nearby reeds, clung to one, and raised his head above the surface. Did he lift a tiny webbed foot to wave at me? Did he gesture as if tipping his hat in gratitude? Did he wink or perhaps toss me a coin for my kindness? No, he did none of that. Yet, we both understood that this moment was perfect, forging a bond between us for eternity.

Life is good for me. I have a well-paying job, a supportive wife, and an extensive collection of fountain pens—about twenty, I believe. But will I ever achieve the same level of tranquility as that frog? Will I discover a sense of purpose? Where is my lake, my ideal world, where I feel completely integrated and content? It seems such a place doesn’t exist, and I am destined to struggle and search, never finding that peace.

Come on, science. Create a frog—an immortal one for me. Grant me a lake. What could be more essential? A cancer cure? Sure, that’s important too. But could you not also dedicate some time to the immortal frog project?

Chapter 2: The Cicada Experience

You know what? I’m open to alternatives. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a frog.

A few years back, my wife and I were walking on a beautiful summer day, heading home from downtown along a scenic path lined with large homes and trees, with a canal nearby. We encountered numerous joggers, cyclists, and fellow strollers. On the sidewalk, my wife noticed a sizable cicada that appeared lifeless. Upon closer inspection, we realized he was merely stunned, not dead.

Cicadas are chunky bugs with striking red eyes and long, transparent wings. Despite their bug status, they possess a peculiar beauty.

For reasons I can’t quite explain, I was wearing a straw cowboy hat, although I am not a cowboy. My wife picked up the cicada and placed him on my hat, where he grasped on with his tiny legs. We resumed our walk.

Every few blocks, I would ask, “Is he still there?”

“Yes, he’s still there,” she would confirm.

The cicada seemed to take his ride for granted, perhaps expecting even more. He occasionally shifted positions on my hat, seemingly trying to find a better view of the trees.

For all I know, this could have been his primary mode of transportation. He might wait for someone in a hat to come along, then hitch a ride. Maybe he even had telepathic abilities to summon pedestrians, much like someone calling an Uber.

After more blocks than I anticipated, the cicada took flight, and our brief interaction left me inexplicably satisfied. If there were a cicada Uber app, I would give him five stars without hesitation.

So, listen up, science. If turning me into an immortal frog is too complex, I’d also be fine with being an immortal cicada. I must admit that the idea of sitting in trees and buzzing loudly isn’t exactly appealing, but I’d be willing to give it a shot. Come on, science. Could you pause your minor projects and focus on this frog/cicada initiative?

I don’t have another animal tale just yet, but I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before a koala joins me on a hot air balloon in Australia or a komodo dragon hops onto my unicycle in Indonesia. Yes, I lead a pretty fantastic life, but I would trade places with these blissful creatures in an instant.

Come on, science. Let’s make this happen!