Five Frogs on a Log

Here's an old riddle with a new twist. Five frogs sit on a weathered log by a still lake. One decides to jump off and take care of herself. How many frogs are left on the log?

Most people say four. But look closer, all five frogs remain, crowded together on that familiar piece of driftwood.

How is this possible? Because deciding isn't doing. The frog who "chose self-care" is still there, wedged between her companions, telling herself she'll jump tomorrow. Next week. When things calm down. When she has more time, more energy, more permission.

Watch these frogs more carefully, and you'll see something heartbreaking. The one who decided to jump? She's been sitting there for weeks, maybe months. Her skin has grown dry from too much sun and not enough water. She's forgotten what it feels like to swim freely, to dive deep, to feel the cool lake embrace her completely.

She watches other frogs leap from distant logs. Graceful arcs through the air, satisfying splashes, the joy of creatures living as they were meant to live. "I should do that," she tells herself. "I will do that." The decision feels almost as good as the action itself. Almost.

Meanwhile, her friends on the log offer familiar comfort: "Stay with us. The water's probably cold anyway. What if there are predators down there? Besides, look how busy we all are up here. There's so much croaking to do, so many flies to catch for everyone else."

But here's what the riddle doesn't tell you: what transforms a decider into a leaper?
Sometimes it's urgency. The moment when staying feels more dangerous than jumping. When the frog realizes that the log she thought was safety has become a prison, and her carefully preserved energy is just exhaustion wearing a mask.

Sometimes it's inspiration. Witnessing another frog's transformation. Seeing someone who was once just as stuck, just as tired, now gliding through the water with a vitality that makes your chest ache with longing.

Sometimes it's reaching a tipping point where the voice saying "you deserve this" finally grows louder than the one whispering "but what about everyone else?"

And sometimes, perhaps most powerfully, it's the quiet recognition that self-care isn't selfish at all. That a frog who's truly nourished, who's taken time to swim and rest and play, actually has more to offer her community. That you can't pour from an empty lily pad.

The ancient saying tells us, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." But for self-care, maybe it begins with a single splash. Not THINKING about swimming. Not PLANNING to rest. Not DECIDING to prioritize your well-being. But actually stepping off the log.

That first step might be as simple as taking three deep breaths when you feel overwhelmed. Or setting a boundary you've been avoiding. Or saying no to one more request so you can say yes to your own needs. Or scheduling that appointment you've been putting off. Or simply asking yourself: "What do I need right now?" and then—revolutionary thought—actually listening to the answer.

The other frogs might croak in protest when you move toward the edge. They might question your priorities, worry about your choices, and remind you of all the reasons the log is safer. But here's the secret: healthy frogs don't try to keep each other from the water.

So today, I invite you to become the frog who jumps. Not because it's easy (it never is) but because you are worthy of care. Your own care. The kind that comes from taking action, not just making decisions.

The water is waiting. It's been waiting for you all along.

And once you take that leap? You might discover something beautiful: self-care isn't a destination you reach after a thousand miles. It's the very act of jumping, again and again, choosing yourself one splash at a time.

The log will always be there if you need to rest. But right now, the lake is calling your name.

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7/3/2025