Frog

Few things symbolise tough task as much as swallowing an ugly animal. Isn't it gross to think that the first thing you do each morning is to eat a live frog?

That's exactly what Brian Tracy, a consultant on personal effectiveness, taught us to do. His first rule of frog eating is this: If you have to eat two frogs, eat the ugliest one first. That means tackling the hardest and most important task, a discipline we all wish to master when we open the page of a new diary or journal on the first day of January. 

Procrastination being one of the deadly sins, anyone might suppose eating frog demands mighty efforts. It pains me to say that I am also inclined to procrastinate on the top 10 or 20 percent of items or frogs that are most important, and busy myself instead with the least important 80 percent, the "trivial many" that makes little difference to results.  

As I read the book Eat That Frog, I started to think of the best way to deal with this animal. Procrastination to eat the frog can't be tackled without new angle to look at it. If we want to look at the ugly frog differently, we might have to borrow the Disney theme from Tiana. Or else, from the Chinese tradition of frog eating which dates back to the Ming dynasty. The popularity of frog delicacy means we can often change our perception of whatever considered ugly. Even when US President Ronald Reagan visited China in 1984, deep-fried frog's legs were on the menu at the national feast. 

In short, re-invent the frog with new meaning and make use of cognitive reframing. Then you can eat the frog. Bit by bit. Bite by bite. 

Let Them

There is never enough time to read every book we wish. 

Choosing books is easy and it is hard. It is easy because we're literally swamped with book choice, as much as light and air. And it is hard because we have limited time and energy. We will never get far enough ahead to be able to finish all books. 

To get around the never-ending choices, I make a wish to come across ten good books each year. And at least one life-changing book every few years. The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins turns out to be one of mine this year. The key lesson from this book, which I had waited for few months until my turn to borrow near the end of the year, is the mindset of freeing ourselves from the burden of obsessing over what other people think, say, or do. 

Instead of reacting to other people's behaviour, we are taught to Let Them. It's not what happens to you, according to Greek philosopher Epictetus, but how you react to it that matters. To reset our stress response, in other words, we say Let Them, and put ourselves in pause. Then say Let Me and take a breath. The focus is to own our reactions, take our power back, and not to allow other people's behaviour to bother us. 

There's so much we can control: our values, our attitude, our desires, our personal responsibility, and our choice of books, of course.  

Conservation

On my way flying to Australia, I was watching the BBC documentary about Asia. Sir David Attenborough told us the staggering amount of conservation efforts required to save wild Asian animals such as sun bear in Borneo and the Javan green magpie. I didn't know where the conservation would end, but I had no trouble guessing where it should begin. There are plenty of examples from the newsletters I received from Greenpeace.

But (I hear you saying) can't we please learn some lessons from Australia where conservation is an issue of nationwide policy? The number of government and non-governmental organisations working on conservation and environmental restoration in Australia is probably greater than that of three Michelin-starred restaurants in Hong Kong. 

Notable examples of the coordinated conservation movement in Australia include victories in protecting Fraser Island, Kakadu, and Tasmania. The battle to save the Great Barrier Reef is ongoing. No matter: I witnessed the efforts to save the endangered Australian sea lions on my visit to Seal Bay Conservation Park in Kangaroo Island today. The Australian sea lions remain being listed as "vulnerable" in South Australia, but there is no better place for them to survive. 

Kangaroo Island

Vying with the Galápagos for Charles Darwin's destination, Kangaroo Island in South Australia is one of ours too. And yes, our family visited the island this winter.

Kangaroo Island, in essence, is four times the size of Hong Kong, minus all the people. All sugar-gum trees go well with everywhere-you-look wildlife. Flinders Chase National Park, located at the western edge of Kangaroo Island, is God's gift, or magical exhibition of whimsical stalactite arch (or architecture, if you prefer a wordier term).

Tucked away on Australia's oldest recognised park, this isolated environment is home to fur seals, kangaroos, echidnas and Cape Barren geese (plus koalas and platypuses introduced a hundred years ago when it was worried they would go extinct elsewhere). You will agree that this park is inhabited by wildlife rather than humans, once you notice that phone reception or wi-fi is minimal there. I'm not saying all signals are dead. Obviously you wish you could capture the world's most Instagrammed granite boulders, Remarkable Rocks. 

Untamed

Shortly after the worldwide demolition tour of the coronavirus, a growing panic became palpable everywhere. The resulting repercussion appeared in tweets, hashtags, news feed, and various platforms. And then the pent-up frustration are written in novels: Lucy by the Sea, Tom Lake, Wish You Were Here, and now Dream Count.  

The last one was written by a Nigerian author, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. As the book opens, a family Zoom call tells the story of how the long lines of people waiting to buy toilet paper in supermarkets, how the police are guarding toilet-paper lines, and why a spoon is needed for ATM. When it comes to coronavirus deaths, there's no such thing as too-much-caution – and it turns out the worry is the coronavirus can pass through gloves. To get around the fear, a sppon is used to press the passcode and then being thrown away. 

A spoon can be thrown away, but the panic can't be. Each new symptom – from face rashes to foot sores, from hoarse morning throat to an itch in the toe – can cause restlessness and endless Google search. 

Those frightening news are enough to give us a gray hair overnight. 

Calendar

The British countryside is known for its sweeping expanses and ever-changing seasons. Intrigued by the micro-seasonal changes, an ecologist, a book coach, a lecturer in human environmental geography, and a historian came together to write a book on their journey through a year, divided into 72 seasons. 

Their book, Nature's Calendar, is like a series of commas along a long road. The comma works like a speed bump to slow down our pace, to help us develop habits of observing the mind-blowing natural world. Be they animals or plants, be they a fan of tiny leaf-tips of daffodils in spring or mistletoe in winter, all can be delightful to look at. 

The day after I read Nature's Calendar, I received a much-loved gift of local mountain-themed calendar. The calendar collates twelve drawings of iconic peaks, each with its unique character and habitat. If Nature's Calendar is made up road signs by commas, this local calendar is a series of twelve periods. A well-placed period points to hiking enthusiasts where the pause should be, and when the next ascent should start.  

Camera

A sentence is more than its meaning; there can be both logic and lyric within the sentence. For that matter, a memory can be neither false nor true; our memory isn't fixed like a carbon copy inside our hippocampus. 

As I learned from the neuroscientist and psychologist Charan Ranganath, a memory is constructed from the past (when a story is being compressed in our archives) and the present (when we reboot our brain to pull up what we think had happened, or assemble those bits and pieces into what should have happened).

Over our lifetime, we have taken thousands of photographs – and maybe over 600,000 now that we have smartphones. Autobiographical memory, or recollection of personal life events, isn't necessarily made stronger by taking more pictures. This has been shown previously by cognitive psychologist that taking more photographs on a museum tour can actually impair our memory. The more pictures we take (to outsource or delegate memory to an external device), the fewer details about the objects and the objects' locations in the museum we can remember.     

Maybe the reason my memory is so bad is that I have too many moments left on my camera rolls.