I notice that the snails come out onto the cement right after it rains. I'm not sure why; maybe the wet mud is too slippery for them. Or maybe they like the feel of the cold, hard cement on their tushies once in a while.

Whatever the reason, I couldn't help watching one of them the other day. It inched along without a care in the world, leaving behind a shiny sliver of slime. And it made me wonder: wouldn't it be great to be a snail?

Just think about it. Nowadays our lives are fast, sometimes too fast. We rush to work in the morning, rush through our lunch in the afternoon, then rush back home in the evening. Never a moment's rest, we rush through our days like a raging river.

Then tomorrow comes and we do it all over again.

Contrast that to the snail. It crawls through its life with no worries on its back, only its shell. There are no worldly possessions for which it craves, no job for it to maintain, no rent it needs to pay. It only cares about crawling onto the cement after it rains.

I pulled out my Treo instinctively to look at tomorrow's schedule, then caught myself. Where was this snail's Treo? Why wasn't it checking its schedule for tomorrow?

I crouched back down and watched its tiny antennae-like eyes bob around. Perhaps it was watching me, fearful that I might scoop it up and boil it with butter like escargot. Or perhaps, I wondered, it didn't even know that I was watching it. Perhaps it was totally oblivious to everything around it.

A door slammed above me. I stood up and watched a neighbor and her two children run down the stairs. A little boy and a little girl burst out of the stairwell with toys in their hands. They smiled at me as they rushed by with their mom.

I waved back and grinned as the little boy jumped into a puddle, splashing his sister. His mom grabbed his arm and pulled him away as she giggled. Then she kicked some water back at him. Exasperated, their mom grabbed them both and hauled them off. Their giggles faded into the night.

I paused for a moment. Then something happened. I knelt back down and looked at the snail again. It moved only about half an inch and was still ignorant to the world around it.

So I wondered: if I didn't have any cares in the world, like the snail, how would I appreciate something as simple as two kids jumping in puddles of water? Sure, I could go through life as slow as I wanted to, but would I really enjoy that?

Its antennae-like eyes swiveled and seemed to regard me. Then my Treo beeped, reminding me to prepare for an early morning meeting tomorrow. The snail's eyes turned forward and it continued to slime across the cement.

Snails, I thought to myself, hardly have any cares in the world, do they? But they don't have many joys either, it seemed. In the span of this moment, I was reminded of how wearisome life can be, by my Treo, and also how joyful life can be, by the children.

With that thought, I stood back up, turned around, and headed back to my apartment. When my Treo beeped a second time, I rushed back. Just so, when tomorrow comes, I can experience it all over again.

. . .

Do you think it would be great to be a snail?