Dodging the second arrows in expat life
June 10 Written By Bec Buist
Recently I stumbled across the Buddhist parable of ‘The two arrows’. The simple story has a profound message about dealing with the inevitable painful stuff life fires at us. It got me thinking about what might help us dodge the second arrows we all fall prey too. But to that in a minute, first, my modern take on this popular parable and its’ timeless wisdom.
My two arrows
I am on my morning walk to the local boulangerie — because I’m delusional enough to think walking there negates the calories in croissants. The sun is shining, my token French dog, who's actually Arab, is trotting along beside me, and today I’m “bonjouring” mask-clad passerbyers like a pro. Life is “bon”. Très bon (very good). Suddenly, from nowhere, a single arrow comes sailing over an ivy-clad stone wall — I know it sounds cliche but this ancient form of property demarcation is stock standard here. My token French dog — despite her notoriously bad eyesight, and refusal to wear “lunettes” (glasses) — scuttles out of the way, just as the wayward arrow pierces my big toe.
“Merde”, I yelp. I reflexively want to add, “excuse the French”, but it seems redundant given my current geographical location.
“Errrr, pardon, excusez moi madame”, I hear from behind the wall, as the rustle of bushes signals the perpetrator’s hasty retreat.
So, I know what you’re thinking. An arrow? Well, this IS a modern take on a story about “the two arrows” and if you are still judging, you should know, archery is a “tres commun” (very common) sport in France. Anyway, despite the arrow barely missing my femoral artery — well, I am trying to tell a good story here — I grit my teeth, mutter a few more hybrid Australian-French expletives, and proceed to limp my way to the boulangerie. Afterall, a girl has her priorities..
But as I hobble, blood ever so slowly drips onto my very European-chic Birkenstocks.
“That’s just perfect! Just what I need! They are going to run out of croissants before I get there. This has ruined my whole day!”
Arrow still in-situ, I limp and ramble some more. “Even if I get my croissants I'm probably going to get an infection. I’ll have to go to the hospital. Nobody will be able to come with me because of the virus. I don’t speak great French, so they’ll probably just amputate my toe. I “should” be able to speak French by now. Everyone else is. I’m such a loser!”
As I whine, my token French dog, feigns concern, but she is clearly miffed that her morning walk has slowed to an awkward crawl. To which my mind, not done catastrophizing, adds, “Great! Now your fake-French dog doesn’t even care”.
Arriving at the boulangerie, I line up behind a monk, clad in his trademark saffron-coloured robes, and sporting a matching face mask. Noting my obvious suffering he said — thankfully in English because I was in no mood to “répétez s'il vous plaît” him,
“Arrrh, you poor thing. I can see you’ve been hit by two arrows”.
“Just one monsieur “, I replied shortly, wondering if he had sampled too much of the “monastery goods”— wine, beer and awesome rind-washed [in alcohol] cheeses were invented by monks. Not Buddhist monks, but for the sake of the story we'll overlook this historical fact.
The boulangerie line shuffled forward one socially-distanced metre and he continued. “I’m assuming that first arrow really hurt”, he said.
Resisting the urge to say, “la derrrr”, I simply nodded and whimpered, “Oui, monsieur. Bien sûr (of course).”
“But now you are irritated, upset and anxious about your injury, your failure to stop it, and its’ imagined consequences, as well”, he added.
“Oui”, I said, wondering where this was going, but noticing my attention was no longer fixated on my arrow-adorned toe.
“Well”, he said. “That is the second arrow”.
The moral to the two arrows story
Although the original parable includes a more venerable monk — not one randomly shopping for baked goods — a brave, but emotionally-clueless young samurai, and a more impressive flesh wound, the message is the same. Pain is unfortunately an inevitable part of life but, depending on how you deal with it, suffering can be optional. No matter who we are, disappointing, difficult and even tragic things happen to all of us. These “first arrows” arrive in the form of a lost phone, a fight with a friend, a missed promotion, a divorce, financial hardship, illness, or death of a loved one. Sadly, we can’t always stop these first arrows, nor the inevitable and understandable pain associated with them, but our control lies in how we manage our reaction to them. It is by skillfully responding, rather than just reacting, to the pain of adversity that you can minimise the emotional and psychological suffering ie: the second arrow.
So how do you dodge the second arrow? Here are some ideas…
1. Accept the first arrow- understanding, and genuinely accepting, that unfortunately bad stuff, sometimes really bad stuff, happens in life is key to stopping, or minimising the impact of the second arrow (suffering). Acceptance doesn’t mean we have to like what happens but rather we make peace with it, or take decisive action, or both.
2. Practise with little arrows first- “Respond rather than reacting” can take practice especially if firing the second arrow is your modus operandi. Begin with smaller run-of-the- mill problems, and inconveniences e.g. a slow order, traffic, a rude comment, revolting wifi — just kidding, no one should tolerate this one. It will take time to break habits like worrying, angry outbursts, and negative thinking — biggies for launching the second arrow. But “practice makes permanent”.
3. Watch your thoughts (and behaviours)- Certain common “thinking traps” provide the perfect conditions for shooting the second arrow. They in themselves often create more suffering then the event. These include:
catasphasizing (eg: “I’m probably going to have my toe amputated”)
“shoulding” (e.g. “I should have seen the random arrow coming”, “I should speak French by now”)
personalising (eg: “If the boulangerie is out of baguettes it will be all my fault”)
fallacy of fairness (eg: “This is so unfair, I don’t deserve this”).
Remember your behavioural responses to painful events, such as, sending abusive texts, drinking, road rage, binge eating, excess on-line shopping, 5-day Netflix marathons, also provide the perfect weather conditions for launching that second arrow.
4. Slow your breathing. This might seem trite but when we feel threatened — this can be our pride or our physical selves — “the fight, flight or freeze” part of our brain kicks in. Whilst this is adaptive when we are being chased by a saber-tooth tiger it is not as helpful when we are aggrieved by a work colleague. As it shuts down our thinking brain (the prefrontal cortex) it can lead to us saying and doing things we later regret—a great source of suffering. The good news is the primitive emotion-driven fight or flight response can be calmed with our breath. Try the easy to remember “7-11 breathing technique”— yes like the gas/grocery chain with the awesome slurpees. Simply inhale slowly for 7 seconds through your nose, then exhale for 11 second through your mouth. Then repeat until you feel calmer. Calming automatic emotion-driven responses helps you stop that second arrow.
5. Get out of your head. As the thoughts about painful events often cause the majority of the suffering it is useful to have techniques for taking ourselves away from unhelpful thoughts, and fruitless rumination. Exercising or doing a distracting hobby can help do this. But when these aren’t accessible — like when you’re totally lost in peak-hour Parisian traffic — grounding exercises are a useful go to. Examples include, identifying all the red things you can see, or thinking “only” about your feet for 2 minutes — this is unless you have a whooping big red arrow sticking out of your big toe. This might only prompt more outrage and suffering.
Remember, life shoots us many painful arrows. But learning to respond, rather than react, can help us keep more of the suffering arrows safely in their quiver (“le carquois”) —apparently that’s the “arrow bag” — thanks Google.
Best wishes! Bec xx
