#45 The stories we speak (guest post)
Four timeless stories that changed my life
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We’re honored to share this heartfelt piece from our good friend Ariel Camus. Ariel is a seasoned entrepreneur, a deep thinker, and a builder driven by impact.
Writing something this personal takes courage, and we’re deeply grateful to Ariel for his vulnerability, openness, and the effort he put into offering this reflection to the 3x community.
It’s a piece that might resonate with anyone, but especially with those navigating difficult moments. We hope it offers comfort, clarity, or even a quiet sense of hope.
The stories we speak
In November 2022, my wife Gaby and I lost our daughter, Mia, just a few hours after she was born.
In the final days of week 38, after a smooth and happy pregnancy, Gaby went into labor.
Soon after we arrived at the hospital, a rare complication appeared. Then another. And another.
Each with a 0.1% chance of happening. Each compounding the last.
Doctors did everything they could for hours, but Mia didn’t make it.
We held her, we loved her, and we said goodbye on the same day.
It was the kind of pain you can’t prepare for. The kind that shakes the foundations of everything you thought you knew—about fairness, about control, about meaning.
And yet, strangely, we weren’t lost.
Grieving, yes. Changed forever, of course. But we had something that helped us make sense of what had happened—a handful of old stories.
These were stories from Zen, Buddhism, and Taoism that we had read together and talked about on quiet evenings.
Over time, these stories became part of our shared language, long before we knew how much we would need them.
They gave us a way to talk about what we were feeling. A shared framework. A shorthand.
Most of all, they reminded us that while pain is inevitable, unnecessary suffering doesn’t have to be.
These stories aren’t original to us. You can find them anywhere.
But when you live with them, speak them, carry them with the people you love, they become something else: a kind of compass.
These are the four that shaped how we make sense of life, as individuals and as a family.
The Second Arrow
One of the oldest stories in the Buddhist tradition tells of a man who is struck by an arrow. That first arrow hurts, just like any physical or emotional pain we didn’t choose. But then comes a second arrow: the mental anguish of questioning, doubting, blaming, spinning.
Why me?
What could I have done differently?
Whose fault is this?
The Buddha taught that while we can’t always avoid the first arrow, the second one is optional.
After Mia died, we were flooded with second arrows.
What if we had gone to the hospital earlier?
What if we’d pushed harder for different tests?
What if… what if… what if?
This story became a lifeline for us.
Every time one of us asked “what if?” the other responded: “Is that a second arrow?”
It didn’t take the pain away. But it helped us stop adding to it.
Good or Bad—I Don’t Know
This one comes from an old Taoist parable.
A farmer finds a wild horse. His neighbor says, “How lucky!” The farmer replies, “Good or bad—I don’t know.”
The story keeps unfolding: the horse runs away (bad?), returns with more horses (good?), the farmer’s son breaks his leg taming one (bad?), and the army spares the injured son from conscription (good?).
It goes on like this, showing how impossible it is to judge events in isolation.
After Mia’s death, this story helped us see something unexpected:
Mia’s life, even if briefly, made us experience the most profound love we had ever felt, and her death deepened our love for each other.
We had never felt more human and alive.
Was it a bad thing?
It was painful. But good or bad—we don’t know. And maybe we never will.
Put That Woman Down
This one’s a classic Zen story.
Two monks are walking when they come across a woman who is unable to cross a river. The older monk carries her across. Hours later, the younger monk bursts out: “How could you? We’re not supposed to touch women!”
The older monk replies, “I put her down hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?”
That’s how we often are with resentment, with guilt, with tiny frustrations that fester.
In our relationship, this story has become a gentle check-in.
One of us might say: I already put that woman down. It means: I’ve processed this. I’m ready to move forward. It invites the other to do the same.
This story helped us move forward together.
This Too Shall Pass
This is a Persian proverb about impermanence. Nothing lasts forever.
The story goes like this: a king asks for something that will make him happy every time he’s sad. Someone gives him a ring with an inscription that reads: “This too shall pass.”
It works—but when the king is happy, he looks at the ring again and realizes the same is true: the happiness of this moment won’t last either.
For us, this story is about perspective.
When we’re overwhelmed by sadness, it reminds us that the storm will pass.
But also, when we’re caught in joy, it reminds us to hold the moment with presence—because it, too, is fleeting.
It softens both extremes. It keeps us grounded.
Being alive is about navigating the river of emotions that makes us human.
Remembering that those emotions, like everything else, are impermanent, gave us the perspective to face some of the most challenging moments in our lives, like Mia’s death.
But it also made us appreciate those precious hours she was in our lives.
These stories are incredibly simple.
Some are just a few lines long.
But they’ve become a kind of language in our home. A shared vocabulary of peace.
And the beautiful thing is that when both people know the story, you only need a few words.
“Is that a second arrow?”
“I already put that woman down.”
“Good or bad—I don’t know.”
In a moment, you’re aligned again. Grounded. Less lost.
It doesn’t mean life stops hurting.
It just means you’re not alone in how you hold it.
And maybe that’s all we really need.
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