Man, the “5 Cups,” huh? For a long time, I just glossed over it. Saw it, thought, “Yeah, bummer card,” and moved on. It looked like sadness, pure and simple. Three cups knocked over, spilled, gone. Who wants to dwell on that, right? I sure didn’t. My brain just wanted to skip past the bad stuff, pretend it wasn’t there. But life, it has a funny way of making you sit down and really stare at what you’re trying to ignore.
I remember this one period, not so long ago, when things just felt like they were falling apart around me. It felt like everything I’d been building, everything I’d put effort into, was just getting kicked over, one by one. I’d planned out this whole big project, poured my heart and soul into it, truly. Spent months, probably even a year, sketching it out, talking to folks, getting excited. I saw the finishing line, clear as day.
Then, suddenly, BAM. Everything just… dissolved. Not a slow fade, but a sudden, jarring halt. Key people backed out, funding disappeared, and the whole structure just crumbled. It felt like someone had just walked up and deliberately swiped at three perfect cups I’d carefully placed on a table, sending their contents splashing all over the floor. And there I was, standing in the mess, just staring at the puddles. I felt a real sting. A deep, hollow ache in my gut.
I got really stuck in that feeling. I’d walk around, feeling heavy, thinking about all the effort, all the time, all the hopes that just went poof. I’d replay conversations, pick apart decisions, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why didn’t I see it coming? Why wasn’t I smarter? Stronger? I was completely consumed by the “what ifs” and the “what could have beens.” My mind was just glued to those three spilled cups, to the loss, to the absolute waste of it all. It was like I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the mess.
The Moment of Turning
This went on for weeks. I was pretty much useless. Couldn’t focus on anything new, just replayed the old failures. My mood was in the gutter. Then, one afternoon, I was just sitting there, completely mired in my own pity party, looking out the window, not really seeing anything. My old dog, bless his heart, came up and nudged my hand with his wet nose. He wanted to go for a walk.
I sighed, didn’t really want to. But he was persistent. So I got up, grabbed his leash, and just went. We walked around the neighborhood, the same old route. And as we were walking, I was still stuck in my head, rehashing the same old story. But then, as he tugged me slightly towards a patch of sunlight, I literally glanced over my shoulder, almost involuntarily. And that’s when it hit me. Like a ton of bricks, but soft ones, if that makes sense.
I just started seeing things I hadn’t paid attention to. My old dog, happy as could be, sniffing every single blade of grass like it was the most exciting thing in the world. The way the sunlight was hitting the old oak tree, making it look almost golden. The sound of kids laughing down the street. It sounds dumb, but in that moment, it was like someone had physically rotated me. I had been so focused on the mess right in front of me, on what was gone, that I had completely missed everything else around me. Everything that was still standing. Everything that was still good.
That’s when the “5 Cups” finally clicked for me. It wasn’t just about the three spilled cups. It was about the two that are still upright, standing right there, usually right behind you, just waiting to be seen. You can mourn the spilled ones, sure. That’s natural. We have to acknowledge loss. But if you get stuck there, staring at the puddles forever, you’ll never turn around and see what you still have. The two full cups, representing new opportunities, remaining blessings, lessons learned, or simply, something you didn’t even notice was still intact.
After that, I made a conscious effort. Every time I felt myself slipping back into that cycle of regret and focusing on what was lost, I’d consciously tell myself to turn around. To look for the two cups. What’s still here? What did I learn? What can I do now? It wasn’t about ignoring the pain, but about not letting it paralyze me. It transformed the way I looked at setbacks. Instead of just seeing an ending, I started actively searching for the new beginning, or the unexpected continuation, or even just the quiet strength that remained.
So, for me, the “5 Cups” isn’t just a symbol of sadness or loss. It’s a reminder, a gentle but firm nudge, to acknowledge what’s gone, yes, but then to shift your gaze. To literally turn your body, if you have to, and see what precious things are still standing. Because more often than not, there’s always something. And sometimes, those two remaining cups hold exactly what you need to move forward.
