Man, I remember this one time, I was seriously stuck. Like, really, truly stuck. Had a couple of options for my career, and both felt like walking into a fog. One was a super shiny new opportunity, seemed like a big step up, but something in my gut just felt… off. The other was sticking with my current gig, which was stable, paid the bills, but honestly, it was pretty dull. My brain was just bouncing between “leap and the net will appear” and “better the devil you know.” Every day felt like I was just chewing on the same stale cracker of a decision.
I tried all the usual stuff. Made a pros and cons list that was longer than my arm and helped absolutely nobody. Talked to friends, got conflicting advice. Even tried meditating, which just made me sleepy. I was spinning, going nowhere, and the deadline for the new job offer was looming.
Then, one evening, rummaging around in an old box of books my grandma left, I stumbled upon this dusty old thing. It looked ancient, all yellowed pages and weird symbols. It was an I Ching book. I’d heard of it, vaguely, as some kind of ancient Chinese divination thing, but always thought it was too out there for me. But at this point, I was desperate. Like, if a magic eight ball was the only option, I’d be shaking that thing until my arm fell off. So, I figured, why not give this a shot?
I flipped through the book, found the section on how to cast a hexagram. It talked about three coins. I didn’t have any special ones, just grabbed three pennies out of my change jar, all a bit tarnished. The book said to hold them, clear your mind, ask your question. My question was pretty straightforward: “What’s the best path for my career right now, considering these options?”
I tossed those pennies six times, patiently, carefully. Each time, I noted down whether it was heads or tails, drawing solid or broken lines as the book instructed. Felt a bit silly, honestly, like I was playing some obscure parlor game. But I kept at it. Eventually, I had my six lines. Then came the part where you figure out which hexagram you’ve got. I painstakingly matched my lines to the diagrams in the book.
And there it was. Hexagram 10: Treading (Conduct). I remember the title immediately got my attention. “Treading.” It sounded like walking, careful movement. I started reading the general judgment for Hexagram 10. It talked about “treading on the tail of a tiger, but not being bitten.” It spoke of caution, maintaining decorum, and moving with grace and firmness. Not exactly a “take the new job” or “stay put” kind of answer, was it?
But as I read deeper into the individual lines, especially the moving lines I had gotten from my specific coin tosses, things started to click. One of my lines, I recall, spoke about “treading simply and plainly.” Another talked about “treading on solid ground.” It wasn’t about choosing A or B directly, but about how I should approach the entire decision-making process.
My brain, which had been in hyper-analysis mode, suddenly felt a nudge to just slow down. The “treading on the tail of a tiger” part made me realize that yes, there was risk involved in any big change, but it didn’t mean I had to be paralyzed by fear. It meant I needed to be acutely aware, observant, and respectful of the situation. It wasn’t about recklessly jumping forward, nor was it about retreating entirely. It was about measured steps.
The “treading simply and plainly” really hit home. I was overcomplicating everything. My endless pros and cons list was a symptom of that. It felt like the I Ching was telling me to strip away all the noise, all the external pressures, and just focus on the foundational aspects. What did I truly want? What were my core values in a job? Was I properly investigating the new opportunity, or just getting swept up in the shiny prospect?
The “treading on solid ground” line solidified it even further. It wasn’t about wishful thinking or taking a wild gamble. It was about making sure my steps were firm, based on facts, and truly understanding the landscape before I committed to walking across it. I realized I hadn’t done enough due diligence on the new company’s culture beyond what the recruiter told me. I hadn’t really pressed for details about the team dynamics, the actual day-to-day work environment, or the true expectations.
So, my decision didn’t come as a sudden revelation of “take the job” or “don’t take the job.” Instead, the I Ching, especially Hexagram 10, gave me clear advice on how to make the decision. It told me to proceed with caution, to simplify my approach, and to ensure I was walking on solid, understood ground. It wasn’t a fortune-telling session, but a perspective shift.
I went back to the new opportunity, not with a pre-decided answer, but with a new set of questions. I asked to speak to more people on the team, not just the hiring manager. I specifically asked about work-life balance, about challenges, about how conflicts were resolved. I dug deeper into online reviews and sought out indirect connections who might have worked there before. I was “treading” carefully, observing every detail.
What I found was that while the job itself sounded great, the culture was a lot more cut-throat and demanding than I had initially perceived. It became clear that it wasn’t the “solid ground” I needed for my next step. And I realized my current “dull” job, while not exciting, offered me the stability and peace of mind that I actually valued more at that point in my life. It allowed me to look for something truly aligned, without the pressure of a quick, potentially regretful, leap.
I ended up politely declining the new offer, not because I was scared, but because I had, through careful “treading” guided by that old book, gained clarity and made an informed choice. It wasn’t about avoiding the tiger, but about walking past it gracefully, understanding its nature, and choosing a safer path for myself. Hexagram 10 became my go-to whenever I felt tangled in a big decision ever since. It’s not about being told what to do, but about being shown how to figure it out for yourself.
