Man, I was stuck. Like really stuck. It wasn’t even a work thing or a money thing, it was a relationship. Someone close to me—let’s call him Stan—we were just not connecting anymore. It had been months of this heavy, thick silence, peppered with these frustrating little arguments that went nowhere. Every time I tried to talk, it felt like I was yelling into a huge, soundproof box. I was convinced I was making perfect sense, but he was just shutting down, refusing to see my side.
I felt terrible. Honestly, every morning I woke up with this knot in my stomach. The thing about genuine happiness is you can’t force it, and you certainly can’t feel it when the most important connections in your life are fraying. I tried everything: passive aggression, forcing a sit-down, dramatic pleas. None of it worked. He just dug in deeper, and I was running on fumes.
I was so desperate, I finally threw my hands up one Saturday afternoon. I remember staring at the rain outside my window, just feeling the weight of it all. I knew I needed a completely different perspective, something outside my own head. That’s when I reached for my old I Ching set—the worn book and the three coins. I’ve always used it when I’m truly stumped, when logic has failed me completely.
I sat down at the kitchen table, took a few deep breaths, and shook those coins. My question wasn’t specific. I just asked, “What is the path to solving this breakdown and finding some peace again?”
The Unexpected Reading
I tossed the coins six times, marking down the lines, carefully counting the moving lines. When I was done, the hexagram standing there was number 58. I flipped through the book to the description.
Hexagram 58: Dui, The Joyous.
I actually snorted. Joyous? Are you kidding me? I was on the verge of crying, and this thing was telling me to be joyous. I almost slammed the book shut and walked away, thinking it was just complete nonsense this time. This is where most people quit, right? When the answer doesn’t immediately match the feeling.
But the practice is to sit with it, not dismiss it. So, I forced myself to read the deeper parts. The imagery is two lakes, one above the other. They are connected, they talk to each other, and they reflect each other. That’s what creates the joy. That’s the key: two mouths talking, but equally, two entities reflecting and receiving.
- It’s not just about expressing yourself; it’s about mutual exchange.
- It’s not aggressive talking; it’s open receptivity.
- The joy comes from being understood, but also from the act of understanding.
My entire approach had been wrong. I was only focusing on the “talking” part of the hexagram—the opening of the mouth—but I was being totally unreceptive. I was just broadcasting my own pain and frustration, demanding Stan tune in, but I wasn’t reflecting anything back. I wasn’t acting like a lake ready to receive the water from the other.
Putting the “Receptive” into Communication
The next day, I called Stan, and I told him, “Hey, I need to talk, but here’s the deal: I’m not going to argue. I just need to hear you out, and I need you to know I’m actually listening.”
We met up for coffee. I told myself to physically hold back any rebuttal, any defense, any explanation. When he started talking, it was hard. He was defensive and angry, spitting out all the stuff I thought was stupid or wrong. My gut reaction was to jump in and correct him, but I kept my mouth shut. I just nodded, making sure my face showed that I was genuinely processing what he was saying.
I didn’t try to win a single point. I just repeated back, “So, if I hear you right, you feel like I always jump in before you finish your thought?” or “It sounds like you felt completely dismissed by what I said last week.”
He was immediately disarmed. He actually leaned back and looked surprised, like he’d been gearing up for a battle and I’d just laid down my sword. He calmed down, and then the real stuff started coming out, the stuff that was actually hurting him, not the surface-level junk we usually fought over.
When it was my turn, I didn’t defend my original position at all. I just confessed my feelings. I said, “I have been so stressed about this. I feel like I’m losing my best friend, and I’ve been so focused on being ‘right’ that I failed to see that you were just hurting.”
The True Joy
Man, the release of tension was massive. It was like someone had unplugged a buzzing machine. We didn’t solve the core disagreement that day, not entirely, but that didn’t matter anymore. The actual source of my misery—the breakdown of connection—was fixed. We were talking to each other again, not at each other. That mutual reflection, that open conversation, it created a genuine sense of relief and ease. That was the “Joyous” part.
The true happiness wasn’t about the outcome of the issue, it was about restoring the flow between us. It came from the receptive act, from letting go of the need to be right and prioritizing the relationship instead. The initial problem that started all the stress? We got it sorted out casually a week later, because once the communication path was cleared, everything else was easy.
