The Minor Roadblock That Sent Me Straight to the I Ching
I gotta tell you, this whole thing started because I was about two seconds away from throwing a wrench through my monitor. You know that feeling when you have everything lined up—the money, the time, the manpower—and some tiny, ridiculous administrative snag just keeps kicking the project back? That was me, about three weeks ago. I was trying to finalize the permits for a massive workshop extension I’ve been planning. It’s not just a hobby space; it’s a critical part of my next income stream. Everything was greenlit, except for one lousy signature from one particular desk down at the county planning office.
They kept sending the forms back. First, it was the wrong font size on one appendix. Then, it was a measurement discrepancy of less than an inch on the elevation drawing. It wasn’t major failure; it was just annoying, nickel-and-dime stuff designed purely to slow you down. It was grating on my nerves, big time. I needed to know if this delay meant the entire plan was flawed, or if I just had to grit my teeth and wait out the bureaucratic nonsense. I was looking for a sign: Is this project cursed, or just congested?
That’s when I pulled out the I Ching coins. I wasn’t looking for deep philosophical guidance that day; I was looking for a street sign. I needed to know if I should push harder, scream louder, or just shut up and wait. I grabbed my three pennies—the ones I always use—and went through the motions. You gotta clear your mind and focus the question. I asked, simply: “What is the nature of this ongoing delay regarding the workshop project, and how should I approach it right now?”
Casting the Coins: The Hexagram of Small Taming
I tossed them six times. I recorded the values. And boom, the result landed squarely on Hexagram 9: Xiao Xu, or Small Taming/Minor Obstruction.
My initial reaction? Frustration. When you cast a hexagram, you usually want something bold—success, or definitive failure. Hexagram 9 is neither. It’s Wind over Heaven. It tells you that the potential is there, the sky is clear, but a few small, gathering clouds (the wind) are holding back the major rain event. It’s not the Great Taming (Hexagram 26), which implies a necessary, massive restraint. This is small stuff. It confirmed exactly what I was feeling: everything is ready, but the minor friction is delaying the release.
The text is incredibly plain spoken. It’s about keeping things in check, focusing on small nourishment, and not trying to force a major breakthrough. It felt like the book was wagging its finger at me and saying, “Dude, you’re trying to win a marathon during a 10-minute traffic stop. Calm down.”
But the real kicker was the changing line. I cast Hexagram 9 with a changing line in the fifth place:
- Line 5: “Truthfulness and sincerity are felt, rich in association with one’s neighbor.”
Now, this Line 5 is usually pretty positive. It suggests that my internal sincerity and my current preparations are sound, and that the connections I have established (my crew, my suppliers, the plans) are solid. The instruction here wasn’t to fight the county clerk or redraw the entire blueprint. The instruction was to rely on my inherent strength and the trustworthiness of my current plan while the external minor delay worked itself out.
The Unexpected Practical Payoff
The I Ching rarely tells you what you want to hear; it tells you what you need to hear. If I had gotten a Hexagram of major failure, I would have scrapped the project. If I had gotten a Hexagram of immediate success, I would have kept banging my head against the bureaucracy.
But because I got this annoying, intermediate message—Small Taming—it forced me to stop pushing and start polishing. It essentially put me in time out.
Instead of stewing over the permit issue, I decided to take the advice of Line 5 and revisit the details I had already established. I told my crew chief that we were on a mandatory pause. Then, I dug back into the mountains of paperwork I had already signed off on:
What the Hexagram made me discover:
- I revisited the quotes from my concrete supplier. I discovered a clause requiring a much longer curing time for the specific strength rating I needed than I had budgeted for in my schedule. If I hadn’t paused, I would have forced the crew to move on too fast, risking structural issues later.
- I reviewed the electrical wiring plan one last time. I realized I had specified the wrong gauge wire for a specific piece of heavy machinery, a mistake that would have been costly and dangerous to fix post-wall.
This “minor obstruction” from the county—the tiny annoyance that made me cast the hexagram—was the universe’s way of hitting the brake pedal so I could see my own major screw-ups. The “bad luck” of Hexagram 9 wasn’t bad at all; it was a cheap insurance policy.
So, is Hexagram 9 lucky or bad? Neither. It’s a necessary slowing down. It forces you to appreciate that the small details, the minor constraints, are often protection. It reminds you that sometimes, the wind holding back the rain is just giving you time to put on your coat.
Three days later, the county office finally signed the form. By the time the permits were approved, I had already fixed two critical flaws in my plan that would have cost me thousands. Next time I feel blocked by something small, I’m going to remember Hexagram 9 and just check my own homework before I start yelling at the universe.
