Man, I was really in a spot last Tuesday. Like, throat-closing-up anxiety levels. This big partnership deal—a lot of zeros, a lot of risk—it needed a sign. I needed to know if I should shake hands on it or walk away. I had until Friday morning, and my gut was just a mess.
I needed an answer, and I needed it yesterday.
The Mess I Got Myself Into
You know how it is. You chase this dream for years, you finally catch it, and then you realize you maybe caught a tiger by the tail. The deal was this: merge my little operation with a much bigger player, take on their debt, but also their massive client list. My partner was pushing hard. He said, “Look, we get this done, we’re set for life.” But his enthusiasm felt a little too desperate, you know? Like he was trying to convince himself more than me.
I called my old man—he’s the one who gave me my first set of I Ching coins, little brass discs—and he just told me to slow down. “You can’t rush the mountains,” he always says. Easy for him to say. He’s retired and spends his afternoons fishing. I had payroll coming up and this ticking clock.
I closed the office door and just paced for an hour. Every spreadsheet, every projection, every conversation I had with this new big-shot partner felt like a damn rollercoaster. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. All I could think about was that number—the colossal penalty for backing out once the papers were signed.
Chasing the Quick Fix
I remembered something I’d heard—some internet chatter about “45 I Ching.” A simplified thing. Not the whole 64 hexagrams, not the whole deep dive, just forty-five quick scenarios, forty-five quick answers for forty-five modern problems. Sounded like total garbage, but desperation makes you stupid.
I wanted an immediate yes or no. A flashing sign that said GO or STOP. I grabbed my phone and started poking around for this fast-food version of ancient wisdom. I figured, I’ll ask the question plain and simple: “Should I sign the papers on Friday?”
I did the quick-draw thing. It wasn’t the traditional three coins, it was something faster—just tapping a screen a couple of times. It spit out a hexagram that was supposed to be number 45, or maybe it was just related to 45. The “Gathering Together” one. It felt kind of nice, right? Like, “Yep, join forces, it’s a good idea.”
I read the little summary. It said something useless like, “Seek allies. Fortune favors the prepared.” I mean, what kind of answer is that? Of course, I need allies. Of course, I need to be prepared. It was the same vague motivational poster crap you see everywhere. The anxiety didn’t go down a single notch. In fact, it got worse because now I had wasted ten minutes on nonsense and still had no clarity.
The Slow Burn of the Real Deal
I realized my mistake right then. The only reason I was chasing that “quick answer” crap was because I was terrified of the real answer, the one that takes time and forces you to confront the situation properly.
I found the old pouch with the brass coins my dad gave me. I locked the door again. I didn’t rush. This time, I went through the whole process, the proper, slow way, casting the coins six times, writing down every result, every single moving line.
- First cast.
- Write it down.
- Clear my head.
- Focus on the real question: “What is the true nature of this partnership?” Not “Should I sign?”
- Second cast.
- Write it down.
It took almost an hour and a half, maybe more. It was quiet. Just the sound of the coins clattering on the desk. Finally, I had my two hexagrams: the starting one and the one it turned into. It wasn’t a simple “Gathering Together.” It was Hexagram 58, “The Joyous,” moving to Hexagram 60, “Limitation.”
I didn’t need to read the long text. The names alone hit me like a cold wave. The initial joy, the big excitement about the new venture… but every line pointed straight to the harsh necessity of limitation and restriction down the line. It wasn’t a “no,” but it wasn’t a cheer either. It was a warning: be ecstatic now, but you are walking straight into a cage of strict rules and boundaries that will choke the life out of the joy. My partner’s desperation suddenly made sense. He saw the joy, but he was hoping I’d overlook the cage.
The answer didn’t come in a quick, clean sentence. It came in a feeling of cold certainty that settled in my chest, a feeling that only came from the slow, deliberate work. I hadn’t gotten the quick “45” answer I wanted. I got the honest answer I needed.
I didn’t sign the papers on Friday.
