Man, what a day. If you’ve been following along, you know I’ve been wrestling with this new consulting gig. It seemed great on paper—easy money, minimal input—but it’s slowly morphed into a total time sink. I’ve been feeling this pressure, this deep frustration, because I keep trying to impose structure onto something that just doesn’t want structure. I spent all morning yesterday trying to draft the perfect email to politely bail, but every draft just sounded like I was complaining. My stomach was in knots. I kept thinking, “Why did I sign up for this mess?”
You know how it goes. You commit to something when you’re feeling optimistic, and then three weeks later, you realize you’ve accidentally bought yourself a second full-time job. I was ready to just rage-quit the whole thing, throw my hands up, and deal with the financial loss just to get back my evenings. But then I stopped myself. I had this sudden flash back to a conversation I had with an old mentor years ago—he always told me, when you hit peak confusion, you have to stop trying to force the answer from your brain and let the situation talk back to you.
That’s when I decided to just pause the chaos. Forget the email, forget the spreadsheets. I was going to throw the coins. I needed to know if I should push through this commitment or cut my losses, and my own internal arguments were just circular noise.
My Practice: Clearing the Deck and Casting the Coins
I didn’t do anything fancy. No incense, no chanting. I just cleared off a corner of my desk where the bills usually pile up. I dumped three copper coins out of the small pouch I keep tucked away in my drawer. I actually had to sweep away a pile of loose receipts first, which felt like an excellent metaphor for the state of my mental landscape.
I sat down, took maybe three slow breaths, and just focused my intent. My question was simple, maybe too simple: Should I continue this consultancy, or is it time to walk away? I didn’t ask for a prediction of success; I just needed guidance on the proper attitude right now. Should I be aggressive and calculating, or accepting and flexible?
Then I started shaking the coins. I did the whole process six times, focusing on nothing but the sound of the copper clicking against my palms. I wasn’t overthinking the numbers, just letting them fall naturally onto the blotter pad. Every time they landed, I recorded the line immediately. I use a simple shorthand: X for old Yin (moving line), O for old Yang (moving line), a solid line for Yang, and a broken line for Yin. It took me maybe five minutes total to cast the six lines.
When I looked down, the image was complete.
The Outcome: Hexagram 58 – Dui / The Joyous Lake
The hexagram I derived was 58. Joyous Lake. Dui. It was interesting because there were no changing lines, meaning the situation wasn’t currently in flux; the guidance was about the present state and how to inhabit it fully. No complex future forecast needed, just a stark, simple instruction.
The image of Dui is two open lakes stacked on top of each other. The image is one of mutual reflection, connection, and speaking freely. It’s all about yielding and joy—the ability to be content and to influence others simply by being genuinely cheerful and open.
I opened up my notes on the subject. I wasn’t looking for scholarly definitions; I was looking for the gut punch, the practical application. What I read hit me square in the face. 58 is about taking pleasure in communication and sharing. It suggests that when you are genuinely receptive and content, you naturally influence others. The hexagram warns against being overly rigid or pursuing joy selfishly, but the core message is: stop fighting the current and find satisfaction in the simple interaction.
The Realization: Practical Joy in the Mess
Here’s where it all clicked. My problem wasn’t the hours; it was my attitude about the hours. I was treating this consultancy as a tedious task I had to survive to get the money. I was trying to lock down every boundary and define every process, which was exactly the opposite of what the client needed—they needed fluidity and enthusiasm.
Hexagram 58 basically told me: Stop being a martyr. The stress I was feeling was internal resistance to the flow. The “Joyous Lake” wasn’t telling me the project would be easy; it was telling me the solution was to approach the interaction with genuine openness and enjoyment, regardless of the complexity.
- I had been focusing only on my own timeline (Yin isolation).
- The hexagram advised mutual exchange and delight (Dui reflection).
- I needed to stop seeing the meetings as obligations and start seeing them as opportunities for genuine, enthusiastic discussion.
This sounds cheesy, I know, but it was so concrete. I realized I wasn’t getting joy out of the work because I wasn’t putting joy into the work. I was radiating frustration, and of course, the project felt difficult.
So, what did I actually implement? I didn’t send the rage-quit email. Instead, I grabbed my phone, and I sent a voice note to the client manager. I didn’t talk about boundaries. I talked about how excited I was about the next phase, and I asked an enthusiastic, open question about their biggest immediate challenge. I immediately felt the tension drain away.
The response I got was immediate and equally positive. We scheduled a quick chat, and the shift in dynamic was palpable. We didn’t solve all the problems, but the atmosphere changed completely. Hexagram 58 didn’t make the work easier, but it showed me the one thing I could control: my own reflection. If I project contentment and enthusiasm, that’s what comes back to me. It sounds like simple common sense, but sometimes you need three old copper coins to smack you over the head with the obvious truth.
