The Mess That Started It All
I started digging into this whole coin thing because my life had turned into a complete disaster zone. Not like, world-ending disaster, but the kind of slow-motion train wreck you can’t get off. We’d bought this old house, right? A fixer-upper. Turns out, it was less “fixer-upper” and more “tear-it-down-and-start-over.”
My wife and I were battling constantly. Every single decision—tile, paint, budget, contractor—was a screaming match. We were months behind schedule, completely out of money, and I was spending every night staring at the ceiling, cycling through the same dumb questions: Should I fire the electrician? Should we just sell this heap and take the loss? What is the next move that won’t cost me another six grand or another week of sleeping on the sofa?
I was so jammed up, I couldn’t think straight. My brain was a feedback loop of anxiety and half-baked plans. Every time I tried to sit down and logically plan the next three steps, I’d just end up hitting a mental wall. I didn’t need a spreadsheet, I needed a simple traffic light. A big, dumb sign that said “GO” or “STOP.”
Finding the Stupid Things
The turning point, or maybe the moment of desperation, came when I was clearing out the garage of this nightmare house. Way in the back, behind a mound of moth-eaten blankets and rat poison, I found a small wooden box. It wasn’t fancy. It was just an old, rough-looking thing with a sliding lid.
Inside, there were three coins. They looked ancient, totally oxidized, just dark green and crusty. They weren’t like modern money; they had those square holes in the middle. And with them, scrawled on a piece of greasy, folded paper, was the most basic, terrible-looking guide you could imagine. No philosophy, no deep cosmic wisdom. Just a list of coin combinations and what they meant. It looked like something a lunatic grandmother had written down sixty years ago before she lost her memory.
I threw the note in the box and laughed. Dream interpretation coins? I was worried about the roof collapsing, not my subconscious. But that night, after another three-hour argument with the missus about where the washing machine was going, I was desperate. I picked up the box. I figured, what the heck, can’t hurt. My usual planning methods were clearly failing.
My Crude System for a Quick Read
I didn’t try to learn the whole complicated I Ching business or whatever it was supposed to be. I just looked at that weird note and distilled it down to five main outcomes. I needed simplicity. I needed something I could use in 30 seconds.
The system was just about how many “Heads” versus “Tails” you got in one throw. The coins I had were simple. The side with the four big characters? I called that the Heads side. The side with the two small characters? That was Tails. That was my whole basis. Forget Yin and Yang, forget broken or solid lines. It was just a simple count.
- Three Tails (All Small Characters): “Clear Path – Move Now.” This was the green light. A good sign for immediate action.
- Two Tails, One Head: “Steady Progress – Keep Pushing.” This meant things were mostly stable, just keep chipping away.
- Two Heads, One Tail: “Minor Obstacle – Look Before You Leap.” A pause sign. Slow down and check the details one more time.
- Three Heads (All Big Characters): “Dead Stop – Retreat and Wait.” This was the big red ‘NO’ I needed. A terrible time to force anything.
- Any weird mix that wasn’t one of the above: I figured this was just static, meaning I wasn’t asking a clear question. I’d try again later.
It’s a simple system, right? Stupidly simple. No professional would approve. But I wasn’t trying to predict the stock market; I was trying to figure out if I should chew out the drywall guy the next morning.
What Happened When I Threw Them
The first time I really used it was terrifying. I had a huge problem with the plumbing quote. It was ten grand over what was agreed upon. My gut said to absolutely blow up the plumber’s phone, threaten legal action, and fire him on the spot. I was shaking with anger and adrenaline. That familiar mental feedback loop was starting up again. Should I, shouldn’t I, should I, shouldn’t I…
I grabbed the coins, held them in my hand, and asked: “Do I confront the plumber tomorrow and fire him?”
I tossed them onto the plywood floor. They tumbled. Two big characters, one small character. Two Heads, One Tail. “Minor Obstacle – Look Before You Leap.” My system said: pause. Do not leap. I wanted to smash the phone, but the coins told me to check the paperwork again.
For some reason, I obeyed that stupid instruction. I put my phone down. I went to bed angry. The next morning, instead of calling him to scream, I called the supplier who the plumber used. Guess what? The supplier had input the order wrong, creating the overcharge. It wasn’t the plumber’s fault at all. If I had gone in raging, I would have fired a decent guy over someone else’s mistake and then had to find a new plumber, delaying everything even further.
That little moment was my realization. It wasn’t that those dirty old coins had some magical power. It was that they forced me to stop overthinking. They gave the emotional part of my brain a simple, tangible answer, and that allowed the logical part to finally breathe and check the facts. It was a mental circuit breaker, not an oracle.
Now, I keep those three ugly coins right on my desk, wrapped in that same greasy old paper. When the anxiety starts to ramp up and I can’t decide if I should take on a new client or if I need to cut back on my hours, I just ask a direct question and toss the coins. It’s a tool, a way to force a decision point, a fast read when my own brain is completely jammed. It cuts through the BS and gives me a directional shove, and honestly, that simple, blunt push is usually exactly what I need to stop obsessing and just start doing the next thing.
