The Time That Seven of Cups Showed Up Every Week
I remember pulling that card, the Seven of Cups, over and over, and always thinking it was the universe yelling at me for being a total mess. I felt like the guy in the picture, staring wide-eyed at all those floating cups, full of jewels and snakes and castles, totally paralyzed. I mean, who picks the snake? But really, I saw it as a bad sign, a mark of indecision, a warning that I was going to fail because I couldn’t just pick one darn thing and run with it.
This wasn’t just some abstract “what should I do with my life” feeling. This was a real-world, high-stakes situation. I was trying to shift my whole working life after years in a job that was sucking the life out of me. I left it all behind, thinking I was hot stuff and could manage being a freelance consultant. Suddenly, I had seven or eight different little projects I was juggling. They were all small, but they added up. One was building a basic website for a local bakery, another was doing social media for a dude selling handmade soap, and the biggest one was handling content strategy for a promising tech startup.
I was so proud of my “diversified portfolio.” Every time I threw down the cards to see if I was on the right track, there was the Seven of Cups, staring back with all those options. I’d sigh, put the cards away, and just keep spinning plates.
When the Illusion Totally Collapsed
I thought I had security because I had seven irons in the fire. That was the illusion right there. I was focusing 80% of my energy on that big tech startup gig. It was the one that looked like the golden cup, the castle. I figured the other little things were nice, but the big one was the real future.
Then, it all went south. It was a Monday morning. I woke up, got the coffee brewing, and opened my laptop. There was a short email. The startup had run into serious funding issues and was immediately halting all external contracts. Just like that. Sixty percent of my anticipated income, gone. Not delayed, not reduced—just gone.
I sat there looking at the screen, and the first thing that popped into my head was that stupid Seven of Cups card, except now all the jewels in the cups looked like plastic beads.
I didn’t have time to be paralyzed anymore. I didn’t have time to stare at the “options.” I had bills. I was completely panicked, the kind of panic that grabs your chest and doesn’t let go. That card had been trying to tell me something, and I had been too busy chasing the shiny stuff to listen.
I had to get brutally honest with myself and the remaining cups.
- I looked at the bakery website gig. It was small, but the owner paid on time, and the work was straightforward. It was real.
- I looked at the handmade soap social media. The guy was a nightmare to work with, always demanding extra hours for the same pay. That cup was rotten.
- I looked at three other small, vague projects I had agreed to. I hadn’t even started two of them. They were pure dreams, ghosts.
The Real Blessing Was What Was Left
I realized the Seven of Cups wasn’t a bad sign telling me I was lost; it was a loud alarm telling me I was investing in vapor. The hidden blessings weren’t in the cups themselves, but in the choices I was forced to make when the biggest, fanciest cup shattered.
I spent the next three days doing nothing but clearing the decks. I politely finished the bakery website and negotiated a small, easy maintenance contract. I fired the soap guy, which felt amazing. I archived the ghost projects and told those people I couldn’t take on the work. I took the few solid, tiny pieces I had left, those hidden, less glamorous blessings, and focused completely on them.
That forced focus changed everything. I stopped wishing for the castle cup and started building a solid wall with the bricks I actually held. I didn’t find a new big job immediately, but I found stability and clarity. The card didn’t curse me with indecision; it warned me about distraction. The “blessing” was the kick in the pants that forced me to see which cups were real and which were just smoke, long before the smoke choked me completely.
Now, when I pull the Seven of Cups, I don’t dread it. I see it as a clean-up crew. It’s not about making a “good” choice from seven random things; it’s about finding the one solid thing and ignoring the six illusions. You don’t need the jewels and the glory; you just need the cup that actually holds water.
