Man, let me tell you, the last six months have been a complete mess. I mean a total, confusing, stomach-churning mess. This whole business of reading cards, of trying to pull some sense out of the universe—it wasn’t just some afternoon hobby project this time. This was about survival, straight up. It was all triggered by this massive blow-up I had with my main supplier, a guy who I thought was rock solid, like family for ten years now. But that’s how it goes, right? People change, deals go south.
The Setup: When Trust Went South
I woke up one Tuesday a few months back feeling totally cold. Not sick cold, but like that deep dread when you know something vital is snapping. My partner, let’s call him Jay, had just completely ghosted a huge order we were counting on. No call, no email, just silence. We were supposed to drop a shipment to a client by Friday. When I finally cornered his assistant, she gave me some lame excuse about ‘inventory issues.’ Inventory issues? After all this time? I smelled something rotten instantly. I called Jay’s personal cell ten times. Nothing. It felt like walking into my own house and finding all the doors locked from the inside. That kind of betrayal just shakes you up. It makes you question every single thing you’ve ever built.
I spent the next three days running around like a headless chicken, trying to fix the logistics nightmare. I tried calling in old favors, I tried emailing contracts, I tried being the bigger person and apologizing for an argument we had two weeks before that, honestly, wasn’t even my fault. Everything I did just hit a brick wall. My money was tied up, the client was livid, and Jay was nowhere to be found. The whole situation felt like the bottom dropping out. Like that story, you hear about the poor guy who got thrown under the bus by his company right when he needed them most? Yeah, I was living it. I was so mad, so stressed, I was barely eating. I needed to know, was this the end? Was this guy really trying to screw me over for good?
The Practice: Pulling the Card
I’ve had this deck for years. It’s beat up, smells like old wood and coffee. I usually only pull it out when I need a little creative push, nothing too heavy. But this time? This was heavy duty. I sat down at my desk around 2 AM, everything else silent, and I grabbed the deck. My hands were actually shaking. I didn’t do any fancy meditation or ritual junk; I just focused all that panic and anger into the cards while I shuffled.
I focused on one simple, nasty question: “What is the immediate outcome of this Jay situation?”
- I cut the deck unevenly, three times, just like I always do.
- I gathered the piles back up.
- I pushed out a single card from the top.
I flipped it over. And there it was. The Three of Spades. Ugh. Now, if you know anything about the straight-up, non-fluffy definitions, the first thing that hits you is ‘misfortune,’ ‘bad news,’ or even ‘loss.’ It’s that initial sting, the heartbreak card for a lot of people. It’s what everyone dreads pulling. I stared at it for a good ten minutes, letting that initial wave of panic wash over me. “Figures,” I mumbled. “I knew I was toast.”
The Recording: Digging Deeper than Doom
But then the mature, older me—the one who’s been through a few too many disasters to accept the easy answer—kicked in. I wasn’t going to let a piece of cardboard tell me I was finished. I hauled out my handwritten journals, the ones I’ve kept for years recording my own draws and what actually happened, not what the internet says is supposed to happen. I flipped pages, looking for a pattern.
I tracked down every instance of the Three of Spades I’d recorded:
- One time, it was a fight with my brother over something stupid—it resolved quickly after a difficult phone call.
- Another time, it was an incredibly rough three-week sprint at work, requiring me to completely re-do an entire project, but the final outcome was an unexpected promotion.
- It even showed up once right before I decided to pay a huge, unnecessary repair bill, which was painful, but it prevented a total system crash a month later.
That’s when it hit me. The Three of Spades isn’t about the end of the road; it’s about a rough review. It’s not necessarily a stab in the back; it’s the painful but necessary removal of something that was hurting the whole setup. It’s the card that screams, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and fix the leak!” Yeah, it hurts like hell, but the pain is the necessary trigger for action.
The Realization: The Necessary Cut
I realized the card wasn’t saying “Jay is a villain and you’re ruined.” It was saying, “Your foundation is flawed, and you need to cut out the weak point right now, even if it’s painful.”
I gathered my papers the next morning, stopped chasing him, and sent the most professional, cold-as-ice email I’d ever written. I basically said, “The relationship is over unless we restructure the entire payment and penalty system and get it all in writing, notarized, by the end of the day.” I didn’t beg, I didn’t yell. I just made the necessary cut that the Three of Spades had demanded. It felt like tearing off a bandage, painful but quick.
Jay actually called me back within an hour. He wasn’t malicious; he was just drowning in his own bad decisions and dragging me down with him. The card hadn’t predicted his betrayal; it had predicted the painful but necessary conversation I needed to have to save my business from his mess. We didn’t end the partnership immediately, but we radically changed the terms, making it healthier for me. The hurt was real, but it wasn’t a tragedy. It was a warning, and I took it.
So next time you pull the Three of Spades, don’t just panic. Look at it and ask yourself: what tough, necessary medicine do I need to swallow right now? Because that’s what it means. You’re not doomed; you just need to get tough and do the damn work.
