From Venmo-Pending Unease to Calm Boundaries with a Friend
The Q Train Loading Spinner
Jordan didn’t come in saying, “I’m having a relationship issue.” They came in saying, “Venmo still pending,” like it was a glitch in the universe that had somehow found a way into their ribs.
They were 28, living in a shared Brooklyn apartment, rent on autopay, budget tight in that very normal NYC way where even “not a huge amount” still matters when groceries and the MTA keep going up. And the second they saw a Venmo charge stuck on Pending, their brain started doing the refresh–re-read–rewrite loop like it was a part-time job.
“It’s not even the amount,” they told me, but their jaw said something else. The way they held their phone—warm from being in their hand too long—had the same restless tension I used to see on a trading floor when someone kept checking a price that wouldn’t tick. You can pretend you’re calm, but your thumb is already hovering.
Jordan described Tuesday at 8:47 p.m., packed into the Q train heading back to Brooklyn. Fluorescent lights buzzing. Someone’s backpack zipper scraping their sleeve. Their thumb flicking between Venmo and iMessage. Pending. Draft a follow-up. Delete it. Draft it again softer. Lock the screen like that counts as “handling it.”
“I don’t want to be the annoying friend who follows up about money,” they said. “I keep trying to find a message that sounds chill but also gets it handled. And my friend can send me a meme like everything’s normal. Meanwhile I’m… spiraling.”
Unease sat in their body like a browser tab you can’t close—small on the surface, but draining battery and attention all day. They wanted fairness, and they didn’t want to look petty. The core contradiction was right there: wanting to ask clearly for what’s owed vs fearing they’ll look needy or damage the friendship.
I nodded, letting the silence do what it’s good at—making space, not making drama. “We’re not here to turn a payment glitch into a personality verdict,” I said. “We’re here to get you out of limbo. Let’s try to draw a map through the fog—and find the kind of clarity that still feels human.”
Choosing the Compass: Celtic Cross · Context Edition
I asked Jordan to take one slow breath—not as a mystical ritual, just a nervous-system handoff. A way to stop negotiating with the refresh loop for thirty seconds. Then I shuffled, slowly, the way I used to read a contract clause by clause: not dramatic, just deliberate.
“For this,” I said, “I want to use the Celtic Cross · Context Edition.”
And if you’ve ever Googled how tarot works because you’re skeptical but curious, here’s why that spread fits a question like “Venmo still pending—what’s my next step with my friend?” The issue isn’t only the payment. It’s the chain reaction: the present imbalance, the hesitation that blocks a clean next move, the deeper belonging fear underneath, and then—most importantly—the practical communication move that restores self-respect without escalating.
I told Jordan what to expect: “The first card will show the current reality—what this ‘Pending’ is stirring up in your body and your thoughts. The crossing card will show what’s blocking you from taking the next step. And there’s a key position—your conscious aim—where we’ll get very clear about what ‘fair and respectful’ looks like for you.”
Reading the Map: Card Meanings in Context
Position 1 — The current practical and emotional reality
“Now we turn to the card representing the current practical and emotional reality of the pending Venmo and what it’s stirring up in you,” I said as I flipped the first card.
Six of Pentacles, reversed.
“This one is about reciprocity—giving and receiving,” I said. “Reversed, it’s an imbalance that keeps nagging at you.”
I used the plainest, most modern translation because Jordan didn’t need poetry—they needed recognition. “This is you standing in your kitchen doing the mental budget math—rent, groceries, MTA—while Venmo still shows the reimbursement pending. You tell yourself, ‘It’s not even the amount,’ but you can feel your self-respect getting poked every time you have to keep checking. It’s the imbalance of you staying on top of the logistics while the other person gets to stay effortless.”
Reversed, the Six of Pentacles can show the shadow ledger: you keep saying “it’s totally fine,” while a part of you is quietly recording every refresh, every delayed follow-through, every moment you had to be the one who cares.
Jordan gave a small, sharp laugh—half agreement, half irritation. “That’s… brutal,” they said. “Because yes. I’m acting like I’m chill, but I’m also screenshotting it like evidence.”
Position 2 — The blockage keeping you from a clean next step
“Now we turn to the card representing what is blocking a clean next step—the specific hesitation that keeps you from addressing it directly.”
Two of Swords, upright.
“This is the stalemate card,” I said. “It’s not that you don’t know what to do. It’s that you’re protecting yourself from the emotional moment of doing it.”
I leaned into the contrast Jordan had basically handed me: drafts folder versus sent message. “This is you with a drafted message ready to go, but keeping it unsent because you’re trying to avoid the awkwardness. You’re calling it patience, but it’s actually a stalemate: you’d rather keep refreshing the app than risk one clear sentence that might change the vibe.”
“And the body knows,” I added, staying specific. “Tight jaw. Thumb hovering over send. That little spike of heat when you see ‘Pending’ again. Your nervous system is doing math: If I say it plainly, they’ll think I’m petty. If I don’t say it, I’ll keep paying in stress.”
Jordan didn’t nod fast. It was slower than that. A quiet, slightly uncomfortable nod—like they were admitting something to themselves in real time. Their shoulders lifted, then dropped. “Yep,” they said. “I’m calling this ‘being chill,’ but I’m actually avoiding.”
Position 3 — The deeper root underneath the logistics
“Now we turn to the card representing the deeper root—what this is touching underneath: self-worth, belonging, money scripts.”
Five of Pentacles, upright.
I didn’t soften it, but I didn’t melodramatize it either. “This card is the ‘outside the warm room’ feeling,” I said. “It’s not always literal scarcity. Often it’s psychological: Do I belong? Am I welcome? Am I safe to ask for what I need?”
“In modern life, this is when the pending status hits like a tiny exclusion signal,” I continued. “Not logically—emotionally. A part of you worries that if you ask directly, you’ll be the ‘difficult’ friend and the invites will quietly slow down. The transaction becomes a belonging test in your head.”
I let the image land the way it tends to in NYC friendships: chosen-family energy, but with all the unspoken scripts about being easygoing. “It’s like your friend’s casual meme is a warm-lit window,” I said, “and you’re standing on the cold street thinking, Are they still letting me in?”
Jordan’s throat moved—one swallow, then a pause. Their eyes went unfocused for a second like they’d replayed a memory. “Oh,” they said, very quietly. “It’s not just the money. It’s the… ‘do I still belong here?’ feeling.”
Position 4 — How the situation got here (recent past)
“Now we turn to the card representing how the situation got here—the recent communication tone or expectations that set up the current confusion.”
Page of Cups, reversed.
“This is friendly energy that didn’t fully translate into clarity,” I said. “It can be cute, casual, and indirect. And in a money moment, that can create the perfect little fog.”
I connected it back to the exact behavior Jordan had described. “This is ‘haha no worries!!’ while you’re also watching for their reply,” I said. “It’s sending warmth as a mask—because you’re scared of being ‘too much’—and then feeling irritated that your message didn’t actually move the situation forward.”
Reversed Pages can also show overcorrection risk: swinging from overly soft to overly cold. “The goal isn’t to suddenly sound like customer support,” I said. “It’s to be warm and specific.”
Jordan looked at the card, then at me. “I literally do that,” they admitted. “I’ll send a joke just so I don’t have to ask.”
When Justice Spoke: The Clean Ask You’ve Been Avoiding
Position 5 — Your conscious aim (the standard you want to hold)
“Now we turn to the card representing your conscious aim—what ‘fair and respectful’ looks like to you, and the standard you want to hold.”
Before I flipped it, the room went quieter in that very ordinary way—no cinematic thunder, just the feeling that we’d reached the sentence Jordan had been circling for days.
Justice, upright.
My mind did a brief, involuntary flashback to my old life: a conference room, a term sheet, the moment everyone realizes fairness isn’t a vibe. It’s structure. It’s agreed language. Nobody calls it “intense” when the numbers reconcile. They call it clean.
“Justice is calm accountability,” I told Jordan. “Not punishment. Not coldness. It’s relational hygiene. It says: clarity isn’t aggression—it’s balance.”
I also brought in the lens that’s become my signature as a reader: I look at relationships the way I once looked at portfolios—without reducing people to assets, but with respect for reality. “In my work I call this Influence Credit Scoring,” I said. “Not to be clinical, but to be honest. You’re acting like asking for reimbursement will withdraw from the friendship. Justice suggests the opposite: a clean ask protects the relationship’s credit. It prevents interest—resentment—building up.”
Setup: Jordan was stuck in the same subway loop: phone warm in their palm, refreshing Venmo one more time. “Pending.” Jaw tight. Open iMessage, type the follow-up, delete it, rewrite it softer, and still don’t hit send—because they were trying to sound ‘low-maintenance’ enough to earn closeness.
Delivery:
Stop trying to be “low-maintenance” about what matters, and choose a clean, fair ask—like Justice holding the scales steady while the sword names the truth.
I let it sit there for a beat—no extra commentary, the way you let a bell finish ringing.
Reinforcement: Jordan’s reaction came in layers, like their body got the message before their pride did. First: a tiny freeze—breath paused, eyes fixed on the card. Then: the swallow again, slower this time, like something unclenched behind their sternum. Finally: a long exhale they didn’t seem to plan, shoulders dropping as if they’d been holding their arms up for hours without noticing.
And then—an unexpected flash of resistance, honest and human. Their eyebrows pulled together. “But if I do that,” they said, voice sharper for half a second, “doesn’t it mean I’ve been doing it wrong? Like… I’ve been performing chill.”
I didn’t argue with them. I coached the pivot. “It means you learned a survival skill,” I said. “And now you’re upgrading it. Being easygoing isn’t a flaw. The only problem is when ‘low-maintenance’ becomes ‘unpaid.’”
I nodded toward their phone. “Open Notes,” I said. “Two sentences. (1) Name the fact. (2) Offer one easy fix. Set a three-minute timer so you don’t spiral.”
Jordan did it. Their thumbs moved cautiously at first, then steadier. I watched for the tell: the moment they started adding apology stacks. Their chest rose like they might do it—then they stopped themselves.
“Now,” I asked, “with this new lens—clean and factual, not perfectly polite—think back to last week. Was there a moment when this would’ve changed how you felt?”
Jordan stared past me for a second, like they were looking at the Q train window. “Yeah,” they said. “When they sent the meme. I laughed, but I also felt… stupid. Like I’m the only one tracking what’s real.”
“That’s the shift,” I said softly. “Not from ‘nice’ to ‘mean.’ From uneasy self-doubt to grounded self-respect. You can be kind and direct at the same time. And clarity is respectful.”
From Refreshing to Sending: The Cards That Create Momentum
Position 6 — The most constructive next-step energy
“Now we turn to the card representing the most constructive next-step energy—the kind of message or action that moves things forward without escalating.”
Knight of Swords, upright.
“This is the antidote to the stalemate,” I said. “One clean action. Not ten check-ins.”
I translated it directly into Jordan’s life: “This is when you stop refreshing Venmo and send a short follow-up with one option to fix it—even if your voice shakes a little while hitting send.”
I gave them a micro-momentum montage, because this card works best as a sequence: “You type it. You hit send. You place the phone face-down. Your heart thumps. And then you realize—nothing exploded. The world didn’t end.”
Jordan’s eyes widened a little. “Okay,” they said, and there was a spike of courage in it. “I can send it right now.” Then, almost immediately, relief: “It’s… small. It’s literally small.”
Position 7 — Your best inner stance (how to embody the message)
“Now we turn to the card representing your best inner stance—the self-position you can embody when you reach out.”
Queen of Swords, upright.
“This is clean language without cruelty,” I said. “Polite without being vague. Boundaries without a fight.”
In real life, this is the edit rule: “This looks like writing, ‘Can you cancel and resend?’ without adding three apologies or a long explanation to manage their feelings. You can keep one warmth cue. You don’t need a whole paragraph of cushioning.”
Jordan’s mouth twitched, like they were catching themselves. “I literally start typing ‘sorry’ before I even know what I’m sorry for.”
“That’s the Queen,” I said. “She doesn’t hate softness. She just refuses to confuse softness with invisibility.”
Position 8 — External influences (the friend’s side, without mind-reading)
“Now we turn to the card representing context factors—what you may be dealing with on the friend’s side, without assuming intent.”
Four of Pentacles, upright.
“This is tightness,” I said. “Holding on. Sometimes it’s about money. Sometimes it’s about attention. Sometimes it’s simply ‘I don’t want to deal with admin.’”
I kept it practical: “Your friend might be cash-tight, scattered, avoidant, or just treating the app like it’ll resolve itself. None of that is an excuse, but it means your best approach is factual and easy. Don’t send a message that requires them to process emotional subtext. Send a message that gives them a simple fix.”
Jordan nodded, more grounded. “That helps,” they said. “Because I keep imagining they’re like… mad at me.”
“Four of Pentacles rarely screams ‘mad,’” I said. “It whispers ‘stuck.’”
Position 9 — Hopes and fears (the emotional outcome you’re projecting)
“Now we turn to the card representing your hope and fear—what emotional outcome you’re trying to avoid or secure by choosing the ‘perfect’ approach.”
Three of Swords, upright.
“This is the fear that honesty will hurt,” I said. “That one text will puncture the ease of the friendship.”
I named the trade-off out loud, because it’s what Jordan needed to hear without shame: “You’re trying to avoid a sting. But avoiding the topic can deepen the sting—because then the hurt becomes private and ongoing. Ask yourself what feels more painful: one brief awkward text now, or weeks of quiet resentment that changes how you show up with them.”
Jordan’s face tightened for a second, then softened. “Yeah,” they said. “The resentment is… already here. I hate that version of me.”
Position 10 — Integration direction (how to close the loop with self-respect)
“Now we turn to the card representing integration direction—the healthiest pattern to aim for, not a fixed prediction.”
Temperance, upright.
“This is the alchemy card,” I said. “Mixing two truths without spilling either one.”
“In your case,” I continued, “it’s mixing warmth with follow-through. One foot on land, one in water: I care about you plus I still need this handled. Temperance looks like a calm pacing plan: follow up once, wait 48 hours, offer one alternate method. No punishment. No silent scorekeeping. Warm tone, clean ask, steady follow-through.”
Jordan’s shoulders stayed low this time—no tense lift. “That feels… doable,” they said. “Like I don’t have to turn it into a whole thing.”
The Two-Sentence Reset: Actionable Next Steps (From Pending to Peace)
I leaned back and stitched the story the spread had been telling from the first card: the present is an imbalance (Six of Pentacles reversed) that keeps poking your self-respect. The immediate blockage is avoidance dressed up as politeness (Two of Swords). Underneath, there’s a belonging sensitivity—an old fear that being direct means being excluded (Five of Pentacles). The past tone leaned cute-but-unclear (Page of Cups reversed). And then the turning point: Justice says fairness doesn’t require intensity, it requires clean language. The way forward is one decisive message (Knight of Swords), delivered with calm boundaries (Queen of Swords), without mind-reading your friend’s motives (Four of Pentacles), so you don’t keep living inside the fear of hurt (Three of Swords). Temperance integrates it all: kind and direct, with a timeline.
The cognitive blind spot I named gently was this: you’ve been treating clarity like it’s aggression, and treating “being low-maintenance” like it’s the price of belonging. But the transformation direction is the opposite of what your anxiety predicts: clarity is respectful. It gives the friendship a clean chance to stay clean.
Then I gave Jordan a plan—simple enough to start today, specific enough to stop the spiral. I framed it using one of my own tools, the Cocktail Party Algorithm: a three-phase conversation template. You don’t monologue. You don’t apologize your way into invisibility. You connect, you clarify, you close.
- Send the Two-Sentence Reset (Fact → Option)Text today: “Hey—Venmo still shows as pending on my end. Can you cancel and resend, or want to do Apple Pay/Zelle instead?”If your brain screams “this is petty,” label it: “That’s the low-maintenance script.” Add exactly one warmth cue (“hey” or “hope your day’s good”)—not a paragraph.
- Do the 60-Second Justice Check (before you hit send)Read your message once and confirm: (1) it’s factual, (2) the request is explicit, (3) there’s one easy option. Then stop editing.Use the Queen of Swords edit rule: delete two softeners (often “sorry” and “no worries”) one time each. Clarity isn’t intensity.
- Break the Refresh Loop (20-minute phone face-down)After you send it, put your phone face-down for 20 minutes or turn on Do Not Disturb. No Venmo refresh. No chat reread.If you feel your chest tighten, try my “Handshake Energy Exchange” reset: notice your palms, relax your grip, take 5 slow breaths. Your body can’t learn safety if you keep checking for danger.
- Use Temperance Timing (the 48-hour plan)If it’s still pending after 48 hours, follow up once with a one-line backup: “Still showing pending—want me to request again or should we do another app?”Write the follow-up line now and save it. This is a boundary for you, not a threat to them—so you don’t renegotiate with anxiety at 11 p.m.
A Week Later: The Quiet Proof
Five days later, Jordan messaged me: “Sent it. Put my phone face-down. I thought I was going to crawl out of my skin for ten minutes, but then it passed.”
The friend had replied: “Oh my god, Venmo glitched. Cancelling and resending now.” The payment landed. No fight. No coldness. Just a clean fix that should’ve been clean all along.
Jordan added one more line that mattered more than the dollars: “I slept through the night for the first time in a week. Woke up and my first thought was still ‘what if I made it weird?’—but then I laughed. Like… I’m allowed to be direct.”
That’s the real Journey to Clarity I watch happen over and over. Not dramatic transformation. Just the moment you stop paying interest on a small unresolved thing—and you choose self-respect without sacrificing warmth.
When a tiny “Pending” sits there long enough, it stops being about the money and starts feeling like you have to earn your place in the friendship by staying low-maintenance.
If you let clarity be the kind option—not the harsh one—what’s the smallest, cleanest sentence you’d send today to close the loop?
