Marie noticed the cup because it did not belong there.
It stood on the other side of the meeting table, directly in front of the empty chair by the door.
“It’s still there from yesterday,” her colleague said, following her gaze.
Marie nodded.
Of course.
Yesterday.
The meeting.
They had sat together for two and a half hours. Eight people, three departments, one project that had not really moved forward in weeks.
At first, everyone had talked over one another.
An hour later, they were still talking over one another.
And at some point, Marie had started writing things down on a sheet of paper.
Not what was being said.
More what belonged together.
She had asked questions.
“If I understand you correctly, your point isn’t really the deadline. It’s that you need to know beforehand what you are actually expected to deliver?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Later, to another colleague:
“Then perhaps you don’t disagree at all. You’re just talking about two different points in time.”
At some point, things had grown quieter.
By the end, there were three points on the table that they could actually make decisions about.
The cup belonged to Daniel.
He had left it behind when he came over to Marie once more after the meeting.
“Good thing you were there.”
That was all he had said.
Now, a day later, his cup was still there.
Marie took it to the kitchen.
That evening, she opened happinoa®.
For something else, really.
For the past few weeks, she had been wondering whether she should make another change in her career.
She was 48.
She had worked at the same company for almost twelve years. She did not dislike it. But lately, the thought had been coming back more often.
Was this it now?
She wrote:
“I’m wondering whether I should try something new in my career. But I don’t even know what I’m actually looking for.”
happinoa® replied:
“Then I wouldn’t begin with the question of where you might go. First, I’m interested in what matters to you about your working life today. Which parts of it would you want to take with you if you made a change?”
Marie thought about it.
“The people.”
Then she added:
“That sounds more sentimental than I mean it to.”
“To me, it simply sounds important for now,” happinoa® replied. “What exactly about working with people would you not want to lose?”
Marie wrote for a while.
That she liked working with different kinds of people.
That colleagues came to her when something was stuck.
That she often sat in meetings even though the actual subject had nothing to do with her area of responsibility.
“Then why are you there?”
Marie had to laugh.
“Because somebody has to bring some order to the place.”
She read the sentence again.
“That sounds conceited.”
“Or very matter-of-fact,” happinoa® wrote. “You didn’t just write: I’m particularly good at bringing order to complicated situations. You wrote: Somebody has to do it. There’s a difference.”
Marie leaned back.
“I just do it.”
“What exactly do you do?”
This time, she did not answer straight away.
She thought about the meeting the day before.
About Daniel.
About his cup.
“I think I listen differently from some people.”
“Differently in what way?”
“I often hear that two people aren’t even talking about the same thing, although they both think they are contradicting each other.”
happinoa® picked up the thought.
“Then perhaps you aren’t listening only to what they are saying. You’re also listening for the differences between their statements.”
Marie read the sentence twice.
“Yes. Maybe.”
She told happinoa® about the meeting.
About the eight people.
About the three departments.
About her sheet of paper.
About the three points at the end.
“And is that unusual?” she asked.
happinoa® replied:
“Apparently not to you. You describe it as something you simply do. Your colleagues seem to notice it. Otherwise, Daniel probably wouldn’t have said, ‘Good thing you were there.’”
Marie was silent.
Then she wrote:
“Interesting. I’ve never seen that as an ability.”
“How did you see it?”
“As part of my job.”
“Perhaps it is. But something can be part of your job and still be an ability of yours.”
Marie put her phone down.
A few minutes later, she picked it up again.
“But I still don’t know whether I should change jobs.”
“No,” happinoa® replied. “This doesn’t tell you that. But perhaps another question has appeared: If you change something, would you like to use this ability less in future, as much as you do today, or perhaps even more?”
Marie looked at the sentence for a long time.
Then she wrote:
“More.”
The next morning, Daniel’s cup was back in its place.
Marie had washed it and returned it.
Just after ten, a colleague came to her desk.
“Have you got five minutes? We’re getting nowhere at all coordinating with Sales.”
Marie was about to say:
“Sure.”
As always.
Instead, she looked at her colleague for a moment.
Then she stood up.
“Yes,” she said.
“Tell me.”
On the way to the meeting room, she did not think about whether she should resign.
She thought about something else.
About something she had been doing for years.
And which perhaps was not simply a matter of course after all.