What is the modern parable “Coffee Cups” about? I once read the following phrase: “To be truly happy, you need to achieve goals in accordance with your life priorities.” Life priorities... life values... Family, health, career, finances, recreation, hobbies, education - all these areas of our lives are important to us.

But each person has his own “picture of the world” and we put some life values ​​in first place, considering these to be more important today, and some (which are also important for us) are pushed to a lower level.

Is it correct? Maybe not, but sometimes it doesn’t work out any other way. And here it is important not to make a mistake in choosing the most important life priority at the moment, so that it is truly yours, and not some invented or imposed ideal. And this parable, it seems to me, is just about this.

Parable "Coffee Cups"

10 years after graduation, former graduates came to visit the professor who taught their psychology course. We sat and talked, remembering our student years, and when the conversation turned to today's life, the professor heard a whole stream of complaints about numerous life difficulties and problems.

The professor went out to the kitchen and returned with a tray on which stood a coffee pot and coffee cups, which were very different - some were expensive and elegant, and some were very simple.

When the graduates took apart the cups, the professor said:

“Please note, you have taken apart all the expensive cups. Nobody chose simple and cheap coffee cups. The desire to have only the best is the source of your problems. Understand that a cup does not make coffee taste better or more aromatic. Sometimes it's just more expensive, and sometimes it hides what we drink.

You wanted coffee - that’s your real desire. But you deliberately chose the best cups. And then they looked at who got which cup.

Now think: life is coffee, and work, money, position, society are cups. They are just tools for storing life. The type of cup we have does not determine or change the value of our life.

Sometimes, when we focus only on the cup, we forget to enjoy the taste of the coffee itself. Enjoy your coffee!”

And in the video there is a parable on the topic of our lives and life priorities.

Parable "Full Jar"

Elena Kasatova. See you by the fireplace.

I usually don't post my works on the Internet. But then I unexpectedly decided to take part in the “Spring Literary Competition named after V. Garshin from the Litokon community.” Here is the link to this competition:

That’s why I posted one of my stories, “A Cup of Coffee,” in full here. If you are not too lazy, you can read and vote if you wish. Warning: very many letters (6 printed sheets)!

Yana ANDERS

A cup of coffee
Story

"... With your voice, body, name
nothing is connected anymore; no one destroyed them,
but a person needs to forget one life, at least,
one more life. And I lived this share...”

Joseph Brodsky

She called me in early April and said: “I’m in Moscow. Let's meet!". “Go ahead,” I replied as if nothing had happened. - When will you fly?". "In two weeks". “I’ll call you back,” I said and did not write down her number in the memory of my mobile phone. I had no intention of calling her. I didn't want to see her. Or rather, I really wanted to, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I saw her again, everything would return, and that she, like Hurricane Katrina, would burst into my life again, sweeping away everything in her path, destroying what had been restored with such difficulty after the last natural disaster. “It’s better not to start all over again,” I thought. “Why open a wound that has almost healed?” So I firmly decided not to call her and tried my best not to think about her. But the more I tried, the more I thought about her. From the moment she called, I thought about her constantly. I got the feeling that somewhere a time bomb was ticking, as if her phone call had triggered an invisible clockwork, and the inevitable explosion was now only a matter of time.

Almost two weeks passed, and I was already hoping that she had forgotten about our conversation and flew back to her England. But she called herself. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said. - I have very little time left. Let's meet in our cafe, that same one, remember?” “Okay, go ahead,” I answered obediently, cursing myself for my cowardice. “I’ll be waiting for you there at seven o’clock,” she clarified and hung up. Of course, I remembered this cafe. It was called "Glass". Or rather, she and I called it that, because all the walls in it were glass, but I didn’t remember what it was actually called.

I arrived at the Steklyashka a little earlier than the appointed time, parked the car, but was in no hurry to get out. I sat in the car and looked through the windshield, trying to see her in the glass-enclosed cafe. I needed to see her from afar before I met her face to face. I thought this would help me maintain my composure when meeting her. I recognized her almost immediately. She sat in the center, at the table, with her elbows on the table and her chin on her crossed fingers. She was still the same, only her hair was different. She was wearing something blue. She always loved this color. I suddenly remembered that she, too, was wearing something blue that last evening, after which everything changed so dramatically.

We met her at work, she worked as a sales representative in the sales department, and I worked as an administrator in the computer science department. Our communication began on the day when she had problems with her computer. I received the call, went down to the second floor, where her department was located, and went up to her desk.

- What problems? - I asked her.

- Yes, you see, the computer died! - she said sadly.

- At all?

- Yes, it looks like absolutely.

— Did you reboot it?

— Of course, I rebooted. Three times already. Nothing helps!

- Okay, let's see.

I sat down next to her and began to tinker with her computer. I went into MS DOS and began typing commands on the keyboard, in response to which lines that I understood appeared on the black screen. The computer responded to my commands, which meant it could be revived. She watched my actions with such curiosity, as if I was showing her magic tricks.

- Yeah... You're doing great! - she said, looking at me admiringly.

- What exactly? - I didn’t understand.

- Well, what are you doing now? I love the way you interact with the black screen!

I laughed. What was elementary for me seemed like some kind of miracle to her.

- What do these icons mean? — She pointed her finger at the screen.

- Well, how can I tell you... I’m checking the disk now.

“Ahhh...” she drawled. - What about these?

- Well, you see... Commands consist of a command name and possibly parameters, which are separated by spaces. And brackets mark optional elements of commands...

Without knowing why, I suddenly began to explain to her in detail the commands with which I tried to revive her computer. She listened to me, raising her eyebrows in surprise, with such attention, as if I was telling her some secret information.

- Well, how? — after some time she asked. — Will the patient live?

— The patient is more alive than dead! - I smiled.

- Hooray!

Since then we talked at work every day. Usually in the morning I came to the office before her and waited for her to appear, followed her into her department, and we walked together along the long corridor to the kitchen to pour ourselves some coffee, chatted, joked, and agreed where we would go for lunch together. We were interested and easy with each other. Soon our relationship moved from friendly to more tender, and six months later we became so inseparable that we could no longer imagine our lives without each other. When did I fall in love with her? Don't even know. I think I loved her from the day I first saw her. It seems to me that I have always loved her.

The waiter approached her and said something. She raised her head and silently answered him. The waiter nodded and left. What I saw behind the glass of the cafe was like a scene in a silent movie. And I suddenly imagined that I was observing my life from the outside. As if I died and continued to observe a life in which I was no longer present, but everything that I considered “mine” was there: this street, this cafe and those who are dear to me. Here she is sitting, waiting for me in the cafe, but I won’t come, because I’m no longer there. Only she doesn’t know about it yet. Does she realize that when everything ended and she left, something really died inside me?

I didn’t immediately notice that something had changed in our relationship. At first we began to meet less often. Every time I offered to meet her, she refused, citing some urgent matters. And then she stopped answering my calls altogether. At first I didn’t attach much importance to it. I decided that she was offended by something and was waiting for the right opportunity to talk to her about it. We continued to see each other every day in the office, but I was busy with a bunch of new projects, and there was almost no time for communication during the working day.

And then there was this ill-fated evening at our work. What were we celebrating then? It seems like the eighth of March. I gave her flowers. It was noisy, music was playing. We danced with her. Something was vaguely bothering me. I noticed that something had changed in her, but what exactly, I could not explain.

She was still the same: the same face, the same hair, the same figure. But a certain detachment appeared in her: an unfamiliar sparkle in her eyes, unusual notes in her voice. That evening she somehow tried too hard to be cheerful, she laughed louder than usual, but it was some kind of feigned cheerfulness, I felt that in reality she was not having fun at all. When we moved aside, I tried to kiss her, but she said that everyone was looking at us, and deftly dodged me. It seemed strange to me: before, it didn’t bother her, because everyone in the office had known about our relationship for a long time. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she either laughed it off or pretended not to hear anything because of the loud music. I had the feeling that I was participating in some kind of theatrical production, where everyone was diligently playing their roles, and only I was experiencing this scene for real, not realizing that it was just a theatrical performance.

I felt in my gut that she was slipping away from me. She was still with me. Touching her, I felt the warmth of her hands, the silkiness of her hair, and felt the light smell of her perfume. But all this already seemed somehow alien to me. It was as if she had been replaced. That evening she left before me and said she had a headache. I went out to see her off. When she got into her car, I held her hand in mine. I really didn’t want to part with her that evening. It was as if I felt that I would never see her again.

A few days later she called to say goodbye...

Sitting in the car and watching her through the glass of the cafe, I hated her more and more and felt a growing desire to start the engine and leave. I realized that this is exactly what I would do if I didn’t force myself to get out of the car right now.

I opened the glass door and entered the cafe. She was still sitting with her fingers crossed. She hasn't changed much. She was wearing a smoky blue sweater. She had short hair, dark bangs falling over her forehead. And while she looked great with short hair, I felt bad that she cut off her long locks. She seemed incredibly beautiful to me, so beautiful that it was difficult for me to look at her.

- Kate! — I said quietly, approaching her from the side.

- Kirill! Hello! - She smiled as if we parted just yesterday, although three years had already passed.

We kissed like old friends. This is exactly what I firmly promised myself not to do. I hated her for so long that it seemed to me that if I ever saw her again, I wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on her. But when I saw it, all my hatred suddenly disappeared somewhere. I sat down on her left hand. “I should have sat opposite her! — I was mentally annoyed with myself. “It’s better to keep a safe distance from her.”

The waiter came up again. We ordered a large cup of coffee: I ordered a regular cappuccino, and she ordered a double one.

“This is to stay up longer,” she explained. - I still have to pack my suitcase today.

- As always, at the last moment?

- Well, yes. You know, I always do everything at the last moment. This is my tradition.

— How do you like Moscow? — I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

— Moscow has changed a lot. I noticed a lot of new buildings. And it also seemed to me that there were more people in Moscow. Or maybe I just got out of the habit because I haven’t been here for a long time.

— How many years have you not come to Moscow?

- Three years.

- Why? There was no desire?

- No, of course there was a desire! I just had a son, and I didn’t want to fly so far with a small child.

- How old is he now? — I asked, cherishing vague hope.

“He’s two years old now,” she answered.

“We broke up more than three years ago. So, he can’t possibly be mine,” I thought, feeling both relief and disappointment.

- What did you name your son?

- Kolya. And in English - “Nick”. I specifically chose a name so that it would sound good in both Russian and English.

It’s stupid, of course, but for some reason I hoped that she would name her son “Kirill.”

- Tell me better, how are you? - she asked

- I? Yes, everything is fine. Recently got married.

- Congratulations! Where do you live now?

— We bought a new apartment. In the same area where I lived before.

— Do you still work there?

- No, I left that company shortly after you left.

- Why?

— I was unexpectedly offered a new job with a promotion. The salary is higher and close to home,” I lied. In fact, the salary was the same, but to work I now had to travel to the other end of Moscow. I just couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks of my colleagues any longer when she married an Englishman and went to England with him.

She was sitting very close to me. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted to touch her. I suddenly, completely inappropriately, remembered that she had a mole under her left breast and that she was afraid of tickling in the most unexpected places.

“Don't look at me like that,” she said. - Otherwise I’m nervous.

- Me too.

“You never called me while I was in Moscow,” she said, looking into my eyes.

- I know.

“Are you afraid to see me?”

- Yes.

- Why?

- Don't know. There’s probably still something left,” I said, and immediately hated myself for it, because I’d just given myself away completely.

- I felt it.

- Why did you leave? - I asked. In fact, I wanted to ask: “Why did you choose him and not me?”, but this way of asking the question was too humiliating for me.

- Well, you see, you and I have been together for two years and you haven’t offered me anything. And he suggested.

- And what did he offer you? A mansion with a butler and gardener, a holiday in your own villa in Nice and a personal helicopter? - I said angrily.

- No, he doesn’t have anything like that. When I married him, he was a poor student. We met in Moscow, where he was studying Russian literature. He offered me only himself and London.

— So, you just wanted to go abroad?

- No. “I just fell in love,” she smiled guiltily. - To John and to London.

“Oh, it turns out he has a name! John! Well, of course, what else could an Englishman be called!? Of course, John!

- Was life so bad for you here that you had to go to London? — I didn’t let up.

“It’s not that my life here was bad. I lived normally here. I just really liked England. You know, I’ve been learning English since childhood, at school we memorized entire texts about Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey. And in my imagination since childhood there was a city that I had never seen, but knew almost everything about it. And when I first arrived in London, I discovered that the city created in my imagination actually exists! And it turned out that he looks exactly as I imagined him. I even knew where Waterloo Bridge was and how to get from Piccadilly Circus to Trafalgar Square! I just fell in love with this city and I didn’t want to lose it.

- It's clear. So you married London! - I continued to sarcastically.

- No. I married John. He is a very good person and loves me and my son very much. “Better tell me about your wife,” she changed the subject. - Who is she? What does he do?

— My wife’s name is Marina. She is an accountant by profession. Works at a bank. He cooks great. We are fine.

- I'm happy for you.

I, of course, did not tell her that my wife in appearance somehow reminded me of Katya, and like a fool I hoped that she could replace her for me. But, having married Marina, I belatedly discovered that she had nothing in common with Katya, except for external similarities.

We ordered another cup of coffee and cake and started talking about our past work, about Katya’s funny red-haired boss, whose trousers were always too short, and his secretary, who skillfully managed her boss. I tried to act casual, but I clearly felt the hurricane called Katrina slowly and inevitably approaching me. More than anything in the world at that moment, I wanted to grab Katya, hold her tightly to me and never let her go anywhere else. I thought that if I didn’t do something right away, the time bomb would inevitably explode, and after this explosion I would have to pick myself up again piece by piece. When Katya went to the toilet, I looked at my watch. We talked for three whole hours, and according to my feelings - no more than fifteen minutes. I called the waiter and asked him to call a taxi.

She returned, sat down in her place, and we chatted for some time, remembering mutual friends. I kept in touch with some of them for some time, but gradually we began to communicate less and less, and then stopped altogether. Suddenly, the light of car headlights burst into the twilight of the cafe. Looking out the window, I saw a car drive up to the Glass.

“Black Volga number 218,” said the approaching waiter, and it sounded like a sentence.

- What? - she didn’t understand.

— The taxi has arrived. “You ordered,” the waiter reminded.

“Yes, I forgot to tell you that I called a taxi for you,” I said calmly. - Sorry that I can’t take you myself. We're just not on the same path.

“I see...” she said confusedly, and I felt that she didn’t want to leave.

I, of course, could have taken Katya in my car, but I wanted to part with her as quickly as possible, so as not to have time to get used to her again and not tear her away from me later with meat. I felt that I was already starting to get used to her and if a taxi didn’t take her away from me now, then the time bomb would inevitably explode, and tomorrow I would again be gritting my teeth, licking my wounds, hating myself for my weakness and tormented by the consciousness of my powerlessness and inability to change anything.

We slowly got up and walked towards the exit. It was dark and damp outside, and I took her hand so that she wouldn’t stumble.

- Why did you call me? - I asked.

“I just really wanted to see you.”

- Why? - I asked.

“There’s probably still something left,” she repeated my phrase.

We walked down the street a few steps, holding hands. It was so natural, as if we had never parted. When we approached the car, I let go of her hand. She reached out to me in the dark, we hugged and stood there for several seconds. I felt her stroking my hair.

- You are angry? she asked.

“Not anymore,” I lied.

She kissed my neck. I didn't want to let her go.

“Well, bye,” I said and felt how banal it sounded, as if we were parting until tomorrow.

“Forgive me,” she said.

I really wanted to kiss her, but she seemed to be already so far away from me.

I opened the car door for her and she sat down. I paid the taxi driver and the car started moving. I stood and watched her wave at me from the taxi window. It was dark and I couldn't see her face. When the taxi disappeared around the bend, I turned around and walked to my car. Why did she come? I had almost stopped remembering her, but she took it and suddenly showed up. She surfaced from the abyss of the unknown. I was angry with myself. You shouldn't have met her! It was necessary to come up with some excuse: they say he’s busy or has gone somewhere. "Not to think! Don't remember her! - I tried to order myself. - Live as before as you lived without her. Work - home - work. Sometimes the wife..."

Familiar music came from the speakers in the car. I turned it up:

About fierce hatred and holy love.

What is going on, what was happening on your land.

Everything in this music, you just catch it...”

KATYA, STAY!

* * *

The night taxi took her away from him. Far, far away, from that former life. She really wanted to jump out of the car, come back and kiss his hand for everything he had to go through because of her. But she couldn't do this. So she obediently sat in the taxi and watched the lights flashing outside the window. She felt that a part of her remained there, with him, on the dark street, near the glass cafe. He will take this particle with him to his new home, which she has never seen and will never see. He will live with this particle just as she continues to live with a particle of him. They will remain in each other as long as they remember each other. As long as they remember. Tears quietly rolled down her face. There was something familiar on the radio.

“Please turn it up,” she asked the driver.

The driver turned the radio dial and she heard:

“About the unhappy and the happy, about good and evil.

About fierce hatred and holy love..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

UPDATE: Hooray! I am the winner of the Vsevolod Garshin literary competition(Spring 2012)!

For the story “A Cup of Coffee” I received these diplomas:

A parable about coffee and life priorities …

Our blog is dedicated to coffee. I, like most of our readers, love this drink. I also really like rereading parables. Their highlight is that with a minimum amount of words they convey a maximum of worldly wisdom.

The parable of coffee andlife priorities is a conversation between a professor and students about life priorities.

Next summer we will also have an anniversary meeting with fellow students: 30 years since graduating from the pedagogical institute. Thank God, our respected teachers are still alive, with whom we can meet over a cup of coffee.

What will we talk about? Of course, about life, about successes and achievements, about values ​​and priorities. And although there are still 8 months until the long-awaited meeting, inner excitement is already felt.

How was life for my fellow students?

What are they doing?

Where did fate take them?

What do they dream about?

What are they proud of?

How has their worldview changed?

What unites us now?

Do our life values ​​coincide?

Life, according to the professor, is coffee. Of course, it's nice to drink coffee from a beautiful coffee cup. But there is no need to create a cult out of it. So it is in relation to life. Each of us has our own frame of life and our own achievements.

Not all of us live in luxury cottages and not all of us go on vacation abroad. Many of us still live in a modest apartment and have never been able to travel abroad. Not everyone defended their scientific degrees and became honored teachers. Among our fellow students there are those who have never worked at school for a day.

And, unfortunately, not everyone lived to see this event...

I have no less regret that some fellow students doubt whether it is necessary to invite teachers to a meeting? There are also such... This means that time constantly shuffles priorities and our values, and therefore they occupy the appropriate place in the hierarchy of values ​​of each of us.

I really want to say to my fellow students: friends, enjoy life!

Live here and now!

Life is like coffee. But wealth, career, money, work, position in society are just “cups”: dishes or a form for storing life.

Don't get too carried away with the form. Be mindful of the content. It's the main thing. Coffee is comparable to life. Enjoy your coffee. Enjoy life!

And here she is a parable about coffee and life priorities.

A group of successful graduates with wonderful careers came to visit their old professor. Of course, soon the conversation turned to work - graduates complained about numerous difficulties and life problems.

Having offered his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a coffee pot and a tray filled with a variety of cups - porcelain, glass, plastic, crystal, simple, expensive, and exquisite.

When the graduates took apart the cups, the professor said: “If you noticed, all the expensive cups have been taken apart. Nobody chose simple and cheap cups. The desire to have only the best for yourself is the source of your problems. Understand that the cup itself does not make the coffee better. Sometimes it's just more expensive, and sometimes it even hides what we're drinking. What you really wanted was coffee, not a cup. But you deliberately chose the best cups. And then they looked at who got which cup.

Now think: life is coffee, and work, money, position, society are cups. These are just tools for storing Life. What kind of cup we have does not determine or change the quality of our Life. Sometimes, when we focus only on the cup, we forget to enjoy the taste of the coffee itself. Enjoy your coffee!!!"

I wish all blog readers a meaningful life and a beautiful setting for it.

P.S. What do you think about this parable?

What do you focus on more?