Jason's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 21
Monday, when Jason looked around the room, he had forty-nine kids looking back at him. Detention, or Survival Class as the kids called it, had outgrown the original space, and they now used the larger classroom next door. The mix was more diverse now: kids serving actual detention, regular voluntary attendees, and newcomers who’d heard about the discussions from friends.
“Alright,” he said, settling into his usual spot in the circle. “Yesterday, as we were leaving, Mary asked about decision-making. Specifically, she wants to know if there’s a ‘grown-up way’ to make decisions.” He looked at Mary, a junior who’d been coming since the third session. “Mary, can you give us more context?”
Mary shifted in her seat. “It’s about college. My mom wants me to go, but my boyfriend thinks it’s a waste of time and money. My friends are split. Some are going; some are getting jobs right after graduation. I just ... I don’t know how to figure out what’s actually the right choice.”
“Good question. Who else has been facing big decisions lately?”
Practically every hand went up.
“Okay, first though, let’s all acknowledge one basic truth.”
He turned and wrote on the whiteboard:
YOU MUST FIND SOMETHING TO SELL THE WORLD IF YOU WANT TO FLOURISH.
“Salesman?” Marcus Williams called out from the back. “I ain’t no stinkin’ salesman, Mr. S.”
“I didn’t say that,” Jason replied. “You must have something to sell. Why would someone want to hire you, Marcus? That’s the question.”
He could see confusion rippling through the room. “This is a basic truth about adult life that nobody wants to tell you because it sounds harsh. When you become an adult, you must have something to sell the world if you want to flourish. Not just survive—flourish. And every decision you make should stem from understanding what you have to sell.”
A voice from the back of the room spoke up. “That sounds really cynical, Mr. Stone. Like reducing everything to money.”
“Does it? Let me ask you this. What do doctors sell?”
“Medical care,” someone called out.
“More specifically, they sell their medical knowledge and skills. What do teachers sell?”
“Education,” said Aisha Johnson.
“Right. Their knowledge and ability to communicate it. What does a plumber sell?”
“The ability to fix leaks,” offered Scott Williams.
“Exactly. What does a lawyer sell? An accountant? A nurse? A mechanic?”
Students began calling out answers, finally getting where Jason was headed.
“Everyone—and I mean everyone—who flourishes in adult life is selling something that other people value. That’s not cynical. It’s just how economies work.”
Jason moved to the whiteboard and began writing categories:
WHAT PEOPLE SELL:
Skills and knowledge
Time and labor
Solutions to problems
Creativity and ideas
Relationships and connections
Mike Sullivan leaned forward. “But what about people who don’t work? Like, what if someone just wants to paint or write poetry?”
“Good question. If you want to paint, you’re trying to sell art. If you write poetry, you’re trying to sell your creative work. Maybe to publishers, maybe to audiences, maybe to patrons. You’re still selling something.”
Jason could see some students were uncomfortable with this framework. Jennifer Cummings raised her hand.
“This makes it sound like we’re all just ... commodities. Like we have to package ourselves for sale.”
“Jenn, I’m not saying you have to package yourself for sale,” Jason replied. “What I am saying is that you have to develop skills, knowledge, or abilities that other people find valuable enough to pay for. That’s not reducing you to a commodity—that’s you understanding how you create value out in the world.”
He sat on the edge of a table.
“Let me put it differently. Why do employers pay people?”
“Because they need work done,” said David Kim.
“Right. And they pay different amounts for different work. Why?”
“Because some work requires more skills,” offered Maria Santos.
“Exactly. The more valuable your skills, knowledge, or abilities, the more you can charge an employer for them. That’s not cynical—that’s just reality.”
Jason stood and moved back to the board.
“So I repeat, every major decision you make in the next few years should be evaluated by asking: Does this help me develop something valuable to sell?”
He wrote a new heading: DECISION FRAMEWORK
“Should you go to college? Depends—will it help you develop skills or knowledge you can sell?”
“Should you learn a trade? Depends—is it a skill people will pay for?”
“Should you develop a particular talent or ability? Depends—can you create value with it that people want?”
Tyrone Williams, usually quiet, spoke up. “But Mr. Stone, what if you don’t know what you want to sell yet?”
“Then your immediate goal is figuring that out. But here’s the key: while you’re figuring it out, don’t just drift and dither. Act.”
Jason wrote in large letters: IF YOU DON’T KNOW, DO THE THING THAT GIVES YOU THE MOST OPTIONS.
“This is crucial. If you’re not sure what you want to do, choose the path that keeps the most doors open. Don’t make decisions that lock you into one narrow possibility before you know what you actually want.”
“For example, I don’t know what I want to do, so I’ll just stay in my mom’s basement and play video games until inspiration strikes.”
That got a laugh. But Jason didn’t smile. “That is a decision that locks you into a specific future.”
He could see students leaning forward now.
“What does that mean practically? It means if you’re deciding between getting any job or getting a job that teaches you transferable skills, choose the one with transferable skills.”
“It means if you’re choosing between community college and a four-year university, think about which one gives you more flexibility to change direction if you discover new interests.”
Amanda Wright raised her hand. “But doesn’t that just delay the decision? Eventually, you have to pick something specific.”
“True. But there’s a huge difference between strategic flexibility and aimless drifting. Strategic flexibility means you’re building broad-based competence while you figure out what you want. Drifting means you’re not building anything at all.”
“The worst thing you can do is to do nothing. That decision is called drifting. It’s how people end up at thirty or forty with no marketable skills.”
“But how do you know if you’re acting strategically or just drifting?” asked David Kim.
“Ask yourself: Am I developing skills that will be valuable regardless of what I eventually choose? If yes, you’re acting strategically. If no, you’re drifting.”
Jason could see this distinction was sinking in.
“There’s room for good generalists in this world—people who have broad competence across multiple areas. You don’t have to commit to one narrow specialty at seventeen. But you do have to be developing something.”
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