Know Your Worth: Same Water, Different Shelf (Ep:9)

This episode of Man in Progress – Forging Manhood explores how worth is forged, not given. It begins with a simple parable: a bottle of water costs fifty cents at the supermarket, two dollars at the gym, three at the movies, and six on a plane. The water doesn’t change, only its context does. We draw a line to personal worth: your value isn’t the sticker price someone slaps on you; it’s how your gifts meet someone’s need.

Through raw stories of addiction recovery and fatherhood lived on the edge of scarcity, and reflections on Benedictine monks and St. Francis of Assisi, we unpack what it means to recognize and refine your tools, skill, character, and fit, and to place yourself where those tools matter most. You’ll learn daily rituals that protect your self-worth, how to pour your strength where it truly counts, and how to measure worth without comparing price tags. If you’ve ever felt discounted, misused, or misplaced, this episode invites you to step into the forge, reset your shelf, and remember you are not broken; you are a man in progress.

Transcript

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Welcome to Men in Progress, Forging Manhood. I'm Travis Murray, values coach, and your guide to building a life driven by real values. Each week we explore what it means to be a man today. Talk about and to thinkers and doers who've been through it, and give you steps to show up better for yourself and those you love. If you're ready to forge your own path, you're in the right place. Let's get to it. A bottle sits under fluorescent lights in a grocery store. It costs 50 cents. Down the road at the gym, the same bottle costs$2. At the movies, three. On a plane, six. Same water, same plastic, different price. Nothing changed except where it sat. Take that bottle to a desert where people have walked for 10 hours without a drink, and the price isn't even numbers anymore. It's hope. It's life. You can feel the lesson. Your value doesn't drop because someone can't see it on a shelf. Your worth doesn't depend on the eyes that glance past you at a supermarket. In the wrong place, your edge will look blunt. In the right hands, it will save a life. Today, we're not talking about money. We're talking about tools, your skills, your character, your story, and how context turns them into treasure or trash. We'll look at how to forge, carry, and aim those tools so you aren't priced like a discount bottle in your own life. Last week we learned to hone, strop, grip, and draw. We learned to fit the handle and test the field. But knowing how to hold your edge isn't enough if you don't know what it's worth. Value isn't fixed. It changes with perspective, place, and need. Look again at the bottle of water. In a supermarket, it might cost 50 cents. On a plane, six dollars. In a desert, it's freaking priceless. The water didn't change. The context did. Too many of us let the wrong shelf set our price. We let a job that doesn't see us define our worth. We let a partner in a bad mood mark us down. We compare ourselves to other men in different aisles and forget that our value is measured by the thirst we quench, not by the sticker on us. Today, we're going to forge tools that let you set your own value, not in dollars, but in purpose and placement. Here's the shape of our next build. First, we'll explore the difference between cost and value using the bottled water parable. We'll learn why your environment matters and how to move when you're on the wrong shelf. Then we'll forge the tools of our self-worth, skill, integrity, and fit, and see how to carry them so others can't discount you. Finally, we'll begin the practice of choosing our place deliberately, fitting our context into our craft and charging what our effort is truly worth. This isn't about greed. It's about stewardship. You'll learn how to stop giving yourself away like a dollar bottle of water and start pouring where you're needed. Ready? Let's get to work. You're not cheap. You're misplaced. So let's repeat that parable again. A bottle of water can cost 50 cents at a supermarket,$2 at a gym, three at a movie, and six on a plane. Same water. The only thing that changed was the value of where it was. In an airplane, there's one seller and hundreds of thirsty passengers. In a desert, there might be no other options. People pay not for the plastic bottle, but for what it gives them when they need it. That's value-based pricing, scarcity and need rising with perceived worth. Translate that to your life. Imagine your skill, your patience, your ability to solve problems, your sense of humor. In one place, that skill may be overlooked. At your current job, your calm voice is ignored because people prefer volume. In your friend group, your careful listening is wasted on those who talk over each other. So you think I'm worthless. No, you're a bottle on the wrong shelf. Put the same patients in a crisis room, and you're a hero. Put the same listening in a therapist's office or at your child's bedside, and lives change. Your value isn't what someone is willing to pay for you in a clearance aisle. It's what someone would give you if they were thirsty enough. Here's the tool. Assess your place. Ask yourself, who is actually thirsty for what I offer? If the answer is no one here, don't cheapen yourself to fit. Move. I'm not telling you to quit your job tomorrow or today. I'm saying stop letting people who don't need your gift set your price. The water bottle doesn't get angry at the supermarket shopper who leaves it on the shelf. It just waits for the right passenger on the plane. Same water, different place, different price. Think of Saint Francis. He was born into wealth, but he felt no thirst in those gilded halls. He chose poverty deliberately, giving away his fine clothes and possessions. People thought he was foolish. Yet in the leper colony, his tenderness was life. His simplicity was priceless. Francis didn't become more virtuous when he left riches. He simply moved to where his virtue had value. When he embraced poverty, he discovered joy because what he carried was finally needed. Your dignity is a bottle of water. Don't pour it on the carpet. Find the desert. Tool number one, make an inventory of what you carry. Patience, clarity, humor, precision. Then make a list of where those things are needed. Tool number two, stop haggling with people who aren't thirsty. If your current environment prices you at fifty cents, ask yourself why. Tool number three, remember that scarcity matters. If everyone in your circle has what you offer, your value drops. That isn't about you, it's about abundance. Find the plain or the desert, and your price will rise. Same water, wrong shelf. Knowing your value isn't enough. You must know what tools you actually carry and how to improve them. A bottle is only worth something because it holds water. You are worth something because you hold skills. But you weren't born carrying sharpened tools. You forged them. Tool number one, skill. This is your craft, your competence, your ability to solve a problem that others can't. Maybe you write code, fix engines, tell stories, read financial statements. Your price rises when your skill meets someone's need. In the wrong context, your skill is a novelty. In the right context, it's survival. That means forging skill relentlessly. Sharpen your craft like a blade. Take classes, practice daily, seek feedback, build a portfolio. Like a blacksmith making a sword. You don't sell your first try. You keep heating and hammering until it's true. Tool number two, character. Skill without character is a dull blade. Character is your integrity, patience, kindness, and courage. In Saint Benedict's rule, monks didn't just pray, they worked and read in specific hours. That rhythm forged humility, obedience, and stability. Your character is forged in the quiet choices nobody sees. Show up on time. Tell the truth when lying would be easier. Admit when you're wrong. Your value rises not because you're perfect, but because you're trustworthy. Tool number three, the fit. The same sword feels different in different hands. Your skills and character have to fit your body and your context. If you're an introvert in a high volume sales job, you might feel like a sword strapped on backwards. That doesn't mean you're defective. It means you need to reposition the strap. Fit isn't just environment, it's alignment. Are your tools too heavy or too light for you? Do you need to add a wrap to your handle? A mentor? A course? A morning routine? So you can grip better? This is forging your kit. It's customizing your handle so you can carry your tools without blisters. Personal story. I spent years working at a job that paid well, but never asked for my real craft. I wrote reports and nobody read 'em. I felt like water on the wrong shelf. My boss saw me as a line on a budget, not as someone who could shape words into meaning. For a while, I accepted fifty cents as my price. Then I started writing for myself. A blog post here, a letter to a friend. Slowly I realized my value wasn't in my salary. It was in my voice. I spent weekends sharpening that voice, reading good writing and practicing. When I finally moved into a role where my words mattered, the same me was valued more. It wasn't just the place. It was that I had forged a tool and moved to where it was needed. Your homework. Name three tools you carry. List one skill you've honed, one character trait you've built, one fit adjustment you need. Then commit to one act of forging this week. Maybe that's writing for 20 minutes each day, taking a free online course, or asking someone you respect to check your work. Each pass of the hammer adds value. Each moment of integrity rises your price. You're not adding water, you're shaping the bottle. Forge the tool, find the place. Okay, you've identified your tools, you know some environments discount you. The question becomes, do you leave your shelf or do you change the context around you? Sometimes you move, sometimes you stay and create scarcity, sometimes you pour where the need is hidden. Context is not just physical location, it's timing, audience, and need. If you're undervalued at work, but your tool is needed at home, pour there first. If your friend group doesn't listen but your community center is desperate for mentors, go there. But if you're in a place that stifles you completely, start planning your exit. You owe it to your gifts and yourself to find a desert that thirsts. Scarcity is about being deliberate with your water. At the supermarket, water is cheap because there's plenty. On a plane, water is dear because you can't walk to another aisle to get it. In your life, if everyone can do what you do, your value drops. Create scarcity by specializing. Maybe you're a generalist. Pick one niche to master. If you're a carpenter, become the best at restoring old houses or cabinets. If you're a nurse, get certified in trauma care. If you're a father, become the calm space in your house when everyone else yells. Scarcity raises your value, not because you're hoarding, but because you've refined your gift to serve in a specific need. Sometimes you create scarcity by withholding yourself from those who take you for granted. When you always say yes, you teach people to undervalue you. Try this. Say no once. Watch how your perceived value changes. Your no is like taking the water off the clearance rack. People notice. They either go find cheaper water or they realize how much they need you. Saint Francis didn't simply disappear. He chose to redirect his energy toward those who were thirsty. His family discounted his compassion. The lepers cherished it. He created scarcity by refusing to pour his love on those who didn't want it. The result? His joy increased. But caution, scarcity is not spite. It's stewardship. Don't withhold kindness because you're bitter. Withhold it because you're empty and need to refill, or because the well you've been pouring into leads nowhere. Water poured into a sand disappears. Water poured into seed produces flour. When you stop watering sand, it's not cruelty, it's wisdom. Tool number four, evaluate your context. Ask, are people here thirsty for what I carry? Tool number five, create scarcity by honing a niche skill, setting boundaries, or redirecting your poor. Tool number six, move deliberately. If you need to change jobs, plan. If you need to change friendships, have hard conversations. Don't smash your bottle in anger. Take it back, refill it, and carry it to a place where it will save a life. Scarcity isn't selfish, it's stewardship. Tools dull when left unused. Value fades when left unguarded. You need rituals to keep both alive. Saint Benedict's monks woke, worked, prayed, read, and rested by Bell. It wasn't mindless repetition, it was intentional choice structured into rhythm. Benedict set hours for manual labor and prayful reading. Not because he loved schedules, but because he knew that idle hands and ungoverned minds forget their worth. He balanced prayer and work so monks didn't drift into laziness or burnout. Their daily rituals forged humility, focus, and purpose. What are your bells? Morning. Before you reach for your phone, write one sentence about your worth, not your salary. What did you bring to the room that no one else does? Write it, speak it, let it set your posture. Midday, pause, put your hand on your heart and ask, Am I pouring in a place that values what I carry? If the answer is no, redirect one hour of your day to something or someone who needs your gift. Evening, close with gratitude and audit. Name one place you poured where it mattered, and one place you poured where it didn't. Thank yourself for the first, forgive yourself for the second. Plan a move. These rituals sound simple because they are. Complexity kills consistency. It's the same thing with weight loss. Do something simple that will help you, like cut out sugar. Instead of trying to go on some fad diet where you have to do this, this, this, that, and the other thing, and only eat during these set hours. Train yourself to cut out one thing. Make it simple. Value rituals also include nourishment. Drink water before you speak. Eat a meal before you walk into a hard conversation. Thirst and hunger warp your sense of worth. Scarcity mentality whispers, take what you can get. A fed body can say, no, thank you. I'll wait for the right place. Benedict knew hunger can make men irritable or desperate, so he made sure monks were fed and rested. Don't romanticize deprivation. You can't claim your value if you're shaking from lack. And finally, ritualize your forge time. Once a week, schedule an hour to work on a scale that raises your value. It might be studying, practicing your craft, or writing. Protect that hour like you'd protect a child. It's the anvil where your tools take shape. Without it, you'll keep trying to change plain prices with supermarket tools. Ritual isn't rigid, it's a path. Walk it until it fits your stride. Rituals protect your worth. Value is not hoarded, it's poured. A bottle of water hidden in a backpack has no worth to someone dying of thirst. Your gifts gather meaning when they serve. But service doesn't mean scattering yourself everywhere. It means aiming your poor. We've talked about leaving shelves that discount you. Now let's talk about choosing where to pour when you find a field that thirsts. First, pour into people who will multiply what you give. Mentorship is a high value pour. Share your knowledge with someone who is hungry to learn. Teach your child how to split kindling rather than just doing it yourself. Explain your process to a younger colleague. This doesn't deplete you. It doubles your investment. They will carry your value into places you'll never go. Benedictine monks worked together, prayed together, and corrected each other's flaws. Their value was communal. You forge alone, but you pour together. Second, pour where systems can grow. Invest your energy in building structures. A healthy family rhythm, a team process, a community project, instead of chasing quick wins. A good system holds your value even when you're not there. If you're a father, create a nighttime routine that teaches your children to cook or clean. If you're a manager, design a meeting format that harnesses quiet voices. If you're a friend, start a group chat where men can talk about their struggles without shame. Systems keep water flowing long after the first cup. Third, pour into yourself. This isn't selfish, it's maintenance. Read books that expand you. Learn a new skill. Rest. If your bottle empties, you have nothing to pour. Saint Francis fasted and prayed, but he also spent time in solitude to refill. His poverty wasn't self-harm. It was a deliberate clearing of space so joy could enter. Don't confuse exhaustion with generosity. Sometimes the most generous thing you can do is a step back and refill. Finally, watch out for leaks. A leak is any place you pour where nothing grows. That might be an argument that never resolves, a person who refuses to listen, or an activity that sucks time but yields no fruit. Plug the leak by setting a boundary or changing your approach. Remember our water bottle. If you leave it open, it evaporates. Your value evaporates in leaks. It doesn't matter how much you have if you're always spilling. Pour wisely, fill first. How do you know if you're pricing yourself well? There's no receipt for human worth, but there are signs. When you're in the right place, your work feels. Heavy and meaningful, not frantic. Others treat your contribution with respect, not reluctance. You leave conversations energized, not emptied. You see growth in yourself and those around you. You feel a quiet pride that isn't about ego, but about alignment. When the price is wrong, you feel resentment. You start counting hours and dollars because it doesn't feel like a fair exchange. You get bitter when you pour. You feel stuck. One way to measure worth is to track the ratio of energy spent to impact made. If you're pouring most of your water into sand, arguments, workplaces, relationships, and seeing no bloom, it may be time to charge more or move. What do I mean by charge more? Well, charge more might be asking for a raise, but it could also mean asking for more respect, more collaboration, more time. It could mean leaving early to invest in a side project where your value multiplies. Another measurement is feedback from trusted sources. Ask your partner, a mentor, or a friend, where do you see my gifts being underused? Where do you see me thriving? And listen. Sometimes we can't see our own value because we're staring at a price tag. Sometimes we think we're overpriced when we're just under mentored. Benedict's brothers confess their faults to the abbot and each other. Feedback kept them honest and humble. Finally, measure by how you feel when you lay your head down. Do you sense that you poured into the right soil today? Did you move closer to a desert that needs you? Did you sharpen your tool? Did you set a boundary? Did you refill? If you answer yes to most of these, you're on the right path. If you answer no, adjust. Remember, a bottle's worth can change drastically depending on where it is. Your worth does too, but the bottle never questions if it's water. It doesn't become wine when someone pays more. It is always water. You are always you. Price is perception. Value is essence. Worth isn't a number, it's alignment. You forged your edge, you learned to carry it without cutting. Now you know that where you place your blade determines its worth. You are a man in progress, holding water in a world that judges bottles, by the aisle. Don't let a clearance tag convince you you're cheap. Don't let a high price inflate your ego. Your value is constant, your environment changes. Today, decide one thing where you will place yourself tomorrow. Pick one shelf that discounts you and start planning to leave it. Pick one desert that needs your water and step forward into it. Pick one ritual to protect your worth. Pick one person to tell your value to and ask them to hold you accountable. Remember, Saint Francis, who stripped off rich garments not to punish himself, but to pour into places that needed him. Remember the bottle on the plane. Same water, different price. You are not broken. You're just in progress. Keep forging.