in a classroom outside Manchester where a student’s file sits on a desk with a pattern that has repeated for years: strong test scores, missing assignments, comments that circle the same idea in different language—bright but inconsistent, easily distracted, needs to apply himself. He has just been diagnosed with ADHD.
Nothing about him changed.
Only the explanation did.
School is built around a particular kind of work—sit still, focus on one thing, follow the steps, finish the task—and those are useful skills. They’re also very specific ones, shaped by the kind of world that needed them. About 150 years ago, most work didn’t look like this. Then factories arrived, and everything tightened. Work became repeatable, structured, timed. The economy needed people who could show up, stay on task, and do the same thing the same way, over and over, and schools followed that need with rows of desks, fixed schedules, one subject at a time, and one correct answer.
It worked long enough to feel inevitable.
It scaled well enough to become invisible.
And it sorted people.
If your brain matched that structure, things felt natural. If it didn’t, things got harder—not because you weren’t capable, but because you didn’t fit the system that defined capability in the first place. That sorting held because the economy reinforced it. Employers paid for consistency, compliance, and repeatability, and the labor market reflected that preference with almost mechanical precision.
Now that reinforcement is weakening—not disappearing, but weakening—and the reason is mechanical. Over the past decade, a growing share of routine cognitive work has been absorbed by software. McKinsey estimates that up to 60% of current jobs have at least 30% of tasks that are technically automatable, and the tasks that go first are the ones that are predictable, structured, and repeatable. This isn’t a cultural shift or a change in taste; it’s a supply shock, and supply shocks don’t negotiate.
They reset prices.
When the supply of “routine cognition” explodes, its value drops. The market doesn’t argue with that. It absorbs it, adjusts, and moves on—slowly at first, then faster as the edges begin to fold inward.
You can see that repricing most clearly in places where the job remains but the center of the work has shifted. In a law office in Boston, a junior associate described how his role used to involve long hours reading documents line by line, careful and repetitive, the kind of work that rewarded endurance more than judgment. Now software handles much of that first pass.