There’s a concept I recently heard in an interview that has been sitting with me ever since, and I want to pass it on to you.
It’s simple, but a little uncomfortable.
We don’t really know our future selves.
In the study they were talking about, researchers put people into MRI or brain scan machines and asked them to do two things. First, they were asked to think about a random celebrity—someone familiar, but not emotionally close. Then they were asked to think about themselves 20 or 30 years in the future.
What they found was surprising, but also kind of obvious once you hear it.
When people thought about their future selves, their brains lit up in a way that was very similar to thinking about that random celebrity. Not like thinking about me, but like thinking about someone I kind of know of.
A stranger. Familiar, but distant.
And that changes everything.
Because if your future self feels like a stranger, you don’t plan for him the same way you would plan for yourself today. You don’t protect him. You don’t sacrifice for him. You don’t save for him. You don’t train for him. You don’t even always make decisions that benefit him.
You end up prioritizing comfort for “right now you,” even if it quietly costs “future you” a lot.
That’s the trap.
And the antidote is surprisingly practical.
You have to make your future self real.
Not abstract. Not vague. Not “someday I’ll be successful” kind of thinking. Real.
Here’s what I want you to do—something I wish I had done earlier in my own life.
Every few months, or at least once a year, sit down and actually write this out.
Start with your future self.
Be detailed. Not just “I want to be healthy” or “I want to be successful.” That’s too fuzzy. Instead, describe him like you would describe a real person you’re trying to meet.
What does he look like? Is he lean, strong, energetic? What’s his weight range if that matters to you? How much muscle does he carry? How does he move when he walks into a room?
What does his life look like? Is he married? Does he have kids? What kind of relationship does he have with them? What kind of partner is he? What kind of father is he?
What does his day feel like? Does he wake up tired or energized? Does he feel rushed or grounded? Is he proud of how he lives or constantly catching up to himself?
Write it like you’re describing someone you respect and are trying to become friends with.
Then go backwards.
Write about your present self honestly. Not harshly, just clearly. Where are you right now physically, mentally, emotionally, financially? What habits are shaping your days? What patterns are helping you, and which ones are quietly pulling you away from that future person?
And then even further back—write about your past self. What brought you here? What lessons did you learn the hard way? What decisions shaped the path you’re on now?
When you put all three together—past you, present you, future you—you start to see something important.
You’re not three different people.
You’re one continuous story.
But only if you treat it that way.
After you’ve done that, then comes the part that actually connects it all: write a letter to your future self.
Not typed. Handwritten if you can. Something physical. Something real. Put it somewhere you’ll come back to it, or even better, schedule it to be opened at a specific time.
Tell him what you’re trying to do for him. Tell him what you’re afraid of. Tell him what you hope he becomes. Be honest about where you’re struggling today, but also about what you’re willing to change so he has a better life later.
Because that’s the key shift.
Future you isn’t a stranger you can ignore.
He’s a person you are actively becoming responsible for.
And the more real you make him, the more likely you are to make choices that actually serve him.
I’m learning this myself as I go. And I want you to learn it earlier than I did.
Don’t just live for today.
Start getting to know the man you’re going to become.
Leave a Reply