Narrator: Why would an old man plant a carob tree, knowing it takes seventy years to bear fruit—a harvest he will never see? When asked this very question, the man in a Talmudic story simply replied, "I found this world provided with carob trees, and as my ancestors planted them for me, so I too plant them for my descendants." This simple act of faith in the future captures a way of thinking that feels increasingly alien in our world of instant notifications and quarterly reports. We are caught in a cycle of short-term reactions, solving today's problems with little thought for tomorrow's consequences, let alone the world of the next century.

In his book Longpath: Becoming the Great Ancestors Our Future Needs, futurist Ari Wallach argues that this short-termism is not an unsolvable human flaw but a mindset we can actively change. He provides a framework for cultivating a long-term perspective, not as a sterile planning exercise, but as a deeply human practice of empathy, foresight, and purpose. The book is a guide to breaking free from the tyranny of the now and consciously choosing to become the great ancestors our future needs us to be.

Narrator: Ari Wallach argues that our greatest obstacle to long-term thinking is our own biology, which is constantly being exploited by the modern world. Our brains evolved to react instantly to immediate threats, a "fight or flight" response perfect for escaping a predator but poorly suited for navigating complex, 21st-century problems. This ancient wiring is triggered constantly by the relentless ping of notifications, breaking news alerts, and social media updates, creating a state of perpetual, low-grade panic.

Wallach illustrates this with a deeply personal story he calls "The Dragon Eggs and the Missed Spanish Assignment." One evening, while making dinner, he received an automated notification from his daughter Ruby's school: she had missed a Spanish assignment. Instantly, he felt a surge of anger, shame, and fear. His mind raced with catastrophic thoughts about her future, a reaction wildly disproportionate to the actual event. He recognized this as his ancient brain's survival mechanism kicking in, treating a minor issue as a threat to his family's standing in the "tribe."

Instead of reacting, he chose to pause. He identified the feeling not as a rational response, but as a "swirl of chemicals and hormones." By doing so, he was able to see the bigger picture. The most important thing in that moment was not the assignment, but preserving the family's emotional balance and connection during dinner. The Spanish homework could wait. This small act of pausing and choosing a long-term value—family connection—over a short-term panic is the first step in the Longpath practice. It is a conscious decision to move beyond our immediate, often counterproductive, impulses.

Narrator: The core practice of Longpath is what Wallach calls "Transgenerational Empathy." This is not just about caring for future generations, but about developing a profound connection with our ancestors, our present selves, and our descendants. To become a great ancestor, one must first be a good descendant.

Looking backward involves understanding the legacy of those who came before us. This isn't just about genealogy; it's about recognizing how their choices, traumas, and triumphs shape our present reality. Wallach points to the work of Bryan Stevenson's Equal Justice Initiative, which has a project where people collect soil from the sites of historical lynchings. In one powerful instance, a Black woman collecting soil was approached by a white man who owned the land. After learning what she was doing, he asked if he could help. Together, they dug up the earth, a shared act of acknowledging a painful past that created a moment of profound connection and a foundation for reconciliation.

Looking inward requires self-compassion and an honest confrontation with our own mortality. Wallach argues that we often live in denial of death, which prevents us from living in alignment with our deepest values. He describes an exercise he uses with clients, such as a TV director feeling "stuck" on a project. Wallach asked him to write the third paragraph of his own obituary. This forced the director to think beyond immediate pressures and identify the core themes he wanted his life to represent, giving him the clarity and purpose he needed.

Finally, looking forward means developing empathy for our descendants. This can feel abstract, so Wallach highlights studies showing how making the future concrete changes our behavior. In one experiment, people who saw a digitally aged photo of themselves were twice as likely to save money for retirement. By vividly imagining the people of the future and their needs, we are more likely to make choices today that will benefit them, just like the man planting the carob tree.

Narrator: We all live under the influence of what Wallach calls the "Official Future"—a set of unvoiced, shared assumptions about how the world works and where it's headed. This includes beliefs like "technology will solve our problems" or "success means accumulating wealth." The Official Future provides a sense of certainty, but it can also trap us in a narrative that doesn't serve our true goals.

Wallach shares the story of a young woman named Nyesa who gets engaged. Immediately, she is bombarded by the Official Future of weddings: the expectations of her family, the pressures of the wedding industry, and societal norms. Feeling overwhelmed, she and her fiancé take a step back. They sit in a park and intentionally plan a wedding that reflects their actual values and love, not the expectations of others. They co-create their own "Participatory Future" by examining their desires and making conscious choices.

This process of examination is critical. To truly create a future we want, we must understand our "telos," an ancient Greek term for an ultimate aim or purpose. It is our "why." Wallach uses the parable of the industrialist and the fisherman to illustrate this. The industrialist urges the fisherman to work harder, buy more boats, and build an empire so that one day he can retire and relax by the sea. The fisherman simply points out that he is already relaxing by the sea. The industrialist was so caught up in the Official Future of endless growth that he never stopped to examine his telos. Longpath requires us to define our telos—our ultimate purpose—and use it as a compass to guide our actions, ensuring the future we build is one we genuinely desire.

Narrator: While the Longpath journey begins with individual mindset shifts, its ultimate goal is collective flourishing. Wallach uses a simple but powerful metaphor to explain this progression: building a bridge across a ravine. At first, one person might get across using a slackline—an individual, risky solution. Then, a small group might build a sturdier rope bridge, improving access for a few. But for the entire community to thrive, with trade and connection, everyone must come together to fund and build a permanent suspension bridge designed to last for generations.

This move from "I" to "we" is essential for tackling systemic challenges. Our culture often celebrates the "rugged individual," but Wallach argues that true strength lies in interdependence and collaboration. He points to Google's internal research on effective teams, which found that the single most important factor was not individual expertise but "psychological safety"—a shared belief that members can speak up without fear of reprisal.

To build this collective capacity, we must find common ground, even in a fractured world. Wallach references the Christmas Truce of 1914, when German and British soldiers spontaneously stopped fighting to sing carols and play soccer in no-man's-land. For a brief moment, their shared humanity overcame the divisions of war. Longpath asks us to seek out these points of connection and use them to build bridges, fostering the collaboration needed to work toward a future of collective well-being.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Longpath is that the future is not something that happens to us, but something we actively create through our daily choices. Ari Wallach demystifies long-term thinking, transforming it from a grand, abstract concept into a practical, moment-to-moment way of being. We are all writing the first page of humanity's next chapter, and the quality of that story will be determined not by grand policies alone, but by the sum of our micro-interactions—the patience we show a stranger, the values we instill in our children, and the purpose we bring to our work.

The book leaves us with a profound challenge. It asks you to consider: If you were to write a short note to the people of the year 2124, a piece of wisdom or a wish for their world, what would it say? Now, how can you start living that note today? Because becoming a great ancestor begins not in the distant future, but in the here and now.