Mark: Neuroscientists put people in an fMRI scanner and found something wild. When you think about your current self, one part of your brain lights up. When you think about a stranger, like an actor or a public figure, a different part lights up. The shocker? When you think about yourself in 10 years, your brain treats you like the stranger. Michelle: Wait, really? My brain thinks Future Michelle is a completely different person? That’s both terrifying and explains a lot about my credit card statement. Mark: It explains almost everything. It’s the central puzzle explored in the book we’re diving into today: Your Future Self: How to Make Tomorrow Better Today by Hal Hershfield. Michelle: Hal Hershfield. I like the sound of that. Is he a philosopher, a guru? Mark: He's a professor at UCLA's Anderson School of Management, specializing in behavioral decision-making. And what’s fascinating is that he doesn't just stay in the lab. He actually works with financial tech companies and banks to apply this research, helping real people make better choices about their money and their lives. So these aren't just abstract ideas; they have real-world stakes. Michelle: Okay, so he’s seen this "stranger in the brain" phenomenon play out with actual bank accounts. I’m listening. Where does this all begin? Mark: It starts with a really fundamental, almost philosophical question that we all grapple with, whether we realize it or not.

Mark: The question is this: Are you the same person you were ten years ago? Michelle: Oh, absolutely not. Ten-years-ago Michelle thought skinny jeans were a permanent life choice and that she could survive on coffee and ambition. She was a fool. A well-intentioned, but caffeinated fool. Mark: Exactly. We all feel that way. But Hershfield takes this to an incredible extreme with the story of a man named Pedro Rodrigues Filho, better known as "Killer Petey." Michelle: That nickname does not inspire confidence. Mark: Not at all. He was one of Brazil's most notorious serial killers, charged with over a hundred murders. He killed for the first time as a teenager and continued his violent spree even in prison. He was the definition of a monster. Michelle: Okay, so where's the future self part of this? Mark: After decades in prison, he was released. He started a YouTube channel, of all things, advising young people on how to avoid a life of crime. When asked if he was the same person, he said, "I’m disgusted by who I once was, and I consider myself to be a new person now." He claimed a near-death experience in prison changed him completely. Michelle: Wow. So he sees his past self as a stranger he despises. But that's such an extreme case. Most of us are just dealing with questionable fashion choices, not a body count. Mark: True, but it illustrates a core philosophical puzzle that Hershfield brings up: the Ship of Theseus. Michelle: The classic! The ship where every plank is replaced over time. Is it still the same ship? Mark: Precisely. And are we still the same person as our cells replace themselves, our memories fade, and our personalities evolve? The book points to research showing that what we perceive as the core of our identity, the thing that makes us "us," isn't our body or even our memories. It’s our moral character. Michelle: That makes so much sense. I can forgive my past self for the skinny jeans, but it would be much harder if she’d been, you know, a jerk. Mark: Exactly. The book cites a heartbreaking study on neurodegenerative diseases. Caregivers of patients with Alzheimer's, who lose their memories, still felt they knew the person. But caregivers of patients with frontotemporal dementia, which alters moral traits like empathy and honesty, were far more likely to say the person they loved felt like a stranger. Michelle: That’s profound. So our identity is tied to our goodness, our core values. But then you have these other stories that seem to contradict the idea of constant change. The book mentions that incredible story of Jerzy and Cyla. Mark: The couple who fell in love in Auschwitz. It's an amazing counterpoint. He helps her escape, they get separated after the war, and both believe the other is dead. Almost forty years later, they reunite and their connection is instantaneous. They recognized that same person in each other. Michelle: So what gives? Are we constantly changing like the Ship of Theseus, or are we a stable self like Jerzy and Cyla? Mark: Hershfield’s answer is, in a way, both. Our personalities do shift. A study called Project Talent tracked people for 50 years and found that while there's some consistency, about 40% of people show reliable change in any given personality trait. We get more conscientious, more emotionally stable. But our core moral self, and our deepest connections, can remain incredibly stable. The problem is, our brain doesn't care about that nuance. It just sees that distant future person and thinks, "Not my problem." Michelle: It’s like my brain is a lazy roommate. "Future Michelle can deal with the dishes. I don't know her." Mark: That's the perfect analogy. And that lazy roommate brain leads us to make what Hershfield calls "time-traveling mistakes."

Michelle: Okay, I’m ready to feel personally attacked. What are these mistakes? Mark: The first one is called "Missing Your Flight," which is basically anchoring on the present. We are so overwhelmed by what's happening right now that we can't think clearly about the future. Michelle: Like when you go grocery shopping while hungry and come home with three kinds of cheese and no vegetables. Mark: Exactly that. Hershfield tells a hilarious story about getting a Groupon for two dress shirts. He goes to the store, and the salesman, a master of this principle, shows him an $18,000 suit with his name monogrammed in gold thread. Michelle: Eighteen thousand dollars? For a suit? Mark: After seeing that, the idea of buying four shirts instead of the two on the Groupon suddenly seemed incredibly reasonable. He anchored on the absurdly high price, and it made his overspending feel like a bargain. We do this all the time, letting our present feelings—hunger, cold, excitement—dictate choices for a future self who won't be feeling the same thing. Michelle: That leads right into what has to be the most relatable concept ever: Jerry Seinfeld’s "Night Guy" versus "Morning Guy." Mark: It’s the perfect illustration of the second mistake: "Poor Trip Planning," or procrastination. Michelle: Oh, I live this every single day. Night Guy wants to watch one more episode. He thinks, "This is great! I'm having fun." He has zero empathy for Morning Guy, who has to wake up for an 8 AM meeting. Morning Guy wakes up exhausted and furious, hating Night Guy. They are two different people at war inside one body. Mark: And Hershfield points out this isn't just laziness. It's a failure of empathy for our future self. We don't vividly imagine their stress and pain, so we just kick the can down the road. This also leads to the "Yes/Damn" effect. Michelle: My calendar is a graveyard of the "Yes/Damn" effect. I'll get an invitation for something three weeks away and think, "Oh, Future Michelle will be so organized and energetic! She'd love to go to a three-hour experimental theater piece on a Tuesday." Then the day arrives, and I'm just... regular, tired Michelle, and I think, "Damn it, Past Michelle, what were you thinking?" Mark: You're overcommitting your future self because you see their time as more abundant and less constrained than your own. The final big mistake is what he calls "Packing the Wrong Clothes." This is projection bias. Michelle: Let me guess. You're packing for a trip to Miami, but it's snowing in Chicago, so you pack three sweaters "just in case" because you're projecting your current feeling of being cold onto your future trip. Mark: You've got it. You arrive in Miami, it's 85 degrees and humid, and the sweaters never leave the suitcase. We do this with much bigger decisions. The book mentions a study of West Point cadets. They were randomly assigned to classes at different times. Cadets who took a required course at 7:30 AM were 10 percent less likely to major in that subject. Michelle: No way. Just because they were tired? Mark: They misattributed their fatigue from the early start to a dislike of the subject. They packed the wrong "emotional clothes" for their entire career path. And this leads to the "end-of-history illusion." Michelle: Which is? Mark: The belief that while we've changed a lot to become the person we are today, we're pretty much done. We think we've arrived at our final form. We recognize the evolution of our past self, but we imagine our future self will be remarkably similar to who we are right now. Michelle: That explains why people get tattoos they later regret. In that moment, they can't imagine a future where they don't love that cartoon character or that quote. Mark: Precisely. They can't imagine their values or tastes will change. So we're stuck. Our brains see our future selves as strangers, and we consistently make mistakes that sabotage them. This is getting a little bleak. Michelle: Yeah, it's a bit of a downer. So we're all just doomed to be sabotaged by our past selves forever? Please tell me there's a chapter on how to fix this. Is there any hope? What can we actually do?

Mark: Absolutely. This is where the book shifts from diagnosis to solution, and it's incredibly empowering. The whole goal is to find ways to make your future self feel closer, more real, and more vivid. To turn that stranger into a friend. Michelle: Okay, how do you befriend someone who doesn't exist yet? Mark: One of the most powerful ways is through vivid visualization. Hershfield ran these amazing experiments using virtual reality and age-progression software. They'd take a participant's photo, digitally age it, and have them interact with their older self in a virtual mirror. Michelle: That sounds like an episode of Black Mirror. What happened? Mark: The results were stunning. People who saw their older, wrinkled future selves were significantly more likely to put more money into a hypothetical retirement account immediately afterward. Seeing that future person made them feel a connection. It made the future real. It’s like the "identifiable victim effect"—we're more moved by the story of one person than by a statistic about thousands. Seeing your future self makes them an identifiable person you want to help. Michelle: That's fascinating. But most of us don't have a VR lab in our basement. Is there a low-tech version of this? Mark: There is. And it's something people have been doing for centuries: writing letters to your future self. The book talks about the website FutureMe, where millions of people have written letters to be delivered to themselves months or years later. It forces you to articulate your current hopes, fears, and dreams, and to think about the person who will be reading them. Michelle: It’s like creating a dialogue across time. You’re building a relationship with that future person. Mark: Exactly. It strengthens what psychologists call "future self-continuity." And the data shows this works. A huge study in Mexico found that when banking customers were shown an aged image of themselves, they increased their contributions to their pension plans. It's not just a lab trick. Michelle: Okay, so making the future self more vivid is one strategy. What else? Mark: Another is to make the sacrifice feel smaller. He worked with the investing app Acorns. They tested different ways of framing a savings plan. One group was asked to save $150 a month. Another was asked to save $5 a day. Michelle: Oh, I can see where this is going. Five dollars a day sounds like nothing. It’s a cup of coffee. One hundred and fifty dollars a month sounds like a real budget item. Mark: You nailed it. Four times as many people signed up for the $5-a-day plan, even though the total amount was the same. They made the big, scary goal feel small and manageable. The final strategy is my favorite, because it feels like cheating in the best way possible. It's called "temptation bundling." Michelle: Temptation bundling? Tell me more. Mark: It was developed by another researcher, Katy Milkman. The idea is to link something you want to do with something you should do. For example, you only allow yourself to listen to your favorite true-crime podcast while you're at the gym. Or you only get to watch your trashy reality TV show while you're folding laundry. Michelle: So I can finally justify my terrible television habits... as long as I'm on the treadmill? I'm in. This is genius! You're not relying on willpower; you're using your temptation as fuel. Mark: It’s a brilliant psychological hack. You're making the present sacrifice easier by pairing it with an immediate reward. The book is full of these kinds of practical, clever ways to trick your present self into helping your future self.

Michelle: You know, when we started, I thought this was all going to be about willpower and discipline. But it's not about that at all. It's about empathy. We don't need to be more disciplined; we need to build a better relationship with the person we're going to become. Mark: That's the perfect summary. It's about closing that psychological distance. And Hershfield argues this has implications far beyond our own lives. In the epilogue, he connects this to huge, collective challenges like climate change. How do we make sacrifices now for future generations, who are, in a way, the ultimate strangers? Michelle: Wow. So learning to care for our own future self is like a training ground for learning to care about the future of humanity. Mark: It's a powerful idea. The research suggests that feeling connected to our own past—our ancestors, our history—makes us more willing to invest in the distant future. It creates a sense of being part of a long chain, with a responsibility to both those who came before and those who will come after. It all comes back to connection. Michelle: It really makes you think. What's one small thing you could do today that your 'one-year-from-now' self would genuinely thank you for? It might not be some huge, life-altering decision. Maybe it's just booking that dentist appointment you've been putting off. Mark: Or starting that $5-a-day savings plan. Or just taking five minutes to write a short, kind letter to the person you'll be in 2025. It’s about sending a message across time that says, "I see you, and I care about you." Michelle: We'd love to hear what our listeners think. What's the one thing you're going to do for your future self after hearing this? Let us know. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.