I didn’t think I would look like this. . . shriveled. The wrinkles on my forehead, which I was already aware of, have found a permanent home, engraved like a pair of train tracks.
My neck has a new crepe quality and the crow’s feet around my eyes are deeply etched.
Because I have apparently lost all sense of taste in old age, I wear truly terrible glasses. Even stranger: I went blonde.
But what strikes me most—and with not a little horror—about the photo Hal Hershfield sent me of myself, digitally aged to make me look twenty years older, is how much I look like my grandmother.
Professor Hershfield, who holds a PhD in psychology from Stanford University and is a professor of behavioral decision making and marketing at UCLA, recently published Your Future Self: How To Make Tomorrow Better Today, a book resulting from his research at the ‘intersection of psychology and economics, which explores why people find it difficult to commit to their long-term goals.
Katie sent Professor Hershfield a photo of herself at her current age, 42, and he then sends it back to her so she looks 20 years older
He has discovered that people continually abandon their future selves.
We’re not good at planning ahead and doing things like “save more, eat healthier, exercise more, go to sleep earlier,” explains Professor Hershfield, who is talking to me from California and has apparently been very good at manifesting his future since he is travelling. walk at 6:30 am.
The reason we don’t save for retirement or get fit is because we have this vague feeling that we are older, he continues. It’s so abstract in our thirties and forties that we find it hard to invest in it or care about it.
What we need is something to boost our conscience – a visual focal point through which we can connect with our older selves. And by digitally aging us, Prof. Hershfield hopes to provide just that “imagination tool.”
There are several apps that allow you to see an outdated version of yourself, but he offers me a tailor-made service. I send Professor Hershfield a photo of myself at my current age, 42, and he then sends it back to me, so old that I look 20 years older.
I pour a large glass of wine before watching it.
I don’t consider myself particularly vain. I rarely wear makeup and most days I don’t even brush my hair. I don’t have the greatest confidence in it. I often hate how I look. But at least now that I’m forty, I’m at peace with it and don’t worry so much about what other people think.
One of the advantages of being constantly dissatisfied with my weight is that I have a relatively young face. Although I have been conscious of buying nicer face cream over the last few years, I am in no rush for touch-ups (fillers, Botox, lifts).
Still, I certainly worry when I look at the photo of me at 62, and when I finally open it, it’s a terrible shock.
My first thought is that I look completely like someone else. The wrinkles are so prominent and the glasses are so awful. Couldn’t Hal have given me laser eye treatment and Botox? “This isn’t LA!” he jokes.
He suggests that the closer we can feel to our future selves, the better decisions we’re likely to make for them, but I’m not sure I feel very connected to this old lady.
He asks me to paint a fuller picture of the future 62-year-old Katie. How does she spend her time? With whom?
Katie’s first thought when she sees the photo of her older self is that she looks like a different person entirely
Where does she live? Will she work the same job, or will she scale back and retire? Will she have the same values as I do now?
I’m sixty and I certainly look quite confident. She strikes me as a perky, cheerful-looking professional. I imagine her – or I – having a busy, interesting life and that starts to build a bond.
It looks like I’m about to have lunch with friends, give a lecture or go to the theater.
I have a nice tan, so I’ll probably travel a bit, or maybe I’ll buy that second house in Greece that I’ve been dreaming about.
I look content, like something fulfills me – maybe a relationship? Or maybe I’ll be a famous author by then.
Professor Hershfield is right: when I look at my older self, I realize more clearly the ambitions I have for her.
It’s interesting that while the future me looks quite professional, she also seems completely carefree, and it occurs to me that perhaps this is because, rather than being exhausted by marriage, she has remained happily single and instead has taken a single lover.
I surprise myself by realizing that even though I would like my future self to be surrounded by love, I don’t mind the thought of it at all.
I’m now at an age where most of my friends are married with children, and sometimes I tend to want that for myself, but now it’s dawning on me how many of my thoughts about having a traditional family come down before on expectations than on expectations. than what I actually want.
Seeing an older version of myself looking so content really highlights the different kind of life I could live and how fulfilling that could be. In a funny way, seeing my photo makes me worry a lot less about having children.
After all, this future self doesn’t look like she’ll be spending weekends taking care of grandchildren. She looks smart, cultured and interesting – and like she has enough time (and sleep) for herself.
Once she thinks about it, Katie loves her older self, believing she has finally shed some of the insecurities she knows she has held onto for too long today.
I guess I went blonde to cover the gray and I’m glad I did. It’s a sign that I haven’t given up. Maybe I have a hot toyboy somewhere!
There are probably more serious questions I should be asking my older self too. Do I have a pension or money? These are things that bother me occasionally in the present, but like everyone else, I’m too worried about money right now to think much about the future.
I keep putting off organizing my retirement (I know, I know…) because it’s something I associate with old people. But here I am old, and what exactly do I live on?
I feel guilty admitting that the same goes for my health. I know I need to lose the extra pounds I’ve put on, but even though I make enthusiastic attempts to hit the gym every now and then, it never lasts.
Still, I want future Katie to be able to go outside and enjoy herself. Not only to look good, but also to avoid getting sick.
I look at the photo just after returning from the Glastonbury festival: I wish that 62-year-old Katie could still go to Glastonbury and dance the night away.
Professor Hershfield encourages people to use the feelings they have about their future selves to make changes now on a practical level, no matter how small: meeting with a retirement advisor, not wasting money, finally going to the gym.
He encourages us to implement “commitment devices” – things that reward or punish us when we go off the rails – such as an accountability partner (someone we talk to about good new habits, to keep us from slipping) or apps like stickK (stickk .com), which use ‘contracts’ to help people achieve their personal goals.
One of Prof. Hershfield’s techniques is to “make the big small,” which means breaking down challenges into smaller tasks and giving positive emotions to things we’d rather not do.
Don’t think about marathons yet, just run around the block while listening to your favorite podcast.
Still, he warns against obsessing about the future. There’s room for a little YOLO (you only live once), even if you plan ahead.
“We must celebrate the present,” he says. ‘A large part of my research was about myopia; I focused so much on the present that we miss the future. But there is also such a thing as farsightedness, where we focus so much on the future that we miss the present
“There are times when we need to live in the present and celebrate it, and realize that we may actually benefit our future selves because they will have the memories to look back on.
‘There is essentially a need for harmony. If we think of this as a negotiation across time, then both our future and our present selves must have a voice.”
There are many things I like about my future self. I look cheerful, optimistic and playful.
I remind myself of the older people I love and admire most now, like the friend who celebrated her 64th birthday on a seaside pub crawl with her husband.
My father, who was 90 when he died, remained playful, curious and fun all his life.
So yeah, once I thought about it, I like the older Katie. I think she has finally shed some of the insecurities that I know I have held onto for too long today.
What would the older me say to me now? I guess I would tell myself to be happy, not to regret anything, but to build a damn retirement.
But most of all, I’m just glad I’m not a grizzled old grandma making sandwiches for her husband.
I hope that in twenty years I can be that woman who can enjoy work and lovers between visits to the hairdresser to trim her roots.