We spend a ridiculous amount of time planning our next weekend. Maybe we plan for next year's vacation if we’re feeling particularly organized. But thirty years? That feels like science fiction. Honestly, most people can’t even imagine who they’ll be in 2056, let alone what they’ll be doing. That is exactly why my next 30 years video has become such a weirdly popular concept lately. It isn't just about some "manifestation" trend or a digital time capsule. It is a psychological gut-punch that forces you to confront the reality of aging, legacy, and the compounding interest of your daily habits.
If you haven't seen one of these videos, the premise is pretty simple but deeply heavy. Someone sits in front of a camera and talks to their future self. They map out where they want to be, who they want to love, and what they hope they haven’t lost along the way. It’s vulnerable. Sometimes it’s cringey. But it is always fascinating because it exposes the gap between who we are and who we think we will become.
The Science of the "Future Self" Gap
Why is this so hard for us? It turns out our brains are kind of wired to treat our future selves like total strangers.
Dr. Hal Hershfield, a psychologist at UCLA, has done some incredible research on this using fMRI scans. When people think about their current selves, a specific part of the brain lights up. When they think about a complete stranger, a different part activates. Here is the kicker: for many people, when they think about themselves thirty years from now, their brain reacts as if they are thinking about a stranger. This is a massive problem. If you don't "see" your future self as you, why would you save money for them? Why would you eat a salad for them? You’re basically doing a favor for someone you don't even know.
That's where the power of a my next 30 years video comes in. By articulating these goals on camera, you are forced to bridge that neurological gap. You are making the stranger a roommate.
Breaking the 30-Year Block
When people sit down to record, they usually start with the big stuff. Career. Money. Retirement. But the videos that actually resonate—the ones that stick in your head—are about the small, terrifyingly human details. They’re about whether you still have your hair. They’re about whether you ever made peace with your parents.
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- Physical Vitality: We assume we’ll stay healthy. We won't. Not without work.
- The Social Ledger: Who is still at your dinner table in thirty years? Most friendships don't survive three decades of drift.
- Cognitive Sharpness: What are you learning now that you’ll still be using then?
Why Most Long-Term Planning Fails
Planning is boring. That’s the truth. Most "5-year plans" end up in a drawer because they lack emotional weight. A video is different. You can hear the tremor in your voice when you talk about your kids growing up. You can see the excitement when you mention that business you want to start.
The biggest mistake people make with my next 30 years video is being too optimistic. It’s called "optimism bias." We think we’ll have more time, more money, and fewer problems in the future. We think we’ll magically become more disciplined. News flash: you won't. You’ll be the same person, just older and probably more tired.
To make this work, you have to be brutally honest about the risks. What if the industry you work in doesn't exist in 2045? What if your health takes a hit in your 50s? Acknowledging these things doesn't make the video depressing; it makes it real. It gives the plan teeth.
The Compounding Effect of Boredom
Success is usually just a bunch of boring habits stacked on top of each other for a really long time.
Think about it this way. If you save $500 a month starting at age 25, by the time you're 55, you have a decent chunk of change. If you start at 35, you have to save way more to catch up. Time is the only asset you can't buy more of, and 30 years is a long enough horizon for compounding to do the heavy lifting. This applies to your fitness, your marriage, and your skills. A my next 30 years video serves as a baseline. It’s the "before" shot in a 30-year transformation.
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The Logistics of a Three-Decade Video
Let’s talk practicalities. If you actually make a my next 30 years video, how do you even ensure you can watch it in three decades? Technology moves fast. Remember VHS? Exactly.
- Format: Don't just leave it on a cloud drive. Those services go bust.
- Redundancy: Put it on a physical drive, a private YouTube link, and maybe even a M-Disc (which is designed to last 1,000 years).
- The "Letter to the Future" backup: Write down the key points. Paper doesn't need a codec or a power cable to be read.
What to Actually Say
Don't script it. Just talk. Start by describing your current day. What does your coffee taste like? What are you worried about right now? This creates a "time anchor." Then, pivot. Ask your future self questions. "Are we still living in the city?" "Did we ever finish that book?"
The most moving parts of these videos are often the apologies. Apologizing to your future self for the mistakes you're making now. It’s a way of taking responsibility. "Hey, I know I'm smoking right now, and I'm sorry if your lungs are struggling. I'm trying to quit." That kind of honesty is powerful.
Confronting the Fear of Aging
There is a weird stigma around aging in our culture. We try to hide it. We pretend it isn't happening. But the my next 30 years video trend leans directly into it. It’s an admission that time is passing.
Some people find this incredibly morbid. They think, "Why would I want to look at my young face when I'm old and wrinkled?" But the perspective you gain is worth the discomfort. Looking back at your younger self isn't just about nostalgia. It’s about seeing the continuity of your life. It's about realizing that the person who made those choices in 2026 is the reason you have the life you have in 2056.
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Avoiding the Trap of "Someday"
"Someday" is a dangerous word. It’s where dreams go to die. By documenting a 30-year trajectory, you stop treating your goals like distant "somedays" and start treating them like milestones.
If you want to be a master woodworker in 30 years, you need to be a crappy woodworker today. If you want to be a billionaire, you probably need to be a "hundredaire" who understands cash flow right now. The video makes the timeline visible. It turns the fog of the future into a map.
How to Get Started with Your Own Plan
You don't need a high-end camera. Your phone is fine. You don't need a studio. Your bedroom is fine. What you need is an hour of uninterrupted time and the courage to be a little bit "extra."
- Set the Stage: Mention the date, the current events (briefly), and your current age.
- The Categories: Break it down into Health, Wealth, Relationships, and Soul. Don't be afraid to get specific. "I want to have $2.4 million in assets" is better than "I want to be rich."
- The Message to the Future You: Give yourself a piece of advice. What do you want to make sure you don't forget?
- Storage: Use at least three different methods to save the file. Set a calendar reminder for 10, 20, and 30 years from now.
The reality is that 30 years will pass whether you make a video or not. You will wake up one day, and it will be 2056. The only question is whether you’ll be living a life you designed or a life that just happened to you. Recording your intentions isn't magic, but it is a psychological contract. And usually, we try a lot harder to keep the promises we make out loud.
Take a look at your current trajectory. If nothing changes—if you keep doing exactly what you did yesterday for the next 10,950 days—where do you land? If you don't like the answer, change the input. Start by articulating the output. Record the video. Secure the file. Then, get to work making sure the person watching it in thirty years has a reason to smile.