A real answer to “is this it?” In your own handwriting.
A 14-day future-cast that turns “is this it?” into a year you live on purpose, by consulting the 90-year-old version of you. For high-performers who've checked every box and quietly lost the point.
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“I don’t want to live ninety-nine years just chasing the next thing.” A client, after running this
The Climber
You're climbing fast, and climbing well. The trouble is the scoreboard was handed to you: a parent's, an old coach's, an industry default you never stopped to pick. The Kit is where you find out which of those targets are yours.
The Defendant
Every win is evidence submitted to a jury that never adjourns. You're tired of proving. The Kit shows you what your drive is for when there's no one left to convince.
The Lifer
The fuel that used to work ran out, and nothing replaced it. You're still moving. The calendar carries you. But you stopped driving a while ago. The Kit helps you find the one thing that still has a pulse, and point a year at it.
The Passenger
Each step made sense at the time: the school, the first job, the city. So you took the obvious one, every time. Two decades in, you can describe your life without being able to say you chose it. The Kit surfaces which parts are yours.
Most people see themselves in more than one of these. The free 2-minute Fuel quiz goes underneath the type to what's driving you right now, and your result comes with a playbook built for that exact pattern. The quiz names your fuel; the Kit is what you do about it. Take the quiz
- You hit the goal you chased for years, and the feeling you were promised never showed up.
- You can name the problem in one clean sentence, and naming it has fixed nothing.
- Everyone sees the success story. No one sees you at 11pm, wondering if you built the wrong life.
- It's the life you were supposed to want, so saying it isn't enough feels like ingratitude. You keep it to yourself.
- You work harder to outrun the question. It only gets louder.
- You've read the books and done the journaling, and you still can't say what you'd move toward.
- Part of you knows the next achievement won't fix this. Another part feels like stopping would erase you.
You've probably tried some version of these already. They're what capable people reach for, and they tend to leave the question right where it was.
Thinking it through
More analysis. More journaling. More turning it over on the drive home. Rumination feels like progress, and it's the one move that never makes you put a stake in the ground and test it.
The bigger goal
You reached for the next title, the next number, the next proof you're fine. It bought you a while, the way it always has. Then the emptiness came back, and more of the same fuel only burns hotter.
The clean break
You've pictured blowing it up. Quit, move, start the whole thing over. Sometimes that's the right call. Just as often, the dramatic exit carries the same borrowed scoreboard to a new zip code. Worth knowing which problem you've got before you torch anything.
The vision exercise
You've done the one where you picture the ideal life and feel good for an afternoon. It gave you a nice image and no idea what to change on Monday. A picture with nothing pulling against it stays a daydream.
Why a ninety-year-old you changes today's decisions.
You've pictured a better version of your life before. On a run, in a journal, in the good part of some conference talk. It felt real for an afternoon. Then Monday came and nothing on the calendar had moved.
There's a reason it didn't stick, and it's fixable.
Your brain treats your future self like a stranger. In studies of what psychologists call future-self continuity, the ninety-year-old you registers the same way a person you've never met does. That's what makes it so easy to hand that version of you the bill: the late nights, the deferred plans, the “I’ll get to it next year.” Every one of those spends the time of someone your brain barely counts as you.
Specificity is what closes the distance. Picture that older you in real detail. An ordinary Tuesday: who’s in the room, what your hands are doing, what the morning feels like. Do that, and your brain starts to file them as you. Once the person on the porch is you, handing them your unhappiness stops making sense, and this year’s calls start going their way.
Then you set that picture next to the fifteen-year version you’d hate to wake up into. The distance between the two is what actually moves you. A future you can feel yourself losing is the one that gets you moving this week.
That’s the whole engine of the Kit: get specific enough that the porch feels like you, honest enough to feel the gap, then take the one priority you keep avoiding and test it in your real week.
Picture the version of next year where you actually did this.
You wake up on a Monday and the dread isn't there. The job didn't change. You just finally know what you're doing it for. You can say what matters to you in one sentence, and your calendar has started, in small ways, to agree with you.
When a hard call comes, you don't spiral for a week. You ask the ninety-year-old version of you, and they answer. Decisions that used to cost you a month now cost you an afternoon.
And here's what surprises most people: the answer is smaller and more human than they expected. More presence. More time pointed at the handful of people who'd celebrate with you. A year you'd be glad you spent.
None of this asks you to want less. The drive stays. What changes is what it's running on: proving, dread, and a scoreboard you never picked give way to something you'd choose.
That's what two weeks can buy you: a year you choose, in your own handwriting.
Self-guided and async. No scheduling, no cohort. Two weeks, about 30–45 minutes a few times a week.
Week 1: Clarity
Future-cast to ninety, then to the fifteen-year version you're afraid of, then back to what this year has to hold. Build Solomon and consult him as you decide. End with 3–5 priorities, each with a way to tell you're moving.
Week 2: One test
Take the priority that scared you most to write down. Turn it into one small experiment. Run it in your real week. Then debrief, with Solomon and on paper.
Two weeks. One honest answer. One thing you actually did about it.
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The 90-Year Vision
Guided prompts for a normal Tuesday and Saturday at ninety: who's in the room, what you're doing, how it feels. The part that's hardest to do cold, made simple.
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The 15-Year Hell
A contrast worksheet for the version you're quietly afraid of, and the choices that lead there. The part the research says makes the whole thing work.
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The Walk-Back
Bridge the vision to now: a five-year snapshot, then 3–5 priorities for the next twelve months, each with a way to tell you're moving.
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The Eulogy Test
Run each priority through one blunt question: does a year spent on this get you closer to the eulogy you'd want, or just a better résumé? The filter that catches the priorities that only look like they matter.
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Build Your Solomon
Turn your vision into a ninety-year-old version of you who knows how this goes and wants your good. A standing advisor you can consult on the hard calls.
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The One Experiment
The Week-2 designer: take your scariest priority, shrink it to one small test, run it in your real week, debrief on paper.
All of it in one fillable workbook, yours in both PDF and Notion, so you can write by hand or type.
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The Solomon AI Coach
A prompt and a short guide to turn your future-cast into a custom AI version of Solomon you can talk to any time. Most people's clarity dies in a drawer two weeks after they find it. This keeps your ninety-year-old self in your pocket, there for the next hard call, the next offer, the next "should I?"
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My own future-cast
The actual, messy, scribbled version I did on myself, so you're never staring at a blank page wondering if you're doing it right. You'll see exactly what "honest and unpolished" looks like.
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Your Archetype Playbook
All four fuel-type playbooks: read yours, recognize the others. Every type has a specific trap when future-casting. A Climber writes a porch that's secretly another summit; a Defendant pictures a ninety-year-old still trying to win over a jury. Yours, named, so you can catch it, and the exercise works the way your mind bends.
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The Guided Audio Walkthrough
Me walking you through the ninety-year-old Tuesday and Saturday. The hardest part to do cold and alone. Ten minutes, eyes closed, like having me in the room for the opening.
Structured self-authoring works. It's a real category, from low-cost writing programs around $30 to the executive coaching that opens with this exact exercise, the kind of engagement that runs well into five figures.
A $30 program hands you the prompts and leaves you alone with them. Coaching gives you the method and a guide, at a price most people can't justify for one question.
The Future Self Kit sits in between: the coach's actual sequence, an AI advisor built from your own answers, and a playbook for the way your fuel type bends the work.
- The 90-Year Vision
- The 15-Year Hell
- The Walk-Back
- The Eulogy Test
- Build Your Solomon
- The One Experiment
- The fillable workbook (PDF + Notion)
- Bonus: the Solomon AI Coach
- Bonus: my own worked example
- Bonus: all four archetype playbooks
- Bonus: the guided audio walkthrough
The same work, with me in the room, runs well into five figures. The Kit is $97, once, yours to re-run every year.
I'm Danny Kenny. I'm a behavioral scientist: a PhD, a decade of behavior-change and leadership work, and a coaching practice where this exact exercise is how I open with most clients.
I also spent years running on fuel that wasn't mine, performing my way past the question. (Two weeks out from submitting the PhD, I was sure the letters after my name would change something. They didn't.) The future-cast is what finally got me (and the people I work with) closer to an honest answer.
I built the Kit so you can run the first pass on your own, without booking me.
- PhD, Behavioral Science, University of Technology Sydney
- A decade coaching executives and designing leadership programs inside complex organizations, including Pfizer, Anheuser-Busch, and Yale
- Interviews leading thinkers on performance and meaning for Big Think
- Writes Seeking Wisdom: essays for high-achievers on the gap between achievement and aliveness
- Runs this future-cast as the opening move with private coaching clients
Real reactions from people who’ve run this exercise with me.
I don’t want to live ninety-nine years just chasing the next thing. I want to do work that, when it pays off, you celebrate with the people you love.
Coaching client
At no point did I name a title or a status. It feels all very relational, and that feels human and good.
Coaching client
The thing that surprised me was being able to reach what I actually want: feel it, say it. There’s conviction now.
Coaching client
A clearer year, or every cent back.
Run the two weeks. If you come out the other side without a clearer picture of the year you want, email me and I'll refund every cent. No forms, no hoops. I'd rather hand your $97 back than have it sitting in my account doing nothing for you.
The only ask: do it. A workbook you never opened can't give you anything back.
Two weeks from now you could have an answer, or be asking the same question, a little more tired.
You already know the question isn't going away. You've carried it through the last promotion, the last “once things calm down,” the last quiet Sunday night. The ninety-year-old version of you already knows what to do. This is how you ask.
The Future Self Kit is $97, once, yours for life.
Is this just journaling?
No. It's a structured sequence (vision, contrast, walk-back, one real experiment) with a method behind each step. Journaling is open-ended; this points somewhere.
I've done vision exercises before. What's here that wasn't?
The contrast (the fifteen-year "hell" the research says makes it work), Solomon as a standing advisor you keep, a playbook for your fuel type, and an experiment that makes you act, not just imagine.
I don't have time.
Two weeks, 30–45 minutes a few times a week. Less than you'll spend re-asking yourself the same question on the commute.
Is this therapy?
No. It's behavioral and practical, about what you'll do, not unpacking your childhood.
What if I don't know what matters? Isn't that the whole problem?
That's exactly who it's for. The Kit is built to surface it, not to assume you already have it.
Do I need to have taken the quiz first?
It helps (the playbooks map to the quiz's four fuel types, and you get all four), but no. The Kit stands on its own.
What's "Solomon"? Is it a religious thing?
It's just a name for a wise, ninety-year-old version of you who advises you. Name yours whatever you like.
Is $97 worth it for something self-guided?
It's the exercise I open my private coaching engagements with, and you keep it for life and re-run it every year. You decide.
What if it doesn't work for me?
Do the work and email me if it didn't give you a clearer year. Full refund.
How is this different from working with you directly?
This is the opening move, self-guided. The one-to-one work goes far deeper over months. The Kit is where you start.
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