It happened at a dinner reception many years ago in Geneva, Switzerland. I was chatting with other guests when Mikhail Gorbachev entered the room. He spotted me, strode up, and grabbed me in a bear hug. Then, he went off without a word to talk with other guests.

We had no further encounters with each other that evening or ever again.

The hug dumbfounded me for decades. Then, during a meeting recently, a colleague said something that hit me like a slap in the face. We were encouraging a member of our group—a woman in her 20s—to write an article about renewable energy. I have been a writer for 60 years on similar subjects, so I offered to help.

Another woman in the group said coldly, "She doesn't need your help. She has AI."

"That hurts," I said. "Welcome to the 21st century," she said flatly.

It was a rude awakening. I realized that despite all my hard-won experience, I am now obsolete. I can't ask Gorbachev about the hug; he passed away in 2020. But maybe he felt his impending obsolescence, too. Perhaps we all do, eventually.

I thought back to that evening in Geneva. Earlier that day, I made a short presentation to the directors of an organization Gorbachev founded—Green Cross International. Gorbachev chaired the meeting. Green Cross gave me 15 minutes to present an idea I was promoting at the time.

I wanted to produce video interviews with Gorbachev, other Nobel Laureates, and other living leaders who had changed the course of history. Before they disappeared, I would capture their advice to young "change agents" who hoped to positively impact the world.

I was such a person, and still am. In the United States during the 1960s, I watched charismatic leaders work and sacrifice for civil rights, women's rights, peace, and environmental justice. The Rev. Martin Luther King stirred millions with his dream; Bobby Kennedy inspired hope; black leaders like Medgar Evers and Malcolm X fought for civil rights; John Kennedy called for the "torch to be passed to a new generation" and sent America to the Moon. They were all assassinated and disappeared long before they finished their work. It remains unfinished today.

Years ago, in a speech at the World Youth Conference, I got a standing ovation for saying I would never pass the torch because the times required that all generations have their hands on it. But at 78, I'm learning about torch-passing. It hurts to give it up before we've finished the jobs to which we've dedicated our lives. But to paraphrase Dr. King, the arc of change is long, and some changes take the dedication of multiple generations. Torch-passing is like an intergenerational relay race. We each do our parts as best we can and count on succeeding runners to win the race.

While I still have some strides left, my pace is undeniably slowing, and my grip is not as firm as it used to be. The moment for torch-passing is coming. I'm on the tip of the Baby Boomer spear, so I expect millions more of my generation to approach the same point. It would be some consolation if we could hand next-generation leaders an operating manual along with the torch, offering some insights into what we learned in our leg of the race. It also would be nice if the next generations wanted to read it.

The world was blessed to have Gorbachev. He changed it for the better with his democratic reforms in the old Soviet Union, his willingness to end the Cold War and his dedication to nuclear arms control. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1990 "for his leading role in the radical changes in East-West relations."

After he resigned in 1991 as the Soviet Union's last president, Gorbachev dedicated himself to promoting environmental stewardship, world peace, and disarmament. He founded Green Cross International in 1993. Modeled on the International Red Cross, GCI continues working in 30 countries today to facilitate dialogue, medication, and collaboration.

However, his life was not easy, and appreciation for his work was not universal. After his death in 2022, The Guardian wrote, "Until his very last day, Mikhail Gorbachev lived in a dual reality—loved and celebrated in Washington, Paris, and London, but reviled by large numbers of Russians who never forgave him for the turbulence that his reforms unleashed." An old friend who visited Gorbachev before he died explained, "He gave us all freedom—but we don't know what to do with it."

So, why the hug?

Someone pointed out that we all die twice. The first death is physical; the second happens as the world forgets our names, work, and legacy. History will remember Gorbachev for a very long time, but many other change agents are less well known. Their impacts were more subtle, and legacies more perishable. But even Gorbachev may have worried that history would devalue his. I believe his hug was a thank you for recognizing his contribution and wanting to keep his influence alive.

Since that evening in Geneva, the ability to help us all avoid the second death has advanced considerably. For over 20 years, a program called Storycorps has taped conversations with ordinary Americans who tell their stories for posterity. The project is "designed to capture the diverse voices of everyday Americans and reveal our shared humanity." The recordings are broadcast nationally on National Public Radio in the U.S., archived in the Library of Congress, and available online in the "largest single collection of human voices ever gathered." At last count, it has captured the stories of nearly 700,000 people.

More recently, artificial intelligence has captured the voices, holographic images, and experiences of Holocaust survivors. After their passing, historians and descendants can hear from and even talk with them about their lives. Families are creating the avatars of deceased loved ones with chatbots and videos. AI analyzes information about the subjects along with their voices and mannerisms to allow "digital resurrections."

AI's ability to do the work of human writers and artists raises difficult ethical questions. One hopes technology will never have the depth and value of human creativity—that an original Picasso, for example, will always be worth infinitely more than a perfect AI copy. I believe the works of a painter, sculptor, or writer are imbued somehow with qualities a computer cannot replicate, as though a bit of the artist's soul is captured in their work. So far, at least, robots don't have souls.

However, I do wonder whether AI can shorten the long arc of evolution and guide it toward greater harmony with nature and one another. My generation should work on that, but sadly, we're running out of time to see it.