A while back, I was invited to speak at an event connected to the World Business Forum conference in Milan which was sponsored by the Italian Institute of Technology. At the time, I was beginning a relationship with the organization. Having recently moved to Italy, I was looking for a way to stay connected to technology and to contribute to the country that had welcomed Deborah and me. I also wanted an identity here that wasn’t simply “some old wealthy retired American.” IIT offered a path toward that. Recently, IIT appointed me as the first Fellow, giving me an official role at this amazing institute.

When I was asked to speak, I immediately said yes. I thought, mistakenly, that I would be speaking on the main World Business Forum stage. I didn’t realize the talk was for a special IIT event with only about a hundred participants. But honestly, I would have accepted even if I’d known.

Still, when I later stood inside the enormous main hall, which seats 3,000 people, I felt a pang. That was the kind of room I used to speak in regularly, many times a year. I remember finishing talks and being swarmed by people offering business cards like I was some kind of rock star.

During my IIT talk, I confessed early on that it was the first speech I had given in 27 years, and that the last time I spoke on a public stage, I had shared it with Steve Jobs. In the 1990s, when I was Vice President of Business Development at Intel and co-founder of Intel Capital, I often spoke in rooms packed with executives from telecommunications, media, and finance. Intel was then the third most valuable company in the world, and as one of its key executives, I was very much in demand.

But soon after, I stopped speaking. I felt I no longer had anything new to say. For eight straight years, I had spoken about one topic: the rise of the internet, and especially the importance of residential broadband—a mission that defined much of my life. At the same time, I knew I would be leaving Intel. I was dealing with prostate cancer that looked like it might have metastasized (it hadn’t, thankfully). And I no longer wanted my life to be entirely about work.

I sensed I was at my peak, and I didn’t want to become an aging rock star trying to cling to yesterday.

So why say yes now? Partly because I want to resist the way life tends to shrink as we age. The things that once felt effortless begin to feel risky. So I consciously seek out what I call my “discomfort zone.” Every year, Deborah and I take a trip to a place we’re a little uneasy about. Last year it was Oman. You might not consider that risky, but then you are probably not an Israeli citizen like me, nor someone with Israeli visas filling your passport like Deborah. We were thoroughly interrogated at the border, but eventually let in. It turned out to be an extraordinary country.

The speeches I used to give came naturally. I was a gifted speaker, if I may say so. I always made a few notes, but never needed them. I focused on the audience. I had a perfect sense of timing, and I never ran over or under my allotted slot. I discovered on November 11th that this sense of timing is still intact.

My talk was titled “It No Longer Matters What You Know, Only What You Can Imagine.” It explored the evolving relationship between humans and AI. Preparing it gave me the chance not only to learn, but to speculate freely. It was also the first talk of my life in which I created all the visuals using AI. That part was astonishing. AI allowed me to reach parts of myself that I always sensed were there but could never access.

In the days leading up to the speech, I was anxious. I didn’t know whether I could stay on topic. I tried creating speaker notes, but they didn’t help. I tried reading the speech, but that felt impossible. In the end, I had to do what I had always done: trust myself and simply speak.

The result was probably pretty good. Not an A, as in the old days, but a solid B. And that is fine. Speaking to a live audience is no longer my medium.

But I still have things I want to say, to explore, and to share. From now on, I will focus on writing and perhaps on making videos.

If you read my speech, I would very much appreciate your feedback—either in the comments or by email at avram@avrammiller.com.