I spent last weekend immersed in conversations about mortality, palliative care, psychedelics, grief, meaning and what it means to accompany human beings through some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. The gathering brought together participants from the 15-month Psychedelic Assisted Therapy programme (in which I am a grateful participant), which includes palliative care doctors, psychiatrists, psychotherapists, nurses, psychologists and therapists of many flavours, all exploring how we meet suffering, uncertainty and existential distress with greater courage, honesty and humanity.
One of the great privileges of the weekend was spending time and co-facilitating with Dr Sivan Schipper, a progressive palliative care doctor in Switzerland who is leading research into the benefits of LSD for people with terminal diagnoses, as well as with Dr Bill Richards, whose work in the field of psychedelics and end-of-life care has spanned more than six decades.
Many people know Bill for his extraordinary contribution to psychedelic research and consciousness studies, but what struck me most was something far more inspiring than expertise or reputation. It was his palpable, almost boyish delight in working alongside younger generations who are now carrying aspects of this work forward.
Again and again, I sensed his genuine excitement in seeing people in their 50s, 40s, 30s and even 20s stepping more fully into these conversations and fields of practice. There was generosity in it. Curiosity. Reverence. An utter absence of territoriality that I rarely encounter in organisational life. Far from needing to remain the central figure, he seemed energised by witnessing the work evolving through others, whether they were physically present in the room or contributing elsewhere across the world. He spoke with fascination and encouragement about work whose full impact may only emerge long after his lifetime is complete.
I found myself reflecting on leadership, ageing and what it means to become a stewarding elder rather than simply older and (one hopes) wiser.
Many organisational cultures speak enthusiastically about innovation, disruption and leadership development, while simultaneously struggling with succession, renewal and the transfer of wisdom across generations. Leaders are often rewarded for their visibility, control, and personal achievements. Yet far less attention is given to the developmental shift that may eventually be required of them: the movement from building and proving towards stewarding and passing on.
That shift asks something very difficult of us, which is to loosen our grip. To let go. To recognise the impermanence not only of life itself, but also of our roles, expertise, accomplishments, authority, ideas and identities. Every position we hold will eventually be occupied by someone else. Every contribution we make will one day be absorbed into a wider flow of continuation and change. Awareness of this reality can produce fear, defensiveness and clinging, or it can deepen perspective, humility and care for what comes next.
Over the years, I have worked with many senior leaders navigating questions of transition, identity and legacy. Beneath strategic conversations about succession planning or organisational renewal, there is invariably something far more existential. What happens when the role that once defined us begins to dissolve? How do we remain fully alive and engaged while allowing others to shape the future? What does it mean to contribute to something that will outlive us?
Healthy systems depend upon this capacity. Organisations stagnate when founders, senior leaders or long-standing experts cannot release control, trust younger generations or allow the work to evolve beyond their own image. Regenerative leadership requires continuity without rigidity. It asks for enough humility to recognise that wisdom must circulate and breathe, rather than accumulate around a single person, function or organisation.
What moved me so deeply over the course of the weekend was witnessing wise elderhood expressed through encouragement rather than authority. Bill Richards’ visible pleasure in seeing younger practitioners stepping forward created the kind of atmosphere in which people became braver with their questions and comments, more thoughtful in their reflections and more willing to contribute their own perspectives and experience. The baton of learning and contribution was not reluctantly surrendered; it was shared and collaboratively held with warmth, trust and enthusiasm.
I left reflecting on how nourishing it is to spend time around people who are not fighting reality. Mortality, ageing and succession are not organisational failures or personal shortcomings. They are part of the natural flow of life itself and are essential for renewal within any living system. Every healthy ecology relies upon cycles of emergence, contribution, decline, renewal and continuation.
Perhaps one of the clearest signs of mature leadership is finding genuine satisfaction in seeing others carry the work onward, taking what we have loved, shaped or nurtured and allowing it to evolve in ways we could never have predicted ourselves.
Bill, you mentioned that it was your 86th birthday this week. As you move into your 87th year, thank you for the extraordinary contribution you have made over so many decades, to life, to death, to love, and to life again. Thank you too for the example of elderhood, generosity and “mortal leadership” you offered so naturally throughout the weekend. Your visible delight in seeing younger generations pick up the baton will prove every bit as important as the wisdom you have spent a lifetime gathering and sharing.
