Jobs had been teaching us to say goodbye to all that for decades — we just didn’t know it.
… in these final years, when the auditorium lights in would go down and the crowd would go wild for Jobs, who increasingly greeted his followers and touted the latest neat, new thing even as he wore the look of a person who was not going into that future with us.
He would be getting off here; we were to proceed without him … Let it go and look ahead was the message all along.
Hank Stueval in the Washington Post
Okay, I’m going to cry some more.
Such a lovely piece. Not that Steve’s death has sunk in—I can’t think of anything weirder than seeing the words Steve Jobs and Dead together. Was there ever anybody more alive, more publicly embracing of this temporary condition we call our lives. And Jobs and I had so much in common. Hippies who wouldn’t take direction from anybody, the kind of people who have to do things their own way. Perhaps that’s what made it so personal; I recognized his star—you know, the one by which you set your course. Not that my own outcome didn’t fall apart, but still, if you are born that way, you are.How few geeks ever got him as Artist. As creative genius. I think that’s a great deal of the bitterness directed at “fanboys” — hell, all the people who call Apple a cult. Which is as clueless a comprehension of who Steve was and what he was about …
And of course the envy, the male envy. The shit, the complete shit that has been posted everywhere, guys I like who still don’t get it. It’s a badge they wear with pride, born of two things: deep, deep envy of another tech guy whose company is Worth More Than the GDP of Denmark, all 32 Eurozone banks, et al. Funny—and the schadenfreude value alone!
I saw my first Powerbook in the lovely fall of 1992, a woman visiting my ranch in Sonoma County sat out on the lawn. “What is she reading?” I asked my lover. “Go take a look–it’s a computer,” he said. I promptly came in from the crazy cold of Compaq, of writing your own config sys and bat mod files, and went right out and bought one. As did my lover. We sat out in the warm evenings and by the light of an old table lamp, composed Alert sounds to each other, snippets of Tunnel Of Love … Where was I.
You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something…
Man, I recognize that. As would anybody whose formative years were in the late Sixties. And do you have anything better to bank on? I’d guess—if you understand the question, if your head lit up at Lennon’s “I don’t believe in Beatles, I just believe in me” (you can leave out the Yoko part, poor unlikeable thing)—I’d guess Not.
If you believe that the Inside is greater than the Outside, that its potential is not limited—even when circumstance surely may be—then you probably were as jazzed about Steve and what he did to the world of products, to the world of the corporation, as I was.
Letting go is hard. A secret little corner of the soul hangs on to the way we wish it would be. Give it a few years. It’s as personal as they come.