Dear Steve,
I never
knew you. I never really even liked you, to be honest. I thought you were
arrogant and controlling, a genius of consumer psychology who turned everything
we know about technology
adoption on its head, but a sort of evil genius – or at least a selfish one
– who did it all for his own legacy (you never struck me as financially
greedy), and who did not hesitate to trample on anyone who stood in his way.
It took your
death to let me see you for who you really were: an intensely focused man who
cared deeply about bringing beauty and elegance to the digital world; who
wanted the benefit of computing to be not just available but attractive and even
exciting to the majority of society that just wants to enjoy their tools and
toys and could care less about hacking
them. I was ripping MP3s in 1997 using Winamp; why did I need iTunes? I knew how to install programs (not "apps") on my color,
touch-screen, 3G smartphone six months
before the first iPhone and 18 months before the App Store.
Why were people so stupid and simple-minded that they needed Apple to hold
their hand on the way to these already self-evident technologies?
As I grew
up I started to realize that life was too busy and complex to master
everything, and that it was nice to rely on experts in fields that I couldn’t
be bothered with learning. I don’t
want to be an electric engineer or a literary critic – I want my electricity to
just work and I want other people to review books for me so that I can easily find the
ones I want. Slowly I came to understand that most people look at technology
the same way – they just want it to work so that they could focus
on their own lives. Yet it took your death to let me see that that was your raison d'ĂȘtre, the thing that drove you to do all that you did: making peoples' lives simpler, not self-promotion.
And yet the
greatest insight you gave me in death was not the greatness of your life
but how I had blinded myself to it. The gnawing, empty pit I felt on hearing
the news forced me to ask the uncomfortable question: why was I mourning for a
man I had no great fondness for during his life?
For two days
I wrestled with this question. It wasn't until last night, on Yom
Kippur - the Jewish holiday of fasting and asking for forgiveness from God
and ones fellow man - that I found the answer as I drifted off into sleep.