Originally published October 11, 2011
Many years ago, I lived in Cupertino, the birthplace of Apple Computer. They had a fitness center, state-of-the-art, of course, and I taught several exercise classes there between 1984-1985.
Steve Jobs never took any of them.
The public reaction to his death has surprised me as much as my one. I cried. I wept.
I guess this was because, like many others, I LOVED his products. They changed my life. They also changed the lives of those around me.
His products helped me become more productive and, in turn, happier. The people around me appreciated that happier person.
I earned a Master’s degree almost entirely on my Macintosh.
All my (and many other instructors’) cycle classes’ music comes from an iPhone or iPod, with pieces purchased through iTunes or streamed from an app acquired in the App Store. This subgroup of “group exercise instructors” is just one small example of how Jobs’ products’ tentacles are everywhere. Six degrees of Apple.
I guess, too. There is the fundamental unfairness of his death. Why does he go so young when others who have not done anything significant get to live on (and on)?
Don’t try to answer this. If you do, you’ll sound like an ass. It’s just unfair and one of those mysteries in life.
If there is anything I can take away from Steve Jobs’s life, having never met him, it’s this: people who make things can form a connection with the people who use them that can be deep and meaningful. Ultimately, the regard will be based on the item, not the person (Jobs reportedly had many personal peccadillos).
Life is short; make good things.