At the intersection of two of my favorite streets in Palo Alto sits a lovely house with a courtyard known for crawling with hired zombies at Halloween. One of those streets is my favorite to drive, walk, and bike down in Palo Alto, its winding road and pretty homes making for a relaxing passage. Many are bigger homes, but most aren't mansions; Steve Jobs' tudor house with its magical Halloween courtyard isn't. It's a normalish house for here, for a normalish family, with kids who went to their neighborhood grammar school and a family who ate in our same restaurants, shopped in our stores, and whose friends are friends with my kids. But, of course, it's not just any normalish house: it's the Jobs house. And for the past month, as we passed by daily, we noticed the changes: security cars, a private ambulance waiting. When Steve Jobs announced his resignation from Apple, the press suspected he was, again, unwell. Those of us who live here saw the other signs, and we held our breath.
Yesterday, we exhaled, with accompanying sobs and looks of shocks -- for even when you know it's coming, when the light of a great visionary is extinguished, it is rather dark and upsetting.
A Buddhist, Steve Jobs likely would appreciate the continuity of the circle of life on the day of his passing: more babies are born on October 5 than on any other day of the year. Somehow, that seems fitting, just like the rain that has beset Palo Alto over the last few days -- rain that is a bit unusual, as it's usually not this constant this early in the season. My kids call rain "angel's tears," and I think they're spot-on.
Steve Jobs is part of why I love living in Palo Alto -- and I say "is" intentionally, for while his life is gone, his legend never will be. Of all of the words he could use in his life, he used ones like "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." -- words that actually weren't his own but, rather, were poached from a catalogue, adopted as a mantra and shared in a Stanford graduation speech in 2005 as a way to live. In this and in many other speeches, he encouraged and challenged, but his advice never felt dogmatic. It just felt simple, and straightforward, and do-able. And though his legend lives on in a message of passion that can never die, Silicon Valley feels, right now, like a ship without a captain, the person who motivates and sticks with and inspires his crew. I daresay that none of our other local leaders of high-tech industry have been as personally inspiring. Jobs reminded us that we don't all need to found an Apple, but we do all need to remember that aiming to do something bigger than ourselves is a worthy goal, whether it's through work, service, art, writing or whatever brings us joy. When I try to figure out what, to me, Jobs' legacy is, I don't think of Apple first; I am reminded that great things come from living one's life intentionally and with passion, purpose, and commitment. If I can be remembered that way while living and once gone, then I, too, will have been a great success.
All that said, I will remember Steve Jobs, not only as our Captain, but mostly as a man -- the man who sat next to me in Fraiche, eating an order of oatmeal and blueberries, the same thing that I was eating, in companionable silence. He took my oatmeal when it came up first, and I joked with him about it a bit. With a twinkle in my eye, knowing full well to whom I was about to speak, I said, "hey you, you took my oatmeal," just as his (which became my) own order came up. He apologized, also with a twinkle, and we complimented one another's great taste. He sat, I sat, and there he was: the very skinny man in the St. Croix black turtleneck, old Levis, and New Balance shoes, the father, the husband, the friend, the Captain, eating oatmeal, just like me, thinking big, just like me, trying to make the world a better place, just like me, and mortal, just like me. We were hungry; we were foolish. We were part of this great place we call home, and it won't be the same place without him -- but we owe it to him to carry on and to dream big, to think big, and to create things we never imagined before.
May our Captain rest in eternal piece, and may his family be comforted in their time of loss.
* All photos above were taken on my iPhone outside the Apple store on University Ave. in Palo Alto. We received a message from our daughter's school, where one of his daughters is also a student, that the family desires privacy; the road by their home has been cordoned off, and, though a memorial there is still forming much greater in size than that at the Apple store, I opted to steer clear and to take no photographs out of respect for their wishes.
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