Farewell Steve Jobs

I type this today, on an iMac. A duplicate of my work machine, chosen because it works. Beside it is the spare monitor, plugged into the back. My iPhone 4, my iPad1 mail point and my iPad2 sketching tablet. So, sure, call me a fanboy if you want to, but I can't think of the last time that one of them had a serious problem. Each one of these pieces of kit does what I want, when I want it and is up and running when I need it to be. 


None of them came with serious manuals and, with a couple of really minor exceptions, I've never needed them. That's because, again, they work. And they work as I expect. And they look good, doing it. I love the functional aesthetic - beauty and function belong together. So, today, I consider myself lucky that I have all of this stuff and I thank Steve Jobs for his influence on these matters, his direct intervention, his vision and his moments of something close to outright theft when he took revolutionary concepts from a place that didn't appear to be doing too much with them and brought them to the world. (Sorry, Xerox PARC, that's probably unfair and biassed - but you need to disseminate your own legends!)


However, I'd like to thank Steve Jobs for another reason. But let me meander for a moment. Those who know me will know that I've changed careers several times. Those who really know me will also know that those changes are often signposted by the deaths or illnesses of people close to me. This is not such a moment, but this is still a possible moment for change.


Now, I've seen Steve Jobs once, from a distance, and I don't consider us close or friends, but his impact upon me as an information technology professional and the pleasure that his company's products have brought me are undeniable. This is a great moment of reflection, because there is a risk that there will be nothing as visionary as iPhone or iPad from Apple again. This may be their Atlantis moment, the point at which everything else is a decline. (Frankly, I don't really think it is, for what that's worth, but my crystal ball is terrible.)


At times of uncertainty, loss or sorrow, I always look to myself and what I'm doing, where my future appears to be. Steve Job made a speech back in 2005, where he said:


"No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

The last two times that I hit a fork, a death, a sudden loosening of the ground, I changed direction. I neatly closed off a career, found a new one and chased it hard. Sometimes this works better than others. But, at a time like this, I look at what I am doing. That second paragraph is one of the best statements of my core beliefs I can think of. 

Am I being the best Nick Falkner I can be?

Am I using my talents in a way that makes me happy and enriches the world?

Am I a good husband, friend, family member and colleague?

Could any of this be better in another job or career?

This has not been the easiest year for me, for a range of reasons, and I have thought about doing other things on at least one occasion. Not because my job is particularly hard, although it required consistent and considerable effort to achieve what I've achieved, nor because my workplace is unpleasant or my colleagues are ogres. Mostly, I questioned whether I was bringing what I could share with the world to the right place.

Steve's death makes me reflect again upon those questions. You know what? If this isn't the best Nick Falkner I can be, then it must be pretty damn close. Most days make me happy in what I've achieved, I can reflect upon the positive changes I've made with satisfaction and I can regard the things I am yet to achieve as challenges. Hell, if you're going to have frightening amounts of agency, you may as well use it! 

I am teaching, educating and informing the next generation of our species. The ones who will have the hard jobs of cleaning up after us and our parents. The ones who will have to build the giant smart sea-walls. The ones who may have to repopulate the oceans. The ones who will stand on our shoulders and see a new world that is unreachable for us, but a hand's span away for them. The ones who may live in the stars and live for an unbelievably long time. So we want them to be good people. Smart people. Kind, caring and thoughtful people. We don't want the first generation of immortals to be assholes - it would be like 'Atlas Shrugged' on loop.

You should be in no doubt, although it sounds hard and it sometimes is hard, I really, really love my job. Because I get a new chance every day, every meeting, every student to make a positive difference in someone's life. To infect them with my enthusiasm. To make them think. To show them what thought looks like. To show them that criticism can be both constructive and kind. 

Am I a good man? I must be honest and admit that I have not been the best of friends this year, because I have been so inward-looking. I am concerned about some of my friends and I have not spoken out because I am scared of being rebuffed, or damaging the friendship, or getting it wrong because I'm misreading the signals. But I'm trying to be a good man, and most of the time I'm not evil. Give me 70 billion dollars and I'm Google.

So, thank you, Steve. You changed my life in many ways - the fact that I can work as I want to work and how I work best is down to products that you championed, pioneered and fought to have going out the door right. I am so sorry for your early loss, and for your family's loss. 56 is too soon. Cancer can get fucked, frankly. 

But, thank you, as well, for one last piece of help with my life: for reminding me how lucky I am to have what I have, to do what I do and to be what I am. Thank you for a very valuable moment of reflection, at a very useful time.

But I only wish that it didn't have to come at the death of someone at 56. That's just far too soon. Rest well.