The Man in the Mirror

Unfortunately, the day came. The day that my mourning period for the loss of Steve Jobs was forcibly brought to an end. After performing a 600+ page ritual of appreciation and awe, or in less embellished terms, after finishing Walter Isaacson's biography of Jobs, it is finally time for me to say goodbye to one of my heroes. But before I do that, I have to make it known that I've finally figured out why I've been so fascinated by Jobs in recent years.

As I expressed in my initial post about Steve's passing, I've always preferred Apple products over any other. I've owned them, loved them and allowed them to become completely embedded in my daily life. In part, it's probably because I've always liked to do things a little bit differently and stand out in subtle, yet noticeable ways. But it's also because I'm kind of the ideal Mac person. I love music, I love efficiency, I love creativity. I love quirkiness and beauty in the things I use every day and I like the things I buy to be both accessible and seemingly divine. In my opinion, Apple products are all of these things.

But why Steve? Sure, he's the figurehead for a brand that I love. But why do I care about him as anyone other than the man who delivered the news? Or the man who allowed me to have these things that so perfectly complement my life's wants and needs? If I had to guess, I would say that most were drawn to Steve Jobs as a person because he was a renegade, a rebel, a denizen of the counter-culture who was able to infiltrate the decade-old white washed walls of corporate conference rooms and build an empire of uniqueness, creativity, excitement and, of course, great products. Until I read the biography of Steve, I thought that was why I was drawn to him too.

But as I flew through the pages of Steve's life and read the many narratives of his journey, both from his perspective and from the eyes of everyone else he crossed paths with, I was hit with a big fat reality brick. I am not just intrigued by Steve because of what he's done and how he became this beacon of technological advancement and brand personality in what easily could have been a bleak, stark Big Brother computer world. I am so interested in him because I, in a way, am him. The swings between cold and warm. The unwavering focus on certain things and complete avoidance of others. The mood swings. The preferences in other types of individuals. The ways of relating to and communicating with others. As I read accounts of Steve's decisions, interactions, relationships, quirks, perks and faults, I was astounded to see so many similarities between him and myself.

In a way, coming to this realization is a bit depressing. I want to be like Steve because I'm a genius, a bringer of brilliance, an innovator, a life-changer. Not because I use words and irrational moods as a facade for my sensitivities. Not because I am able to build that facade because I know what hurts and how horrible certain things can make people feel. Not because I'm obsessive over seemingly inconsequential things and incessantly self-controlling and self-aware.

Yet, in a way, this gave me hope. Hope in two directions. The first: it gave me hope that I'll be able to make up for these flaws that I carry deeply ingrained in my personality by doing other things. By trying to be great and hopefully, eventually, achieving greatness. This hope makes me feel as though I'll be able to succeed despite these things that can (and have, in some ways) set me back.

Then, the second, it gave me hope that eventually people will come to fully and completely accept me for who I am as they did Steve. I now see that it is possible for others to come to terms with the type of person that I am, even if it hurts and confuses along the way. Whether my friends, loved ones and colleagues will have it in them to endure my less admirable qualities to make it to that point is an entirely different story. But to see that Steve always stayed true to himself and never once backed down on his intuitive reactions and actions, even though they could have used sugar-coating for the sake of social appropriateness... it made me feel alive. It made me feel like the world will go on if I stop sanding down my natural prickliness just for the sake of making it through a conversation. It made me feel, as periods of self-exploration and -awareness often do, that I'm going to be okay.

Part of why I've started sharing more personal things on this blog is because I think a big part of the common person is the common feeling. There is no question in my mind that we all spend a good amount of our time, at least subconsciously, looking for that person on the other side of the mirror. We want to find someone that we look like, sound like, dress like and, of course, act like, so we can see what's really going on inside ourselves. I've finally found at least one of these in Steve Jobs through reading this book. It would make me feel even more confident in the purpose of this blog if you all shared your similar, or completely different, experiences with me too.