(I ended up almost transcribing every single detail in the video because it just is too precious to leave anything out.)
Jon Ive shares his intimate moments with Steve Jobs.
Steve used to say to me — and he used to say this a lot — “Hey Jony, here’s a dopey idea.”
And just as Steve loved ideas, and loved making stuff, he treated the process of creativity with a rare and a wonderful reverence. You see, I think he better than anyone understood that while ideas ultimately can be so powerful, they begin as fragile, barely formed thoughts, so easily missed, so easily compromised, so easily just squished.
He treated the process with reverence.
While ideas are very powerful, they being as fragile thoughts, so easily squished, easily compromised.
I loved the way he listened so intently, his perception, his remarkable sensitivity and his surgically precise opinion.
I really believe there was beauty in his singular, keen insight even though sometimes it could sting.
Steve didn’t confine his sense of excellence in making products. When we travelled together, I’d leave my bags very neatly out the door and I wouldn’t unpack. I’d go sit on the bed next to the phone, and wait for the inevitable phonecall. “Hey Jony, this hotel sucks, let’s go.”
He used to joke, that the lunatics had taken over the asylum, as we spent months and months on the product that nobody will see, not with their eyes, but we did it, because we really believed that it was right. Because we cared.
He believed that there was gravity, almost civic responsibility, to care way beyond any.
It really cost us all didn’t it? It cost him most. He cared the most. He worried the most deeply. He constantly questioned “Is this good enough?” “Is this right?”
Despite all his successes or achievements, he never presumed that we will get there in the end. When the ideas didn’t come, and when the products didn’t come. It was great faith that we would eventually make something great. But the joy of getting there. I loved his enthusiasm. His simple delight, often mixed with some relief.
The rejection of reason, the rejection of being told “you can’t do that” a hundred times. As he would say, for giving a damn.
He was my closest and my most loyal friend. We worked for almost 15 years, and still laughs at the way I say “aluminum”.
We tried to find ways to say goodbye. This morning, I simply wanted to end by saying “Thank you Steve”.
Thank you for your remarkable vision which has inspired this extraordinary group of people. For all that we’ll learn from you and continually to learn from each other. Thank you Steve.
– Jon Ive
– Faceless Trader