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(: …enough said, this is your life…
Pagi ini nemu artikel menarik di The New York Times :)
Tulisan itu adalah tulisan saudara kandung Steve Jobs yang bernama Mona Simpson. Mereka baru bertemu di tahun 1985 ketika Mona berusia 25 tahun.
Menurut Mona, Steve adalah orang rendah hati dan seorang hard worker sejati. Walaupun demikian, Steve sebenarnya adalah orang yang romantis dan sangat sayang keluarga.
Artikel tersebut terasa begitu emosional.
Berikut ini beberapa kutipan artikel tersebut yang kusuka.
Yang aku bold adalah hal-hal yang menurutku gagah.
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Steve worked at what he loved. He worked really hard. Every day.
That’s incredibly simple, but true.
He was the opposite of absent-minded.
He was never embarrassed about working hard, even if the results were failures.
If someone as smart as Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit trying, maybe I didn’t have to be.
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His philosophy of aesthetics reminds me of a quote that went something like this:
“Fashion is what seems beautiful now but looks ugly later; art can be ugly at first but it becomes beautiful later.”
Steve always aspired to make beautiful later.
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He was a physical dad, with each of his children.
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His abiding love for Laurene sustained him. He believed that love happened all the time, everywhere.In that most important way, Steve was never ironic, never cynical, never pessimistic. I try to learn from that, still.
Steve was humble. Steve liked to keep learning.
Once, he told me if he’d grown up differently, he might have become a mathematician. He spoke reverently about colleges and loved walking around the Stanford campus. In the last year of his life, he studied a book of paintings by Mark Rothko, an artist he hadn’t known about before, thinking of what could inspire people on the walls of a future Apple campus.
This is what I learned: he was working at this, too. Death didn’t happen to Steve, he achieved it.
He told me, when he was saying goodbye and telling me he was sorry, so sorry we wouldn’t be able to be old together as we’d always planned, that he was going to a better place.
Dr. Fischer gave him a 50/50 chance of making it through the night.
He made it through the night, Laurene next to him on the bed sometimes jerked up when there was a longer pause between his breaths. She and I looked at each other, then he would heave a deep breath and begin again.
This had to be done. Even now, he had a stern, still handsome profile, the profile of an absolutist, a romantic. His breath indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude.
He seemed to be climbing.
But with that will, that work ethic, that strength, there was also sweet Steve’s capacity for wonderment, the artist’s belief in the ideal, the still more beautiful later.
Steve’s final words, hours earlier, were monosyllables, repeated three times.
Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.
Steve’s final words were:
OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.
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