thoughts | zachary jean paradis

I’m starting a series of posts notionally titled “First Thought.” The premise is there is one important news item of the last week–a big “move” in the innovation space–that I highlight and dissect, sharing some initial thinking the following Monday. In this, my inaugural First Thought post, I’ve decided to do a bit more highlighting and a little bit less dissecting.

As we now enter week 4 of the “Post-Jobs Era”, I couldn’t help but reflect on what an absolute powerhouse Steve Jobs has been in the worlds of innovation, technology and design. As Walter Isaacson notes in his recently released biography of Jobs, Steve was a man who, “revolutionized six industries: personal computers, animated movies, music, phones, tablet computing, and digital publishing.” People the world over have found inspiration in his thinking, his words and, of course, his products.

One man though–Jonathan “Jony” Ive–had the unique opportunity to work with Steve Jobs in a 15 year partnership that produced many of the world’s most iconic products during that time: iMac, iPhone, Macbook Air, iPad, among others. While no one would question Ive’s part in that success, he himself admits and recognizes Jobs’ powerful vision and inspiration.

It was all too fitting that Ive’s speech–tweeted as “sublime” by Kontra–in Apple’s “A Celebration to Steve’s Life” focused on how Jobs inspired and conspired to bring new creations into the world. Many people say they want to make something great, but few really understand what that means.

Rather than support or critique a shift in the market, I decided I would hand my first “First Thought” over to Jony Ive by taking the time to transcribe and share his speech.

With that, Jonathan “Jony” Ive, Senior Vice President of Design, Apple on Steve Jobs:

You know Steve used to say to me, and he used to say this a lot, “Hey Jony, here’s a dopey idea.” And sometimes they were. Really dopey. Sometimes, they were truly dreadful. But sometimes they took the air from the room and they left us both completely silent.

Bold, crazy, magnificent ideas. Or quiet simple ones, which in their subtlety, their detail, they were utterly profound.

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.

You know I loved the way he listened so intently. I loved his perception, his remarkable sensitivity and his surgically precise opinion. I really believe there was a beauty in how singular and how keen his insight was. Even though sometime it could sting.

As I’m sure many of you know, Steve didn’t confine his excellence to making products. You know when we travelled together, we would check in and I would go up to my room. And I would leave my bag very neatly by the door, and I wouldn’t unpack. And I would go sit on the bed. I would go sit on the bed next to the phone. And I would wait for the inevitable phone call, “Hey Jony, this hotel sucks. Let’s go.”

He used to joke that the lunatics had taken over the asylum as we shared a giddy excitement spending months and months working on a part of a product that nobody would ever see, or not with their eyes. But we did it because we really believed it was right... because we cared. He believed there was a gravity, almost a sense of civic responsibility to care way beyond any sort of functional imperative.

Now while the work hopefully appeared inevitable, appeared simple and easy, it really cost. It cost us all, didn’t it? But you know what, it cost him most. He cared the most. He worried the most deeply. He constantly questioned, “Is this good enough? Is this right?”

And despite all his successes, his achievements, he never presumed, he never assumed we would get there in the end. When the ideas didn’t come and when the prototypes failed, it was with great intent, with faith he decided to believe, we would eventually make something great.

But the joy of getting there. I loved his enthusiasm, his simple delight, often I think mixed with some relief, but that, “Yeah, we got there. We got there in the end and it was good.” You can see his smile can’t you.

The celebration of making something great for everybody. Enjoying the defeat of cynicism, the rejection of reason, the rejection of being told one hundred times, “You can’t do that.” So his, I think, was a victory for beauty, for purity and, as he would say, “For giving a damn.”

He was my closest and my most loyal friend. We worked together for nearly fifteen years and he still laughed at the way I said, “Aluminum.” “Aluminium.”

For the past two weeks, I think we’ve all been struggling to find ways to say goodbye. This morning, I simply want to end by saying, “Thank you Steve.” Thank you for your remarkable vision which has united and inspired this extraordinary group of people. For all that we have learned from you and for all that we will continue to learn from each other, thank you Steve.

If you would like to watch Jony Ive share his thoughts about Steve in video, skip ahead to 48:15 in Apple’s “A Celebration of Steve’s Life”.