First, I need to thank Lorelle for sending her site visitors here. I really appreciate the nice things she said about me.
Unfortunately, due to an extremely hectic travel schedule, I’ve been neglecting this blog — so there’s nothing new of interest to read! How embarrassing.
I hope any first-time visitors aren’t too disappointed. Try back in a week or two; I hope to be back up to speed. I definitely have lots to blog about. I just need time in front of a computer to get it written.
He meant a lot to me, too.
Last night, I stopped by the Apple Store at the Biltmore Fashion Park. That’s an outdoor mall walking distance from our Phoenix condo. I needed a glare reduction screen for my iPad, which I’ll be using an an electronic flight bag on my helicopter flight from Washington to Arizona this weekend.
As I expected, the Apple logo above the door was dark. But what I didn’t expect was the small and rather sad collection of wilted flowers and cold candles on the pavement outside the store, just to the right of the door. A man in a wheelchair sat there, with a middle-aged woman nearby. They stared intensely at the shrine.
It reminded me of the cult-like members of some of the Apple User Groups I’d presented to in the past.
I thought it was weird — I’m really not a shrine person — and said so on a Facebook post.
Someone commented and asked me why I thought it was weird. And that forced me to finally come to grips with my feelings about the death of Steve Jobs.
Like so many other people, Steve Jobs meant a lot to me.
Steve Jobs was a genius. While he didn’t invent concepts like the MP3 player, smart phone, or tablet computer, he guided Apple to create new and innovative entries into these markets that redefined what each of these things were. The iPod and iTunes store changed the way we listen to and buy music — it shook up an entire industry that had previously been completely unrelated to computers. The iPhone and its App Store took smartphones to the next level, making them far more user friendly and useful than ever before. The iPad brought the iPhone’s now-familiar and wildly successful interface and apps to a larger, more useful device, bringing with it the dawn of the “post PC” era. These products literally changed the world.
Steve Jobs was a perfectionist. He put his high standards before social acceptance — in other words, he’d rather have “insanely great” products than be well-liked. I can really identify with this. While I can’t claim to be anywhere near as smart or picky as Steve was, I also try hard to put my standards first and, I can assure you, that has often had a serious negative impact on personal relationships. But Steve really didn’t seem to care. It was the product first, the company first. If it had the Apple name or logo on it, it had to be up to his standards, period. How can I not respect that?
Steve Jobs was also the embodiment of something I’ve been saying for a long time: you don’t need a college degree to do great things. What you need is a good brain, a great work ethic, the ability to work smart and stay focused, and the drive to succeed. He proved, again and again, that you can get ahead in life by working hard and smart. His flame burned brightly for his entire life, always thinking about the next project, even as he finished the one before it. He never rested; he was driven to succeed.
Is it any wonder that Steve Jobs was one of my personal heroes?
The life story of Steve Jobs is an example of what made America great so many years ago. It’s also a lesson for what could make it great again — if we’d all get off our asses and get to work, using Steve as a role model. Sadly, I don’t think that will happen. Yes, there’s been a disturbance in The Force, but once it dissipates, America will go back to sleep.
Everyone is writing about Steve Jobs these days. I’m probably one of the last to do so. It took me a while to think about what I wanted to say, what I needed to say. And what I’m saying is likely nothing new.
We all knew what Steve Jobs was — an insightful man driven to perfection. How can anyone not love and respect that?
In the quiet time before dawn.
I tried to do my laundry yesterday, but when I arrived at the laundromat, it was filled with people and there was a wait for a washer. The idea of spending a few hours among the kind of people who use laundromats on a Saturday morning with their screaming kids wasn’t very appealing to me — I will be the first to admit I’m a snob — so I left, taking my dirty clothes with me.
I drove around all day yesterday with most of my wardrobe in laundry bags in the back seat area.
I came back this morning at 6:10. What a difference! Not only is the place completely deserted, but it’s spotlessly clean. Sound was the only problem. As usual, the TVs had been tuned to a Spanish-language channel playing what had to be a soap opera. At 6:10 AM. And, as usual, the volume had been set to full blare. I guess they’ll need the volume later when the place fills up.
I dumped my clothes into three washers: two giant front loaders for whites and darks and a small top loader for my throw rugs. I pumped in the correct change — I save quarters in case the change machines don’t work. I added too much soap, set the temps, and programmed a second rinse. Once everything was spinning, I could relax.
But not before I dealt with the TV. The remote had been attached to the wall in such a way that it couldn’t be moved. The buttons were accessible, but neither the volume or mute buttons did a thing. The channel button worked, though. I tuned the TV to an unsubscribed channel and got immediate relief from the racket. Now the Dish Network logo is floating around the screen.
I left my old electric blanket on the counter with a FREE /GRATIS sign on it. Yes, the electric part is broken — and discarded — but the blanket is still warm. Winter is coming. It might mean the difference between a good night’s sleep and a shivering one for someone.
Then I sat down with my iPad to do email, social networking, etc. And finally, this blog post.
I don’t get much down time anymore — you know, the time when you’re kind of stuck somewhere with limited options for things to do. I think I must have planned it that way. Most of us do, whether we realize it or not. Computers have entered every part of our lives. When I’m working on a book, I’m usually sitting in front of two of them. There’s another laptop that seems to live on my dining table. I’m seldom more than a few feet from my smartphone, which is so much more than my primary communication link to the rest of the world. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I sleep with both my phone and iPad beside me. I can’t imagine reading a paper book or doing a crossword puzzle with a pen before sleep time. And how else could I check the weather and my email before starting my day?
I have become a slave to my computing devices.
For a few moments here before I reached for my iPad, I got a sense of what I was missing. It came to me in the sound of the washers I’d called upon to work for me. In the two flies who found me quickly in this big, otherwise deserted room. In the light to the east, silhouetting the thin clouds on the horizon. The world around me, so often ignored.
For a moment, it inspired me to write this blog post. But as I began to type, it was lost, hidden away by my concentration. It became more important to me to report on the laundromat experience than to actually sit back and experience it.
I’ve shifted my clothes from washers to dryers. I’m hoping 30 minutes is enough. It’s 7 AM and I need to be somewhere with my motorcycle by 8 AM. Rush, rush, rush. Between periods of interacting with computing devices, I always seem to be rushing around. Why?
I’m often critical of the people who don’t seem to do anything with their lives. I say they don’t “get it.” but maybe I’m the one who doesn’t get it. Maybe just sitting and watching life go by is the “right” way to take this journey of existence. Maybe my constant pursuit of new skills and goals is just a futile attempt to avoid the inevitability of the simple reality: none of us really matters in the grand scheme of things.
I hope not.
Here are links I found interesting in September 2011:
Another wake-up call from Twitter on the state of some people’s minds.
The other day, I went to look at a small jet boat. I friend of mine here in Washington was thinking of selling it and it sounded like what want I wanted to zip around the Columbia River on sunny days during cherry season. When I went down to take a look, I saw a 16-foot 1995 Sea Ray with some cosmetic issues (as you might imagine) but very clean and in generally good condition. The 120 hp engine was immaculate, tuned up twice a year for its entire life. The price, although not agreed upon yet, would be right within my limited budget for a boat I would only use five months out of the year; paying cash would not be a challenge at all.
I used my phone to take photos to send my husband. He thinks I’m nuts for even considering the purchase, but then again, he thinks I’m nuts whenever I consider a purchase. And he’s not spending every summer just a few miles away from one of the greatest boating and fishing rivers in the country.
I also sent the photo you see here to Twitter. I get around a bit and sometimes tweet photos of the things I see and do. It’s part of how I participate in social networks. Along with the photo, I tweeted:
Thinking about buying this for next summer.
I went on with my life, as I usually do. (Contrary to what many people think, I do not live my life buried in a Twitter feed.) We covered the boat back up and made plans to take it out on the river later in the day. I returned around 5:15 with my friend, Pete (in the photo) and his 12-year-old son. Pete has a hitch on his truck and towed the boat to the ramp about 1/4 mile away. We launched it. Linda (in the photo), the owner, joined me for a ride on the river. Considering it hadn’t been used in at least a year, it started up pretty quickly (the battery was kept on a tender in the garage). We took it slow in the No Wake area, then Linda took it up to full speed. She made a few hair-raising turns before we switched places and I zipped around a little. Then I went back, traded Linda for Pete and his son, and took another ride. The boat performed very well and was small enough that I’d be able to handle it on my own.
The next morning, as I lay in bed waiting for the sun to rise, I went through my normal social networking routine, checking Twitter, Facebook, and Google+ for replies to anything I’d written and interesting new tweets. Among the replies was the following, posted by someone who apparently follows me on Twitter:
Maria, why do you want that boat? I suspect you have plenty of friends already just by having a helicopter.
If I’d been sitting up when I read this, my jaw probably would have dropped four inches. I had to read it five times to make sure I understood what he was implying. Was he trying to say that my primary purpose for buying this little boat was to make more friends?
That couldn’t be any further from the truth. I planned to use the boat mostly by myself, likely on weekdays when most of my friends were working. I imagined exploring the river’s lakes early and late in the day when the winds were calm and the light was good for photography. I imagined skimming over the river when the water was like glass (see photo), cutting a line across its surface at 40 miles an hour. I even imagined taking up fishing again. I had no desire to be out on the river on weekends when the crazies were out. And the boat’s weight limit is only 750 pounds with 5 seats — not the kind of thing you’d use for partying. Heck, I was told it can’t even pull a water skier.
I also need to stress here that I didn’t buy a helicopter to attract friends or even use as bragging rights. There’s a lot of people who don’t even know I own one. (Actually, I don’t own it — the bank and I are still partners on it; I pay them monthly, they let me keep it.) Yes it’s fun to fly around, but I can’t afford to just fly it for fun. It’s part of my business and I work it as hard as I can to make it pay for itself. On the limited times I get to fly it just for fun, I’m usually by myself. I don’t dangle it as a carrot in front of people as a lure into a “friendship.”
I felt a need to set this guy straight, so I replied:
People who are my friend just because I have a helicopter aren’t the kind of friends I want to go boating — or flying — with.
And this is really true. If someone “likes” me because I have a helicopter, they’re probably not the kind of person I want to be friends with. I don’t like shallow people.
His response came quickly; perhaps he’s the kind of person who does live his life buried in a Twitter feed.
I guess that means you have ‘real’ friends. It seems like I have to ‘buy’ mine. Sure wish I could that repositioning trip with you.
He was referring to my twice-a-year helicopter flight between Arizona and Washington, which I take paying passengers or pilots on in an attempt to recoup my costs. Believe me, I wouldn’t take strangers along for the ride if I didn’t feel that I had to. Flying a helicopter is very expensive.
Although the concept of “buying” friends was something almost beyond my comprehension, I certainly didn’t want to open that can of worms with him. I replied:
Yes, I have both real and virtual friends. I don’t tolerate “hangers on.” The trip is amazing; maybe next spring? I come back in May.
He replied:
I first saw your time-lapse video across Arizona (I think) it was amazing. I am envious of people that can go flying every day.
I wasn’t sure which video he was referring to. I hadn’t done a time-lapse across Arizona. I suspected he was talking about my Phoenix to Page video, which was on YouTube. I had done a time-lapse of a flight between Pendleton, OR and Salt Lake City, but I didn’t recall putting it online. I said:
I think that one was just a bunch of clips, Phoenix to Page? Or did you see the time lapse Pendleton to Salt Lake? long flights!
He replied:
the vid was PHX to Page, very enjoyable. I saw the motorcycle racer Mat Mladin has an R-44 for his profile pic. #envy
I had nothing more to say. I felt sorry for this guy. He’d used the word “envy” (or a form of it) in two of his tweets to me. It reminded me that there are people out there who aren’t satisfied with what they’ve been able to achieve in their lives — but instead of working hard to get where they want to be, they sit back and look at what everyone else has with envy. (I can think of two people I’m envious of, and what I envy about them is their jobs — not anything they own.) I don’t know this guy’s story and I probably don’t want to. I suspect we have nothing in common.
I do know people, however, who seem to think that a person’s value is based on what they own. These are the same people who go out and buy a new car every two or three years and load it up with a lot of blingy options. They live in big houses, have lots of toys like watercraft and off-road vehicles, and are in debt up to their eyeballs — or even drowning it it. They think they really want and need these things, but all they really want and need is to show their neighbors and friends and others that they have them.
People call it “keeping up with the Joneses.”
And if they’re lucky enough to have kept their jobs in this recession, they’re working their asses off 40-60 hours a week to earn enough money to keep their heads above water, leaving very little time to enjoy the possessions that have enslaved them.
I’m not like that. I work hard, I live well within my means, and I value my time — and the freedom to make my own schedule and enjoy life — above most things. I don’t have a showy car or house. I also don’t have any real debt (except for that bank partnership for the helicopter). I probably spend about 180 days a year goofing off, doing things I like to do.
It bothered me, at first, that this Twitter person seemed to think I was someone who used money to buy toys to attract friends — and envy, I suppose. But then I realized that he probably didn’t know any better. He might be like that and simply assume that everyone is.
I feel very sorry for the people who just don’t understand what life is all about. It’s not about collecting toys and impressing others with what you own. It’s about learning, growing, doing. It’s about earning friendships by respecting, genuinely caring about, and helping people you like — without asking for anything in return except perhaps a smile or a cup of coffee. It’s about spending quality time with friends and family, doing things together to enrich all of your lives. It’s about making every day count, every minute worth living.
So please don’t hold it against me — or label me as a conspicuous consumer — if I buy this little old boat. I just want to get out on the river a bit and make next summer just a little more fun.