Jony Ive on what he misses most about Steve Jobs

Since I delivered Steve’s eulogy, I haven’t spoken publicly about our friendship, our adventures, or our collaboration. I’ve never read the flurry of covers, obituaries, or the bizarre misrepresentations that have crept into folklore.

But I think about Steve every day.

Laurene and I are close. Our families have been close for almost 30 years. We have endured deaths and celebrated births. We talk all the time, often about Steve but rarely about my work with him. Most of the time, we talk about the future and his amazing and inspiring work with Emerson Collective.

When his bright and curious children ask me about their father, I can’t help myself. I can happily speak for hours describing the remarkable man I loved so deeply.

We have worked together for almost 15 years. We had lunch together most days and spent our afternoons in the design studio sanctuary. These were some of the happiest, most creative, and joyful times of my life.

I loved his way of seeing the world. The way he was thinking was deeply beautiful.

He was without a doubt the most curious human I have ever met. His insatiable curiosity was not limited or distracted by his knowledge or expertise, nor was it casual or passive. It was fierce, energetic and restless. His curiosity was practiced with intention and rigor.

Many of us have an innate predisposition to be curious. I believe that after a traditional upbringing, or working in an environment with a lot of people, curiosity is a decision that takes intention and discipline.

In large groups, our conversations gravitate towards the tangible, the measurable. It is more comfortable, much easier and socially more acceptable to talk about what is known. Being curious and exploring tentative ideas was far more important to Steve than being socially acceptable.

Our curiosity begs us to learn. And for Steve, wanting to learn was far more important than wanting to be right.

Our curiosity united us. It formed the basis of our joyful and productive collaboration. I think it also tempered our fear of doing something terribly new.

Steve was concerned with the nature and quality of his own thinking. He expected so much of himself and worked hard to think with rare vitality, elegance and discipline. His thoroughness and tenacity have set the bar dizzily high. When he couldn’t think satisfactorily, he complained the same way I complained about my knees.

As thoughts turned into ideas, timid as they were, even fragile, he recognized that this was sacred ground. He had such a deep understanding and respect for the creative process. He understood that creation should be accorded rare respect, not just when ideas were good or circumstances were right.

Ideas are fragile. If they were resolved, they wouldn’t be ideas, they would be products. It takes a determined effort not to be consumed by the problems of a new idea. Problems are easy to articulate and understand, and they consume oxygen. Steve focused on real ideas, even partial and improbable.

I had thought that there would now be a reassuring solace in the memory of my best friend and creative partner, and his extraordinary vision.

But of course not. Ten years later, he manages to escape a mere place in my memory. My understanding of him refuses to stay comfortable or still. It grows and evolves.

It may be a commentary on the daily roar of public opinion and the ugly rush to judge, but now, above all, I miss its singular and beautiful clarity. Beyond his ideas and vision, I miss his insight that brought order to the chaos.

It has nothing to do with his legendary ability to communicate but everything to do with his obsession with simplicity, truth and purity.

Ultimately, I think it speaks to the underlying motivation that drove it. He was not distracted by money or power, but driven to tangibly express his love and appreciation for our species.

He truly believed that by doing something useful, empowering and beautiful, we are expressing our love for humanity.

When Steve left Apple in the 1980s, he called his new company NeXT. He was very good at names.

After almost 30 years, I left Apple, driven by my curiosity to learn and discover new ways to make a meaningful contribution. It was Steve’s powerful motivation that inspired the name of my next adventure, LoveFrom.

While I have the absurd luck of continuing to collaborate with my dear friends at Apple, I am also extremely fortunate to be able to explore and create with new friends.

Laurene and I are finally working together. In truth, we have worked together for decades.

The last words Steve said to me was that he would miss talking together. I was sitting on the floor next to her bed, my back against the wall.

After his death, I went out into the garden. I remember the sound of the latch on the wooden door as I closed it gently.

In the garden, I sat down and thought how much talking often interferes with listening and thinking. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time together in peace.

I miss Steve desperately and I will always miss not talking to him.