Steve Jobs

I am sad about Steve Jobs. He died yesterday from pancreatic cancer and its treatment. I didn’t know him—my only connection is an I Phone and a laptop. But he was 56 and smart and talented and fierce.

Maybe too, his death is a reminder—again—that we die. And that no amount of money, access, power or even the best healthcare in the world can beat death. We die.

I’m also saying to myself, “Oh Diane, get this, please get this, people my age and John’s age die every day--and death at our age is not extraordinary, so really, does work or money or who doesn’t like me really matter?”

I know that the answer is “no”. But living it—that’s another matter.