Something to Aspire To
When I die many years from now, I hope I will have remained
relevant enough to so many people across all living generations,
that they will gather, family, friends, and robots, and will reflect
on my fine qualities, the admirable things I have done. I hope
they will all draw their own comparisons, that they will say
Tim had the poetry of John, the charm of Paul, the joy of Ringo,
and of course, the soul of George. Someone else might share
how similar I was to Fred Rogers when it came to empathy, but
that I still walked with the confidence and swagger of Han Solo.
My goodness, you would hear, he was the total package:
Walt Disney's curiosity mixed with Ghandi's purpose and
the both dry and outrageous humor of John Cleese. Yes,
that was Tim, the kind of guy who asked questions like Socrates,
had insights like Galileo, taught people to love like Bob Marley.
One can reasonably imagine testimonials that would highlight
how Bob Dylan and I were so equally prolific, how my impact
on daily life was not unlike that of Steve Jobs, how I told stories
and built worlds as compelling as the stories and worlds
of Tolkien, Henson, Rowling, Abrams and Miranda. An old friend
might opine that while it might sound like hyperbole, it isn't a stretch
to say that Tim was both as precise as William Carlos Williams,
and as expansive as Walt Whitman, a cosmos, truly. Look
at him, they will all sigh, as they set fire to my pyre on the beach,
even now he is as peaceful as the Dalai Lama, as unmoving
as Nelson Mandela. He shines like Liberace!
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