Fourteen years ago today, Steve Jobs died. I wrote at the time:

It’s a sad day for me and for so many others inspired by Steve’s genius for products and marketing. It feels almost like a family member has gone.

That was no exaggeration. Steve had been part of my life in ways small and large since I was thirteen. It’s impossible to overstate the impact he (and the company he created, nurtured, and passionately led) had on me, my career, and my life. The first computer I ever used was an Apple II. My first “professional” job was Mac tech support for publishing houses. I spent twenty-two years inside Apple helping developers build apps for iPhone, Mac, and more. I met my wife and developed life-long friendships through Apple connections.

Without Steve, my life would be infinitely less.

It’s tempting, with Apple always in the news for their perceived lapses of leadership, to misuse this occasion to wonder, What would Steve do? That’s a fool’s game, of course: Steve was, to understate things, a complicated man. Sometimes a person’s public persona hides their private self. Sometimes we’re simply blinded by our parasocial relationships and want to believe we know someone because we’ve watched or listened to them for years. Sometimes, people simply change. We simply have no way of knowing who Steve would have become, or what he would have supported. We only know that while he was alive, and even after his death, he inspired millions of us to do things we never thought we could, to follow our heart and intuition, and to stay hungry, stay foolish.

For that, I’m grateful.

My first “encounter” with Steve came about a year after I’d started at Apple. As I steered my brand-new silver Nissan Altima off Highway 280 in Cupertino onto De Anza Blvd, a driver in a brand-new silver Mercedes SL 55 cut me off. I instinctively honked and cursed at him. I noticed then that the vehicle had no license plate—just what appeared to be a bar code where the plate would otherwise be. The driver turned onto Mariani Ave, then onto Infinite Loop, and into the parking lot in front of IL1. That’s when it all clicked: I’d just verbally flipped off my CEO. I desperately hoped he hadn’t seen me or recognized my car as I drove past him. I remained in a panic all day waiting for a call from HR stripping me of my badge for being so brusque. Fortunately, that call never came. I’m relieved Steve had more important things to focus on that day than an aggravated driver.

I did meet Steve, just once. It was as classic a moment as you could ask for. It happened not too long after he returned from his first medical leave of absence in 2009. I was boarding the elevator in Infinite Loop 1, where Steve’s office was, and as I pushed the button for my floor, I spotted him slowly ambling toward me. He appeared gaunt and tired. I briefly considered pretending I hadn’t seen him, but instead I held the elevator door while he made his way over. Smiling at him as he got on, I said, Glad to have you back. He thanked me, then asked the question I’d been both dreading and preparing for my entire Apple career: What do you do here? Fortunately, this was also not long after the introduction of a native SDK for iPhone and the launch of the App Store, so I was able to say proudly, I’m in Developer Relations, and I lead a team of engineers who help our third-party developers build world-class applications for iPhone. He nodded, noted how important that work was, and thanked me for doing it. Then, our ride was over. After he stepped off the elevator and the doors closed, I exhaled deeply. I’d managed to keep my job—but I’d missed my floor.