I cried when my father died. Though not as much as I expected I would.

We had many months to prepare for his death as the lung cancer spread to his spine and ate away at it day by day. As my father grasped at any straw held out to him by the charlatans that live off the desperate fear that the dying have of their own mortality, we knew. We knew he was passing. There would be no miracle cures. No shark cartilage or herbal remedy would save the day.

It surprised me that when viewed from the right angle, in the right sort of soft lighting, it was a beautiful experience watching him die with so many of his loved ones in the same room. Those of us who loved him had our chances to say goodbye. He was finally free from pain. He died knowing that he was loved and that those he cared for, cared back.

But I never expected to cry when Steve Jobs died. This surprised me.

And as my thoughts drifted the night I read the first Tweets of his passing on my MacBook Pro, I realized that even though we had never met, Steve Jobs had been the most pivotal person in my life.

If not for Steve, I would not have dropped out of college.
If not for Steve, I would not have become a commodities trader.
If not for Steve, I would not have become a software entrepreneur.
If not for Steve, I would not have become a bestselling author.
If not for Steve, I would not have had so much early success in life that I came to believe that anything is possible; anything at all.