I was introduced to Om by a dear mutual friend. We were both based in SF back then but we met for the first time in Paris. We hit it off instantly: bound by our love and optimism of the internet, and that we were both excited by how content interacts with form. Om was one of the very few people in this world I can have an intense conversation about form and content with. That day was more than 10 years ago, but I still remember vividly how we talked about Picasso’s reinvention of his work multiple times throughout his lifetime, and how reinvention is also a constant theme in our lives.
This morning I discovered this horrible news through my rss reader, of all things. It says something about Om that I got to know about his passing through Daring Fireball. We had only met twice, but I was filled with profound sadness. I was still reading his blog just days ago. Apparently he had been unwell for the past couple of months, but he was still posting his writing until the end. Look at his post about a Montblanc pen written just a month ago (and another one about Brunello Cucinelli in 2015).
While trying to look for the picture I had of us, I found some of our exchanges. I had entirely forgotten we exchanged a few messages briefly in 2022. He had stumbled onto my blog again, and wanted to tell me he liked it. When I explained that I had been having chronic migraines, he told me it made him sad. Trust me, I tell plenty of people about my migraines and it is very rare to get an empathetic response.
Yet this is the kind of person Om was. Looking at the internet’s response today he had shown generosity, kindness and warmth to a ton of people. It takes exceptional mental and emotional capacity to have such an influence on so many people. Om was indeed extraordinary.
With every passing there are always regrets. I wish I had dropped him an email once every now and then. Just to say hi, or to wish him well. Maybe tell him that I still follow his writing actively. I received his newsletter so regularly I had always taken for granted that it would simply periodically show up.
Sometimes we just don’t know how much a presence a person has until it becomes an absence.
I want to always remember the extraordinary person he was, and the person he was to me.
And I guess it is fitting that I remember him with a blog post like this. He deeply appreciated the long-form, like me.