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Tribute from Tari

Dear Josh,

I really rather you weren't dead. This makes this hard. I always had an easier time writing tributes for people who could read them and tell me what I got wrong in this sweet, self-depreciating manner, "No, you're exaggerating, I'm not actually that cool." And then I can always reassert, with capital letters if needs be, that, yes, you are that cool, you are that good, you mean that much to me.

Doing it like this . . . I feel I'm performing for an audience. I don't feel like I'm doing it for you. Because even if I believe that you'll know what I'm saying somehow, to put it publically like this adds the audience, the perfomance aspect, and I'm sorry for that, but a tribute is by nature public, and I'll try not to wax too pretty for my purpose.

Josh, you hired me for Terrouge on a gamble. I was green, I was self-absorbed, I didn't understand anything about journalism, but you believed in me. You always had that sheer crazy enthusiasm -- and you loved people. You loved everyone, even when they weren't entirely kind to you, and you treated everyone on that same manic, joyful level. You were happy to speak to me. The joy was in the speaking, in the interaction, not in hearing yourself talk, brilliant as you are, and if I didn't always see eye to eye with you, I couldn't ever be really mad at you for long. Because you didn't try to hurt and you didn't ever intend to hurt. You only offended because your opinions were strong and honest and sometimes flamboyant and once I learned that your enthusiasm was as entirely part of you as my reserve, I knew I was ridiculous to fault you for it.

You were just you. You had no pretenses, you didn't care if someone didn't agree with your opinions or even who you were, you couldn't be controlled that way.

I admired you so much. And I miss you now.

By: Tari