Jason Beazley

It's taken me a while to get around to posting about this, for reasons which are pretty clear, and I'm sure that there will be an extended narrative throughout my blog about a certain individual who had a tremendous impact on me in college. He was also the impetus for a strikingly authentic relationship between us, because without his persistently outgoing exuberance my relatively inward-geared personality (particularly at the beginning of college, something which has changed with the help of him and a few other key individuals) would likely have found ways to hide. "This is too good to be true," I warned myself. "Why would this guy think you're so great?"

Jason Beazley took his own life a few short weeks ago for reasons that left us wringing our hands and scratching our heads in between sessions of grieving and consoling the friends we shared. Speculation has run rampant. We have questioned why a person who was so monumental on campus, who personally touched so many people (how about spending a few hours a day most days to keep in touch via email with the many individuals he valued?) would commit an act which he surely knew would hurt these very same people, including his two younger sisters and loving parents. Clearly, it wasn't about us, this much is certain. He cared too much to want to cause anyone pain, even those he didn't like (were there any?). I would guess that it was about something that most of us barely understood, a side of him that we may have picked up on in small doses in between the margins of his vibrant daily life but didn't recognize as a source of total self-destruction. Perhaps something very painful lurked beneath the surface of his passions. Perhaps it even fueled many of his creative endeavors and accomplishments. "Why didn't he tell someone about it?" some of us ask. Maybe he loved life so much that he didn't want to be a drag on those he cared about, didn't want to unload his burdens onto the people who inspired him. Or maybe he simply didn't have the words to express what he felt. For me, these have been recurring questions.

Any of these theories may be true. It's also quite possible that they're completely false. I have heard others posit that Jason must have thought, "This isn't for me. I need to go." Indeed, this seems to be the attitude expressed on his facebook page, which he updated mere moments before his final act. I have also wondered if Jason felt that life wasn't big enough for him. As I told one of my former roommates via email:

I had my own hypothesis about why our friend did this to himself: life was not big enough for Jason Beazley. Even after all of his successes, all of his meaningful relationships, all of his artistic expressions, he emerged just as large of a giant as he was when it all began for him. From this lonely vantage point, perhaps, Jason surveyed the part of the world he had taken part in after years of effort and struggle and realized that no matter how much the terrain beneath him shifted, no matter how much he caused positive change and strove for excellence, he would never be satisfied. Perhaps he felt that he would never be truly understood.

In the end, it is all truly speculation. Who, but God, can truly understand the depths of a single soul other than those of one's own (assuming even that is possible)? Despite this, for me, there has been a huge lesson which has emerged in the form of Jason himself to address me personally through all of this: give, give some more, do not hold back whatsoever, do not be afraid to present yourself in your fullest capacity to those who are around you. In doing so, you give them permission to do the same. When you receive, do not be afraid to immediately reciprocate. Finally, and most importantly, do not wait: life is short. Give now.

As I stated earlier, Jason's outgoing spirit initially made me uncomfortable - it did seem too good to be true. What could he want from me? However, the fact that he kept it up demonstrated to me that he wasn't afraid to express how much he liked me, my music (he even called me to tell me how much it meant to him), my blog (wrote me an email asking if he could use an entry in a book/script he was working on), all given regardless of the response he got. He gave me a script he had written to see what I thought (never did read it), a friend's hip-hop CD he had creative input on (got around to it a week before he passed but never called him to talk about it). I remember two and a half years ago, when I was an RA in Best C, he came over with his girlfriend (soon-to-be fiance) to talk to me about ideas he had for starting a conference on entertainment and ethics, in which he wanted me to have a significant role. He was going to bring in the rapper Sage Francis, with whom he apparently kept up healthy correspondence. He even followed me on walks so that we could keep the discussion going. I was amazed at his girlfriend's patience.

For sure, we did eventually become closer. We spoke countless times at parties about how we needed to hang out one-on-one. He even went on the same South Africa trip with Teri Murphy the year after I did, and we were really excited about discussing it. I have an email from him in which he expressed that we NEEDED to hang out more in the coming year. He was going to be one of the fifth-year super-senior posse, a fact which brought me great comfort. Eventually, I was going to give back to him. Soon, I would put in the effort to make absolutely certain that we spent some time together. We had just about reached the level of very close friends; we were right on the cusp. These past few weeks, I can't help but wonder what difference it would have made to him on that terrible night to know for certain that there was one more person out there, wanting to understand him deeply and to conspire with him to craft new music, forge new paths, create change in the confusing world we shared. It was this thought at the funeral, blaring at me as I looked at the table of happy pictures and Jason-quotes, which caused me to have to leave the building and privately break down. Why hadn't I reciprocated sooner?

In the end, I am not overwhelmed with guilt. To do so would be narcissistic, to have an overblown sense of responsibility for something that simply was not about me. Jason's act was ultimately his decision, regardless of the various contingencies we can envision in which things might have been different. To make guilt the primary fruit of Jason's death in my life would also cause me to miss an opportunity to treat this situation as an opportunity for growth, which I am comfortable asserting is what Jason, in all his affirmation of life and creativity, would have wanted. As I said earlier, my response to this tragedy is to treat it as a wake-up call: people are dear. They're precious. It is for this reason that we cannot be afraid to accept generosity when it is given, must not be insecure that our response will be inadequate. We must give fearlessly, relentlessly. This is what Jason is telling me, this is what he demonstrated in every second that he lived of his remarkable life.

__________________________________________________________________






in loving memory:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=rK0YnKP6Ea0

Jason is the guy exclaiming "Beer! Gotta get some more beer, man!"

As an addendum, I end on a lighter note: I remember the first intellectual argument we ever had, which indeed may have even been our first extended interaction. In Beth's Honors 172 Human Event class, I seemed to think that since we could envision eternity as an idea, it must therefore exist. Jason countered: "Just because we can imagine it doesn't mean it actually exists, biaaaatch!" We must not forget his sense of humor. This isn't even the best example.
I hope that he now concedes happily to my (not very sophisticated) argument.

Fall 07 Kick-off

The school year has started off great...I think I have what is quite possibly the best combination of jobs on campus (research assistant for CSPO, working with Jamey on my thesis, and CA - the new "RA" - in the Towers, a much-coveted position with an 8th floor room which has got to have the best view in Tempe). My staff is awesome...my boss is awesome...my roommate is awesome, despite me initially thinking that we would be polar opposites (and maybe we are, but it works completely). Never judge a person by his facebook page.

Mr Sam Soichet was here for a week. It FLEW by faster than the planes that persistently swoop in over the Towers to land in Phoenix, but I'm confident that he was shown a great time. I say this not out of spite, but rather in the highest regard: Sam is someone who is libido-driven 75% of the time, he's Sr Machismo Mucho and will remain so until the end of his days. These traits make him absolutely absurd and fun, usually alternating between the two. These traits also helped him fit in very snugly to the culture of the new academic year ASU, where if you aren't ready you will feel that you have entered the world of an absurd music video, and you will be overwhelmed by the amount of tanned bareness. Luckily (?), I'm desensitized to all of it, as I've heard most of the cell phone conversations that emanate from those who comprise this culture. Cold shower. But, for Sam, this was truly an exciting time, full of opportunity to contemplate at the pool, reading Umberto Eco in Italian while wondering if speaking the language to the mostly-naked, non-fluent beautiful females around him would win him points anyway. The one person I did find who spoke Italian happened to be a gay friend of mine, who after having an extended conversation with Sam in his native tongue, remarked sagely that Sam's last name (Soichet, pronounced "So-shay") sounded like "So-shit". Normally this friend of mine is a very charming fellow...perhaps I'm naive about the sophisticated ways in which charm can be applied, but I think this may have been a social faux pais, translated into Italian (which I would have here except evidently freetranslation.com does not find French as important a language as Japanese).

So, Peter. My roommate, is straight out of a sitcom about bro-dudes from New York who come out to the desert and constantly freak out because they are no longer surrounded by the constantly confusing stimuli of the city. So, they create confusing stimuli to make up for this necessary need. My needs are certainly fulfilled when I heard some of the ingenious statements which drift through the double doors of our bathroom while Peter takes his shower. Seriously, though, Peter is one of the most enthusiastic, energized, positive and fun people I've met.
He apologizes for everything (we're working on that) and essentially can only be pissed off when you leave the Playstation on after you leave the apartment. Even then, I wouldn't describe the emotion as...genuine anger. Finally, after I beat God of War (a game my first residents all played together while I was too busy/uncomfortable to participate as an RA), we're going to buy the second one and go through it together. I may also join up with the ASU swing devils Thursday nights, which is something he does a lot of.

Whatever. We're buddies, ok? Shut up.

Now that the relatively fun stuff is out of the way, I have to talk about something much more serious and tragic. A shame it wasn't done in a separate entry, because the man of the discussion deserves at least his own post. Actually, you know what...he's going to get one.

The Talented Mr Jeffrey

I'm posting this note I just sent my long-time friend and source of musical inspiration, Jeff Smith, so that the five people who read my blog will spread the word about his music.

His music can be accessed here: www.myspace.com/juffage

And here's the note:

jeff -

had to write you a little review-style note to let you know how great your music is.

these two songs have cemented my confidence in your ability to make it as a musician, or, at the very least, someone successfully involved in the music industry.

in "bombs", first of all, you prove that you can write a great pop song. this one has great melodies, harmonies, dynamics...it's also sweet that, for once, we can hear what you're singing; you aren't hiding behind the instrumental arrangements; you want us to hear what you have to say for a change.

it's with "seoul", though, that I think you've demonstrated what you're fully capable of. this sounds like it came straight from a microphones/mum record, to me, except even more interesting and compelling. your arrangements are just right: interesting, sophisticated, but not overly showy. this song seems like it was made by a jeff who was much less frustrated and much more patient with himself, as not one part of it sounds forced. all the parts operate as portions of an organic whole instead of separately vying for the attention of the listener. the drums, for instance, are much more subtle than you've typically been known to make them, but they perfectly suit the mood of the song and help it to build. i'd say the same thing about all the other parts, too. somehow, the song is over six minutes long, but it doesn't feel repetitive or stretched out at all. and...it makes me feel good!

both of these are songs i thoroughly enjoy listening to and repeatedly want to come back to. if you were to submit a two-song demo containing these to some small-time labels, there is just no way you wouldn't peak someone's interest. trust me.

so, clearly, you can write and record great music. i'll finish off by saying what i've been saying to you for the past few weeks: now all you need is to GET OUT THERE and get involved in some of these communities that Chicago simply must be hiding. jeff, NOW IS YOUR TIME DUDE.

i'm still talking to alex and ben about their living situation. it sounds like they're going to wait until they get up there before they make any decisions. i guess that sorta makes sense...i'll make sure they call you beforehand, though.

peace, talented broseph.

-tobias

clarification

oh yeah, and just in case those of you keeping up with this blog are assuming i've gone apostate, this is a friendly reminder that, despite the tones of the last few entries, i have not!

Sunday Lazy Sunday

Church isn't something I've been wanting to attend lately. So, it being Sunday and me needing to acknowledge the ineffable in some fashion or other, I've decided to blog.

Matthew told us not to walk through the streets trumpeting the practice of our religious lives. I wonder if he knew about blogs and how they would enable us to trumpet everything from the most mundane to the most personal affairs we could put into written word. I wonder if he knew that trumpeting one's religious life would, 2000 years later, have more to do with being honest about being confused in a diverse cultural landscape and reaching out for a listening ear than attempting to appear righteous. Nowadays, people don't want to feel righteous as much as they want to feel connected and less alone.

Righteousness is such an ugly feeling for me, lately, and this has a lot to do with why I haven't been attending church. Righteousness means every person I look at who doesn't "have God" is lying to themselves, their words are not to be taken at face value but instead are a cover for emptiness and a lack of being. Righteousness means that I deserve attention in a certain way from the people around me because I have something that they need to hear. Righteousness means that I will limit myself to speak the language of an ultimate neediness, which everyone else must acknowledge in themselves if I am to feel comfortable. Anyone who seems at peace or confident without articulating a need for God, for any kind of spiritual life, is an anomaly and is ultimately resented for their ability to find strength and confidence in themselves and their worldly accomplishments.

These are the ugliest aspects of righteousness, and to be sure, they represent not righteousness in its entirety but rather a particular species: self-righteousness. The problem is, any time I go to church or have a half-hour of prayer, what initially begins as a feeling of peace and love for those around me quickly is sublimated into a desire to applaud myself for being so great. The sense of self becomes magnified, and with it, desire for a different situation, for things to be better. A profound unacceptance of the way things are fills the air, and depression and alienation quickly so often follow suit. In fact, the one thing this freshly spiritualized self cannot do is accept things as they are, right now, in the present. As the world's future becomes known, the wheat separated from the chaff, I feel increasingly separated from the various voices of which the world is comprised...music, the words of my friends, the pain and confusion of others. I am put above these things, I am some sort of hero, I somehow have an answer that everyone else is just ignoring. Everyone else is lying to themselves, while I'm being honest about my weaknesses and holes. Most importantly, I am totally, totally alone, and I feel it so much more profoundly the more I try to base my life on "higher" things.

Clearly, in Christianity, there is a constant sense of being called forth, of a moving towards, a striving for ultimate union. This manifests itself in the earnest, childlike (a word which is not necessarily to be construed in a negative sense) admonitions of the faithful. There is a constant sense of vulnerability. For me, however, these potentially positive things have more often than not disabled me from accepting myself or my given situation. I cannot have the sense of humor that comes from accepting the worse aspects of life and being able to not take them too seriously, for these aspects are understood to arise not from the the fact that "this is the way things are" but instead from a recognition of ultimate and eternal death, evil, and darkness. I cannot have fun with my friends because there is always something better, always an ideal which is not quite being realized. Their words cannot be totally accepted at face value because, again, they are not complicit in helping to build "real" reality, i.e. the Kingdom of Heaven. Everyone is to be treated as if, deep down, they are hurting deeply, despite whatever appearances of wholeness they may exude. Most importantly, I cannot accept myself. Or, strange as this sounds, I accept myself totally in a way that keeps me from needing to adapt to new relationships.

What I want is not to have a shining, beaming self-sustaining confidence, but instead to be surrounded by people I love, enjoy, and can have a good time with, with whom I have a mutual sense of fun and connection. Simplicity. Acceptance. Satisfaction with the things I do and the choices I make. This is what I want.

The problem with peace

Here's why inner peace is scary: one who is at peace will not be as able to perform well, to be responsible in one's duties, to keep up with the externalities which must be held in check.

Alright, it's Devil's Advocate time:

What if Peace, in our attempts to hold onto it, necessarily becomes a fantasy, a collection of beliefs and symbols we hold onto which does not mesh quite so well with the daily world in which we interact? What if it leads to dysfunction and excuse-making? What if it keeps us from ever taking full ownership of our actions because we can allow agency and causation to flow backwards from us to someone/thing else, a greater Cause which we can use to explain away our doings?

Who cares if it enables us to make others feel better, to be more compassionate, if all we are doing is spreading a fantasy that brings comfort and yet also may keep people from truly dealing with their insecurities and pain in a way that will allow them to move on?

What if pain really is gain? What if hardness leads to happiness?

I'll be at peace. I'll have my refreshment, my prayer time, my feelings of wholeness. As soon as this happens, as soon as I let go of my future as a _____ (doctor, musician, etc), I become unbearably sensitive and excruciatingly needy, to the point where I can't actually accomplish because I'm so fixated on...something? God? What?? Simultaneously, all the things I thought I dealt with this year, all the pain and loss associated with my various relationships, it comes back, it makes me feel like I haven't really changed at all. And I CANT STAND IT.

Admittedly, when I went to volunteer at that very evangelical/fundamentalist camp for teenagers last summer, I came back completely invigorated, completely wanting to forget about the tangled paths my relationships had taken me through in that previous year. These things didn't matter anymore: I had love, I had forgiveness, I had passion. Inevitably, this ubuntu complex faded as I got deep into the fall semester. Inevitably, exposing that sensitive, excitable core to the people I lived with only led to me getting hurt, which of course led to classic, Nieztchean-style resentment of the highest degree. I became a victim.

If someone can show me a way to walk in the Spirit without becoming unbearably vulnerable, without using it as an excuse to not achieve or challenge myself, without becoming incredibly serious and sentimental, without allowing me to use it to feel like I can judge others, I will gladly, excitedly listen. Yes, I'm missing something. Yes, I've had it before.

Failure not so painful when it happens a lot

So, from my title, you may be thinking that I feel sorry for myself that I did not get the RA job this year. Yes, I'm a fifth-year senior, yes, I've already been an RA before, yes, I have a wide range of involvements at ASU which would help me do the job well. Whatever. These things, sometimes, simply do happen and it seems best to not take them personally and recognize them for what they are: decisions made based on criteria and organizational agendas that may have little to do with the experience/skill of the applicant. Or, maybe I said too much in my interview, like, "I don't want Manzanita" (stupid) or "I'm going to be really busy with other stuff this year" (are you kidding?).

I'm on alternate status. This will enable Res Life to call me at the end of August to see if I'd still like to work for them. Better than nothing, for sure.

Other failures, both dealing with jobs this summer: didn't get the Barrett Summer Scholars job (don't have enough experience relative to other applicants or something like that), didn't get the job at the autistic school in Scottsdale as a music therapist. In both cases, got my hopes WAY up. This is why it was so painful to not get either one. Therefore, in the future, I'll just be putting myself out there without expectation. I think this is a good strategy for life/careers in general. Also, these weren't exactly failures, so "wah wah wah" is not really going on here. I'm venting.

But seriously, on the brighter side, I'll be able to spend more time doing other novel things, as well as enjoy the company of my off-campus friends a little better. Have already gotten several offers from people who need roommates, one of whom even said cleanliness was a plus. Wow.
Can't imagine that.

My journal writing is still pretty shallow relative to what it was a year and a half ago. Shoot.

I almost want to start talking about spiritual matters again but something's keeping me from doing so. Probably my desire to lay low, keep my secrets to myself, hold in all my desires and resentments. I have to plan out my "life", my "career", must start taking the world seriously as a place to work out a scheme of purpose and success. Can't indulge in inner-life things. Not here, not yet. You'll have to talk to me to hear about that kinda stuff, and maybe even then I might want to keep this facade up as best I can. I will say this much: the desire to hide is overwhelming at times. Not from the world, but from the inner voice which has provided me with so much peace and simple happiness throughout my life. Why? I'm afraid it's not real and keeps me from growing. I actually had more posted on this and, of course, the internet stopped working. It will come out eventually.