A Short List: 3 Lessons My Friend Jake Taught Me about Writing (and Life)
My friend Jake passed away last year, much too soon. His mere existence in the world gave me light. He was a unique soul who provided fresh perspective and inspiration every time we hung out. He saw a side of me in college most people didn’t and spending time together was a welcomed break I sometimes took for granted.
This list is a very small tribute to him and everything he taught me.
Get out(side).
Jake was an outdoorsman who spoke and wrote a lot about the marsh, the prairie, and the forest. Get out, was his response, the best solution he could offer when I was stressed about school or friends. Go outside. Better yet, leave the city. He took me hunting once for pheasant in Fall Creek, thirty minutes from our college town in Wisconsin. While he went to crouch and wait, I stayed by his truck absorbing all the sounds of the woods that day. My mind cleared and started working in a new way. I began writing more about nature and my existence in it, in appreciation and later worship, of this beautiful world.
2. Reflect.
He knew how to slow down and listen to the wind through the trees. He encouraged me to do the same even though my body and mind like to move, sometimes without purpose. He carried a copy of Walden or a small notebook ready for his observations in the back pocket of his worn jeans. He could stand for an hour and watch the river in silence, his mind working to take it in. He wrote poetry exploring moments like this from every angle, even surprising ones, reflecting on the details most people miss. This is what good writing does, he showed me. I have tried to reflect on all of our rivers, practicing what he preached.
3. Question.
Critical thought exploded in our poetry classes together, but even more so during our walks home from campus. He questioned ideas I didn’t even think to question. My mind exploded as we analyzed the construct of God and organized religion, turning over everything we were ever taught, in the basement of the old house on 2nd Ave. We pushed each other, argued, and laughed. We looked for truth in his Ford pick-up while we drove out of town. Time with Jake was a beautiful supplement and guide to everything else I was learning in college; for example, writing is about questioning, gently or forcefully, our knowledge of the world.
I wrote more about Jake here: http://www.thepromptmag.com/get-lost-memories-deep-woods/. I miss him.