Today I hiked in the Sacramento Mountains in Alamogrado, New Mexico–a rigorous trek with a steep meandering trail along the edge of a canyon. As I navigated the rocky cliff’s edge, I had my dear friend Ian’s spirit along side me. It was six years ago yesterday he left us, but his spirit lives strong, and he will never leave the hearts of those who loved him.
Ian was and is a special soul. A larger than life man, he was extremely outgoing but also unusually deep. Ian had mastered this dynamic young and seemingly without much effort. Maybe this is why everyone loved him. I have never known anyone as popular–and it was not because he was superficially charming, but rather, the opposite–he got to know people on an emotional level. He loved everyone, and virtue of that, we all loved him.
I first met Ian when I was a freshman in college. We both worked at a whitewater raft company carrying the responsibility of inflating rubber kayaks, dubbed ‘funyaks’. The job was a do nothing summer gig, where we had the majority of the days to lounge in the hot summer sun, goofing off and enjoying each other’s company. Our friendship only grew and became richer over the coming years. Ian and I lived together from 2008-2009 in a dilapidated college house. I was fresh out of school and Ian was finishing up his degree. What I remember best about my time with Ian was not the parties, nor playing pickup football in the the backyard, but rather the times I was able to spend time alone with him. I rapaciously wanted to soak up as much one on one time as I could with Ian. As our friendship grew, I quickly realized why he was popular. When you were with him, you were the only person in the world who was in his life. He paid such close attention to you–both emotionally and intellectually. Ian was deeply interested in anything I said. This was not a placating effort; he genuinely wanted to know more about anything that filled my cup. He did this with a vibrancy that made it difficult to pull away.
I am beyond grateful for the lessons Ian taught me. I remember regularly staying up late with him playing chess and sharing music. One night, as we sipped on whiskey playing chess, I introduced him to the Bob Dylan album, ‘Desire’. Ian listened to the album with terrific curiosity–simultaneously, he was enthralled with my interest–his ability to do both, love the moment and be attuned to my happiness, encapsulated his genius.
As novices, neither of us were particularly good at chess. Over time, though, as we played, we learned from each other. What Ian did not realize, was that more than chess, I was learning what it meant to be truly present. Ian’s ability to be attuned to life, to love and to bolster these forces made me never want to leave him. I quickly learned, everyone wanted a bit of this and Ian had an inexhaustible reservoir to tap into. I always thought that my connection with Ian was unique–and perhaps it was, but it was not until after he passed and I heard others describing their relationships with him, that it dawned on me, the vibrancy I experienced, was just Ian’s way in the world. This was who he was–a vessel of love that touched everyone he came across.
As I travel across the country, Ian’s spirit remains with me. I think of him often, as he was a man of adventure, who loved people, life and novel experiences.
I still am learning from you, dear Ian.
“Do not be a spectator and critic of the business of living, but throw yourself into the heart of it, and be all there and say no more”.
–Ian Fletcher Lynch (2006)