The Boy From the Creek, and the Man He Became
Frank Ockenfels/Warner Bros Tv/Kobal
By Nicola Campbell
In my early twenties, I was living in a slightly festering flat in Streatham, London, with my best friend from school. We were navigating that strange in-between phase of life — technically adults, but only just. We were building careers, dating badly (and brilliantly), drinking enthusiastically and generally having the time of our lives.
Saturday mornings were sacred. Hungover, definitely tired, always in pyjamas, we would park ourselves in front of ITV with bagels and zero intention of moving. From SMTV Live and Wonky Donkey to CD:UK, it was comfort television at its best.
And then came Dawson's Creek.
Suddenly, teenagers in Capeside, Massachusetts — armed with an alarming tendency to overthink and monologue their way through even the smallest emotional wobble — became our accidental sages. Who knew that a group of fictional American teens would become our guide to love, friendship and the art of feeling everything so deeply?
We were firmly Team Pacey. Dawson felt safe; Pacey felt dangerous. Dawson planned; Pacey leapt. At twenty-two, that distinction mattered enormously. We debated them as if they were real boys we might bump into at a bar.
It was comfort TV in the truest sense. I’m not even sure we finished all six seasons. Life sped up. Careers progressed. Pyjamas were eventually replaced with responsibility.
But Dawson — and the boy who played him — lodged somewhere in the backdrop of my growing up.
The Reunion That Pulled Me Back
Life, as it does, has taken a few unexpected turns this past year. When everything feels unsteady, you look for safe ground. For me, that came in the form of a reunion organised by Jen herself — Michelle Williams — raising money and awareness for F Cancer and supporting her co-star, James Van Der Beek who had been diagnosed with bowel cancer in 2024.
Seeing Joey, Pacey, Jen and Jack together again — the warmth, the shared history, the genuine affection — was unexpectedly emotional. There was also a video message from James, unable to attend because of his illness. It was dignified, gentle, quietly brave.
I went straight to Prime and watched all six seasons.
While I was rebuilding parts of my real life, I sank back into the safe world of the Creek. There was something soothing about returning to Capeside — to a time when problems felt solvable within 42 minutes, when love triangles were the height of drama, and when everything, ultimately, came back to friendship.
The Man Beyond Dawson
This week, the news that James Van Der Beek’s battle with colon cancer had ended, and that he had passed away, genuinely stopped me.
Emma checked in to see if I was OK — fully aware of how committed I’d become on my rewatch. It surprised me how deeply it hit. Dawson never quite lit my fire in my twenties. But James — the man — clearly lit up a great many rooms.
My Instagram feed has been full of tributes. Not the perfunctory kind, but deeply personal ones. Friends from different chapters of his life describing a man who adored his wife, loved his children fiercely, and showed up — consistently and kindly — for the people around him.
It’s a reminder that what we do every day matters. How we treat people. How we show up. The small kindnesses. The steady love. That is what endures.
And it’s also a stark reminder of how devastating bowel cancer can be when it goes undetected. It doesn’t care about nostalgia, or youth, or the roles we once played. Awareness, early detection and listening to our bodies matter.
Dawson Leery was the boy from the Creek — earnest, hopeful, endlessly searching for meaning.
James Van Der Beek, by all accounts, was a good man.
And sometimes that is the legacy that matters most.
And now, when I hear that unmistakable opening line — “I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over…” — it resonates differently. What once felt like the impatient anthem of youth now feels like a quiet reminder: don’t wait. Not to say the thing. Not to book the appointment. Not to show up fully for the life in front of you.