10 years of Zen Ren!

Hi everyone!!

This is my very first personal post. In July 2024 this website reached its 10 year anniversary! The Zen Ren Galaxy formed in July 2014 when I was 23 years old and living in Missoula, Montana. I remember it clearly, publishing my first post (Jupiter in Leo – my Jupiter Return!) and then walking around barefoot in the dry, summer-scorched backyard in my long hippie skirt. I had a purple mohawk, my spirit full and bright. I wrote in my journal that I knew the website was just a jumping off point, that it would take me somewhere I couldn’t even imagine. It was obvious to me then that I was in a primordial stage in my life.

And it’s true – many, many things have transmuted in the Zen Ren Galaxy since its inception.

In February 2014, I finished my first yoga teacher training in my hometown in northern Michigan. (I never intended on returning to Michigan – it was just a place to land after graduating from college because I had absolutely no idea wtf to do with a degree in anthropology.) I had just visited one of my besties out in Oakland and knew that I wanted to live in California, so I packed my car with all of my belongings – including a rug and a mirror from my mom and other household shit – and drove all the way west, stopping in national parks along the way.

I was alone and free. During the day I hiked, at night I camped in my little orange tent. Those months living out of my car were transformative. I learned to push through my loneliness. I met other young people like me and realized there was a whole world of traveling folks. For the first time I shared my naked body in a non-sexual way at the hot springs in Oregon. I took acid and climbed mountains. I cried and sang. I pondered deeply the meaning of home and belonging. I felt beautiful and powerful.

When unnamed grief and loneliness eventually overtook me, I decided I would just go back to Michigan. I didn’t stay in California. San Francisco felt too big and overwhelming. Arcata was weird and gray. I didn’t know where my home was, so I thought I would just start over by going back to my roots. On the way back I stopped in Missoula and felt my heart open wide, or so I thought. Looking back I think it was just destiny calling my name, telling me I needed to stay in that strange valley for awhile and let its vibrations creep into my spirit. My first order of business was to launch my website. Then I found a job teaching yoga and another job working as an assistant in a Montessori school.

I could write a book – and I actually am! – about all the experiences I’ve had. As far as Missoula goes, it’s got major bro, football, bluegrass, beer-drinking vibes and that just ain’t me. In September 2015, someone offered me a job trimming weed in Humboldt, so I sent my cat back home to Michigan with my mom, packed up my car, and headed back to California. I left Missoula with bitterness in my heart but the misty, emerald mountains of northern California quickly renewed my spirit. I was the first to arrive at trim camp. I remember sitting on the deck looking out at the mountains in my Tupac shirt and a beanie, smoking a fat joint. “Mountain swag,” they said.

That autumn was the peak of the trimmigrant scene. Fifty people ended up coming to work at that farm from all over the world. I made friends for life. We partied, we laughed, we loved one another. We got to know one another on a deep level. I fell in love with someone who would end up being my partner for 7 years. And then it was time for me to go again. In February 2016 I flew to Thailand, spent a month there traveling by myself, and then another 3 months in India, completing my second yoga teacher training.

When I returned to the US that summer, my French friend Pauline met me in Michigan and we drove all the way through the UP, all the way west through the US and then north to British Columbia, where we camped and picked cherries all summer with a ragtag group of French and Quebecois hippies. We were dirty and delighted. We got up at 4 am every day to pick cherries before the heat set in, then spent the afternoons drinking beer at the lake (which we didn’t swim in due to all the chemical run-off from the farms). The chemicals fried my hair and caused it to fall out. The farmers made jokes that they hoped I wasn’t planning on having a baby.

Life felt marvelous and open and delicious and yet I was deeply in love and thought only of Tyler, who I had been communicating with for months. Because we both traveled so much, it was difficult to find a time and place to meet. But then finally we did. I drove back down to the US one morning after a hot springs tour with some friends from Germany. I was fresh and windswept from the glorious Canadian Rockies and all I wanted was to see him. We met one sizzling afternoon at a pub in Kila, Montana and my heart exploded.

We were together from then on for seven beautiful years. Tyler and I returned to California and ended up finding more permanent positions in the weed world. We lived in a moldy shack and worked our asses off during the day, cultivating gigantic cannabis plants. In February 2018 we moved north to Oregon and settled on a private hot springs property in the national forest east of Eugene. We spent 3 magical months there before relocating to a tiny house on the same farm where my brother lived and worked. We spent a year there, working alongside my dear brother and a fantastic crew. Rows upon rows of lush organic fruits and vegetables filled my life and dreams.

I felt incredibly healthy and happy doing farm life in the Willamette Valley. It was wonderful to reconnect with my brother and be in such close proximity to him. We hadn’t lived close to one another in nearly 10 years at that point, ever since I left home for college in Boston. I truly cherished every single day that I got to spend with him and our other farm friends. Gathering around the table for potlucks every week was a ritual that healed my soul. I felt that I finally had a semblance of family for the first time in my life.

Behind the scenes, my health was wreaking havoc on my body and mental health, however. I was certain that I had an autoimmune disease called endometriosis but due to some circular logic in the fucked up Western medical world, I could get neither a diagnosis nor a clear answer on how to reduce the chronic pain which completely ruled my life. Yes, it was true that I was enjoying my young adulthood, yes I was in love with my partner, yes I had privilege, but I also had a body which rebelled fiercely against me and caused me to be doubled over in pain, vomiting and shitting myself and drowning in suicidal thoughts.

But before I could resolve my health, I felt that I needed to resolve other things. I was 28 years old at this point and felt like I had nothing to show for myself, so I applied to the Montessori Northwest Institute in Portland and was accepted. It was a beautiful dream, I thought, to become a Montessori teacher after attending Montessori as a child. It seemed that life was coming full circle. I thought it would bring me great joy, not just to have a career, but to care for children.

Tyler and I moved to Portland in August 2019 so I could begin my training. I opted for a dual program so I could obtain my Master’s degree simultaneously. It was another fabulous year, living in NE Portland and riding my bike every day through the fog to school. I adored being in school again. My synapses sparkled with excitement. I felt smart and strong. I felt like I had something to look forward to.

The pandemic interrupted my training right near the end, so we finished classes online. I started looking for a job and found one at a small school in Albany, OR. Tyler and I also found a house in Corvallis, a dark old house that resembled a ship and had no space for a garden.

Once again, I could write a book just about all of my experiences working in these schools – and when I publish my book you can read it alllll! Let me just say this: I would never, ever, ever recommend that anyone become a teacher. The profession is fucked, and not just because of the low pay, not just because of the extraordinary expectations placed on teachers, not just because administrative positions tend to attract narcissistic, controlling-type people. I didn’t realize that I would be sick all of the time. I didn’t realize that I would not just be a teacher but also a therapist to the parents. I didn’t realize that I would be expected to take photos on my phone and use my laptop while I worked with the children. I didn’t realize that I would not just be exhausted and sick but also deeply unhappy. The joy I felt was fleeting. There were moments where it seemed like it all made sense but the reality is that being a teacher is exactly like being in a toxic relationship. Diminishing returns. Toxic positivity. Enough bullshit to make you go crazy and burn out.

And that’s what happened. By the time I entered my third year of teaching in 2022, I was crawling in the door. At this point I had already undergone surgery for my endometriosis. In 2020 I singlehandedly succeeded in diagnosing myself and then petitioning the state of Oregon to grant me a laparoscopy surgery to remove that evil shit from my organs. But still it is very interesting that the night before my first day back at school in August 2022, I had a major relapse and was up all night in excruciating pain. The message was crystal clear: my body was begging me not to go back. But I did. I tried to make it work. I was a perfectionist. I worked 50 or 60 hours a week, mostly unpaid. I was friendly and professional and doing my best.

Just after Christmas 2022, I flew to Mexico City to visit two friends I had met while trimming in Humboldt years before. This trip was problematic but it is the reason I am sitting here now in Mexico City and not in a classroom in Corvallis, Oregon.

It still feels so fresh and raw. If I’m being honest, it’s difficult to even write about. I would change many things about that first visit and how I handled the aftermath of my choices, but that is what it means to be human, I suppose.

I fell in love with one of those friends I came here to visit, or more accurately, I fell in love with the notion that my mind and spirit could be cracked open so vividly like they had been when I lived out of my car, or when I traveled alone in India on a train for 3 days. I wanted to be wild and free again. I wanted someone – something – with fire and passion. I looked out at the volcanos surrounding the Mexico City valley and something took hold of me. The immense sky came down and struck my spine like turquoise lightning. I had forgotten somewhere along the way that I had the power to choose, to make change. So I changed everything.

Shortly after returning to Oregon, I ended my relationship with Tyler and informed the school that I would not be coming back the following year. My boss didn’t like this and proceeded to treat me as though I didn’t exist. The work environment became so hostile that I eventually had no choice but to leave in the middle of the year. When I sent an email to the parents explaining why I left so abruptly, the school’s lawyer sent me a cease & desist notice. It seemed like no matter how hard I tried to be authentic and communicate my needs & thoughts, there was always someone who felt threatened by my power and my freedom.

Maybe this is starting to sound angry and selfish, but maybe that’s because I, too, was feeling angry and selfish. Don’t worry, Mexico City quickly took that out of me and not in a gentle way. The man I fell in love with here? He ended up being an abuser. Those first few months were very, very, very difficult. I entered a deep depression. I stopped eating. I longed to go back to Tyler and Oregon and my friends. I felt like I had fucked up, and that was a horrible way to feel. I was lost, like a dead leaf getting torn to shreds by the wind.

I did go back to the US, but only for 2 months last year, and otherwise I’ve been here in this huge, crazy city of 22 million people. I’m living in another apartment with a new roommate and really just trying to make it work.

I have moved so many times, and yes, my cat is with me here too. All these years I have been searching for home, for belonging. In the process, life has humbled me. I am no longer so arrogant or judgmental. I simply needed to live more life to understand. I feel such tender compassion for my 22-year-old self and her blue car with the rug packed away inside, ready to put down roots as soon as possible (Taurus style). I think she would have felt despair if I told her that in 10 years she still wouldn’t know where home is. But what I have learned about myself is that I am also incredibly adaptable. I ended up giving that rug and mirror away to a Goodwill in Eugene, OR when I realized that I wouldn’t be finding a place to live anytime soon. I accepted my reality and moved on. And that’s what I am doing now too.

I still give astrology readings but I don’t teach yoga or Montessori anymore. I still write for this website and plan on turning all of it into a book/calendar for 2026. Before that happens, I need to build my brand so I’m not just some random person publishing a random calendar. I know I’ll do it. I won’t just do it, I’ll do it well. My main gig right now is my felted wool art. I make all kinds of shit and I’m getting better all of the time. Today I’m going to work on this beautiful life-sized snake and add some deep purple scales to the skin. I have other side hustles too. I tried working at a clothing store in Roma Norte for 4 days recently and hated it. But that’s the thing, I really can’t work for anyone else, even in a low-stress environment like a vintage clothing store. I tried, I really fucking tried to have a “normal” career when I worked as a teacher, but it’s just not for me, babies, and that’s ok.

My journey has taught me to accept myself. I don’t want to fight with myself or against my nature anymore. I give myself permission to be as I am, this weird alien-human with strong emotions and opinions. Despite all the difficulties of living in this massive city and navigating relationships at 33 years old, the truth is that I feel proud of myself. I feel strong and brave and capable. I taught myself a new language and an entirely new way of being, and if I can do that, I can make it. I trust myself. From the time I was a little rainbow sheep, I knew that my journey was going to be wild and different because I was never like the others. Now I raise my bubbling neon goblet to all you lovely people. Thank you for making it to the end of my post. Thank you for reading my work for all of these years. Please don’t hesitate to drop me a comment below. Thanks for reading, thanks for being weird, and thanks for celebrating 10 years of Zen Ren with me!!

Much love,

Lauren

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