Dark Miles - Never Again with Zach Lawyer
· 44 min · Bonus · Explicit
Episode Dark Miles - Never Again with Zach Lawyer
Zach Lawyer grew up battling his inner demons. His brother was born with spina bifida, and Zach grew up carrying the guilt of a healthy body in a house where one wasn’t guaranteed. He started looking for an outlet early. Skateboarding found him before the drugs did. But it was hard to battle the self-sabotage.
He stole an iPod at 13. A neighbor traded him a quarter pound of weed for it. That was the launch of a dealing career that lasted over a decade, eventually eating the dealer. By his mid-twenties, Zach was using an eighth of cocaine before two in the afternoon, tapering with Xanax, finishing with fentanyl knockoffs. He couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t hold a relationship, could barely look at himself in the mirror. He had become the customer he used to sell to.
The arrest came four days after a confrontation he describes carefully, in his own language: he took something that wasn’t his, had a confrontation with some people, and woke up under a pool floaty in his parents’ backyard to six squad cars and dogs barking in the cul-de-sac. Jail was a race war playing out in real time. He was a long-haired fish in a bucket of water. Before he got to housing, he was face-down on a dirty cell floor - hands cuffed, wrists bleeding, choking on bile - and every rock bottom he’d ever hit flashed through him at once. He made one promise to himself: never again. Never again will I act out of impulse.
He came out and found yoga. Not looking for it. A girlfriend dragged him to a class at Temecula Yoga Collective. He walked in with a lot of darkness around him, a dry wick of a candle, and saw nothing but lit candles. He came out of that first class feeling high as a kite. Turns out that’s your prana. Your life force. A teacher named Danny White showed him what it could look like to live inside a practice rather than outside it.
When COVID killed his plans to teach, he took the practice to the Pacific Crest Trail. Then the Hayduke. Then the Oregon Desert Trail — 800 miles of no markers, no trail, drought year seven. Fifty-two miles without water. A mountain lion in a creek bed at night, headlamp dead, pink taser that barely lit up. Baby rattlesnakes no bigger than his index finger materializing from the camouflage of the desert floor. He stood through all of it. Nothing of the old him was there.
The old him would have panicked.
Zach is writing a book: two years of drafts, one computer crash, months of writer’s block. He wants one person to take something from it. That’s been the goal this entire ride.
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