Hi there, welcome to 'the community'!
Le-zen already has some history. It was created by me, your host, after I had been living on the hill for nine years with my children: a never ending holiday feeling, but at some point I thought it was time to move back to the world, to my home town (Ghent). The plan was to rent out the beautiful spot to holiday seekers and other seekers and get my apartment in the city paid. It all worked very well. People from all over the world booked their stay with Airbnb and I could pay the rent in the city. Le-zen was good business. But. Did I really want to be a holiday home keeper? Did I really want to hear and read intimidating messages from the unhappy and impossible neighbors of Le-zen? Wasn't I the one preaching about letting go and wasn't I the happiest person when I could start and create anew? So what if I just sold the beautiful spot and made myself 'available' to new opportunities, to traveling light, to enjoying some financial freedom (instead of pressure)? It seemed a good plan. A confusing one (I kept feeling SO at home in Le-zen), but a good one. A daring one.
The plan took some time (permissions and appealings (the neighbors) etc, let's not go there), but at some point Le-zen was officially for sale and it would have taken only one decision to have it sold. However no one made that decision. Many people fell in love, no one thought Le-zen should change hands.
Meanwhile I had put on hold the business of Le-zen for too long - the selling would settle my financial situation anyhow, so I thought - and I was getting increasingly confused. Did I miss something out about the plans the bigger forces had in mind? While a month in Bali last summer - a holiday I couldn't afford but just needed too much - I decided to do what seemed the only way out: give up the apartment in Ghent (I always felt uprooted in it anyway) and move back to vacant Le-zen. On my way back to Europe, I reopened the listings of the studios on Airbnb again, and by the time I got back home, I had my first booking. Strangely enough, and to my delight, the first bookers were digital nomads - people with no fixed address. They joined me in what I since then call 'the community'. Other people who gave up their home and business came along, too.
I maybe start to see what those bigger forces had in mind. My own sense of traveling, my exploring new ways of living, co-living, and sharing spaces, my need to be in nature and my longing to meet with people (the world) come together.
It's all about letting go, yes, but maybe letting go does not always mean getting rid of things (sometimes it does). It's about letting go of fixed ideas, of contraction, and allowing, being available, and cooperating with those bigger forces. Wasn't I an author in that matter?