I've said it before but Bulgaria isn't a place I grew up dreaming about. But a recent article in <a href="http://www.economist.com/world/international/displaystory.cfm?story_id=15108690#">the Economist</a> really got me thinking about it; the article "The Other" has the tag line: It is becoming both easier and more difficult to experience the thrill of being an outsider.

<img class="alignleft" title="The Economist and the Other (Illustration by C. Corr)" src="http://media.economist.com/images/20091219/D5109XMFO2.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="321" />

The article is excellent and I'd encourage you to read it.  It highlights the assumptions philosophers have made of man and home, the rise of travel and foreignness in the 17th century with the development of the nation-state, the fact that there's a struggle to feel foreign in America because everyone is foreign (I'm not sure I agree with this), the differences between foreigner as a self-imposed exile as opposed to the actual exile who cannot return home, and the danger of nostalgia.

Most of us don't dream about foreignness.  As American teenagers it' not a part of the lexicon of dreams we create for ourselves when we are picking out languages to study in high school (Spanish, French, German).  We dream of Paris, Barcelona, Berlin, Vienna because they are accessible and maybe later at university we dream of Tokyo, Beijing, Florence, Cairo, and Istanbul our world view has gotten bigger and the exotic becomes normalized. Then when we get the chance to study abroad in college cities like London, Sidney and Cape Town begin to emerge--cities that are foreign but where English is spoken as there's something safer but still unknown about places like this. You can still encounter <em>the Other</em>.<!--more-->

Bulgaria entered my dreams three years ago when I decided that it was time for a change.  I am not talking about the kind of desire for change that can be solved with a new hair cut, breaking up with a boyfriend, joining a gym, staring graduate school, moving to a new apartment or buying new shoes.  I am talking about the kind of change that turns your world upside down and makes you define yourself, consider who you are and what you want from you life, pushes you to do things that you weren't sure you could do and makes you feel alive. When I decided to make a Fulbright application, Bulgaria fit the bill.

Did I know the language? No. The Cyrillic alphabet? Again, no. Did my parents know where Bulgaria was? More or less.  Did I know anyone from Bulgaria? At this point, I didn't.  <em>Perfect</em>.

I realize that for many people what I've just written seems absurd. Why apply for a grant to a country that for all intense and purposes you know next to nothing about?  I wanted something new--a bigger challenge; I wasn't fed-up with my country just myself I thought I was becoming complacent. What's better to shake up this complacency than moving to a new country?

But the Economist article reminded me that I am following in the footsteps of those foreigners who came before me. It's explained that in the 20th century,
<blockquote>The golden age of genteel foreignness began. The well-off, the artistic, the bored, the adventurous went abroad. (The broad masses went too, as empires, steamships and railways made travel cheaper and easier.) Foreignness was a means of escape—physical, psychological and moral. In another country you could flee easy categorisation by your education, your work, your class, your family, your accent, your politics. You could reinvent yourself, if only in your own mind. You were not caught up in the mundanities of the place you inhabited, any more than you wanted to be. You did not vote for the government, its problems were not your problems. You were irresponsible. Irresponsibility might seem to moralists an unsatisfactory condition for an adult, but in practice it can be a huge relief.</blockquote>
Certainly, I am adventurous, maybe I was a little bored and I was lucky enough to have the time, opportunity and money to travel.  But I am not trying to escape anything; I am fleeing from my obligations, my family, my life or myself. I am not trying to become someone new or to reinvent myself. I moved to Bulgaria looking for something <em>other</em> than what I'd been doing but I didn't come looking for <em>the Other</em>. I think of myself as a responsible foreigner--someone who asks questions, has a good sense of humor, tries new things, and explores culture, history and politics.

But am I? I wonder in what ways have I been irresponsible? In what ways am I guilty of being the "genteel foreigner?" How do I pick and choose my experiences here in Sofia (and more generally while I am abroad)? And what's the trade off? What kinds of choices am I making living abroad that take me further and further away from being American but if I am not American then what?

I don't think that I can answer these questions so I am going to conclude here today with a special thanks to the Economist.  Thanks for the article, thanks for making me think about what it means to be a foreigner, and thank-you, kind of, for the small existential crisis you've given me about who I am and what I am doing living abroad.