Two posts from this past weekend (the ones with similar names) were inspired by an article in Economist: <a href="http://www.economist.com/world/international/displaystory.cfm?story_id=15108690#">Being Foreign</a>.  This article has really pushed me to think about what encouraged me to think about my life in Sofia, what inspired me to move, and who I am today because of it. So here's a third post about my experiences and motivations and adventures being foreign.

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="Me in Downtown Sofia (thanks for the picture Beth!)"]<a href="http://www.karolinkabulgaria.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/p1010813.jpg"><img class="size-full wp-image-1828" title="Me Downtown" src="http://www.karolinkabulgaria.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/p1010813.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="375" /></a>[/caption]

More than two years ago, I made the seemingly crazy choice to whittle my belongings down, pack two suitcases and move to a country where I don't speak the language or read the alphabet. On top of this crazy decision to uproot myself in my early twenties--I didn't even replant myself in a city or a country that my friends and family could repeat the name of, nod and pretend to understand why I was moving to Paris, Amsterdam, Munich, Rome or a myriad of other cities. Nope, I moved to Sofia, Bulgaria.

Sofia? Yes.  Interestingly but maybe not surprisingly enough both Americans and Bulgarians asked me the same question: Why?

Why move to Sofia?<!--more-->

Well, the Economist article would lead us to believe that it's because of my fundamental dissatisfaction with my own country but in my case I am not sure that I agree.
<blockquote>A foreigner is, after all, someone who didn’t like his own country enough to stay there. Even so, the complaining foreigner poses something of a logical contradiction. He complains about the country in which he finds himself, yet he is there by choice. Why doesn’t he go home? The foreigner answers that question by thinking of himself as an exile—if not in a judicial sense then in a spiritual sense. Something within himself has driven him away from his homeland. He becomes even a touch jealous of the real exile. Life abroad is an adventure. How much greater might the adventure be, how much more intense the sense of foreignness, if there were no possibility of return? For the real exile, foreignness is not an adventure but a test of endurance.</blockquote>
I know that I am lucky to find myself abroad.  In fact the other word for me would be privileged--I've had access to a good eduction, a good job and access to what's left of the American dream.  And in my early twenties rather than settling into a career, finding a serious boyfriend, starting a family or buying a house I found myself in the lucky position to be young and single as well as to have the time and the money necessary to move.

I didn't hate Washington DC and while I didn't love our then President (Bush), it didn't mean that I disliked America. I think, gasp, that I actually like America. Two years ago, I was bound to Washington DC by my friends, my job and my things; so I told my friends good-bye for now, took a leave of absence from my job and gave my things away sending the books I couldn't imagine parting with to my parent's house.  And that was that.  At the time it seemed much harder than this but looking back it was all pretty straight forward.

But that still doesn't answer this question: Why Sofia?

In the end, it was this: I wanted to know if I had what it took to leave my home, learn a new language, make new friends and explore a new culture.  It was a challenge.  An adventure. A test. Sofia it seemed fit the bill.

The thing is that Sofia has by far exceeded my expectations. Sure, I've been accused from time to time (on this blog) of being the complaining foreigner but by far my <em>like</em> for this city and this country far outweigh my <em>dislike </em>of the city.  Also, sometimes a girl needs to complain and, heck, if you can't do it on your own blog where can you? But can I complain as a foreigner?

I guess that's part of this whole thing, I find myself in the position of having made the choice to move to Sofia and I also have the ability to be able to leave to return to the States.  I have the privilege to live abroad as long as I'd like to.  Thus this thing is an adventure. I am taking a chance, a risk but it's calculated. I've made the choice to live as a foreigner rather than being forced to (and for this I am thankful).

So, here I am. Sofia, Bulgaria. And this a blog about my life and my adventures.  Oh and now it seems pretty clear this blog is also about me as a foreigner.