I couldn't hear a word she said

I nearly screamed out loud in public.

I was at the migration office in Sofia today, getting my EU residency permit sorted.

This was my second visit after a city-wide chase to get additional documents, extend my medical insurance, and make last-minute photocopies in tiny copy shops that doubled as a place to buy crisps and chocolate.

At migration, the woman behind the counter was speaking through a thick perspex panel in quiet English, but she may as well have been speaking Swahili.

I just kept nodding and sliding documents through the gap with one hand behind my back, fingers crossed tightly.

At one point, she asked me something, and I smiled and said ‘da’, and I hoped to all the Eastern European gods she hadn't asked if I'd recently committed serious acts of violent crime.

But they seemed satisfied with my docs, and now I wait.

I'm one step closer to living out my dream of developing some sort of homestead/creative retreat/sheep farm hybrid in the hills of Bulgaria.

Not long ago, I would have talked myself out of even being in this country.

I would have convinced myself it was too complicated, too foreign, too risky, and spent another twelve months researching, or playing Candy Crush from the safe digital windows of my laptop.

The thing that changed wasn't my circumstances. It was how I saw myself, and what I believed I deserved to go after.

The Art of Self-Respect is the book I wrote, explaining in detail the 25 daily habits I adopted to rapidly shift this identity.

Grab your dreams by the nuts and grab the book bundle here.

Peace and permits,

Alex