Expatriate: Part I

Expatriate. It’s such a thrilling, evocative word. This one word encapsulates various things that I have always wanted to be but fall tragically short of. Like what, Kim? Well, since you asked…

Mysterious: Although I have tried to introduce the principle of “keep people guessing” in my life, I’m way too talkative and usually end up spilling even more emotions than I would have if I had not been trying to keep people guessing.
Thrilling: I work for a direct mail company. While this is a good job, it’s not exactly edge-of-your-seat, bated-breath material.
Dangerous: Seriously, the most dangerous thing about me is that I do tae-bo… watch out, world!
Intriguing: Did I ever have a blog before? Case and point. And while the jury is still out as to whether this current blog is intriguing or not, well… you guys keep coming back at least!
Defiant: Just the idea of standing up to someone (especially scary people) makes me hyperventilate.
Rogue: My husband Will is one of the most passive, unassuming people I have ever met, and yet I followed him to Atlanta. What does that say about me?

You see? I alone am not that exciting. But attach the word expatriate to my name and holy bonkers, Batman! Suddenly I am following in the footsteps of masters like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Edith Wharton. Suddenly my favorite pastime is sitting in cafes on balmy summer evenings sipping coffee and wine, discussing the politics of my mother country and influencing the natives of my adopted country with my wit and unique way of seeing the world. Suddenly I have the opportunity of making friends with “people of means,” while I myself am content in my station as an eccentric writer who is poor in worldly goods but rich in life experiences.

I think I’ll print business cards with my new title:

Kim Stone, Expatriate

It’s funny how one word can change your whole perception of your life. Before, when I was just Kim Stone, I was allowed to live like an average person—never striving to break the mold, content with knowing what to expect in the years to come. I had no cool title, so there was nothing to live up to. But now, now that I’ve been branded with this new name, average isn’t good enough anymore. I actually have to make choices that deem me worthy of coolness.

Honestly I’m a little scared that I won’t be able to live up to my new station in life. I can already imagine my first test: seeing a beautiful new Coach purse in a shop window. Will I be able to resist, choosing instead to remember that this money has been allocated for an amazing trip to Indonesia? Or when car shopping—will I be able to choose the rickety but ripe-with-character Land Cruiser versus the brand-new Land Rover I have been eyeing for months now? Or when I have the opportunity to go skiing in New Zealand—will I be able to conquer my fear of careening down an unimaginably steep slope, with no hope of stopping except by sacrificing a limb, all for the opportunity to gain the experience of a lifetime?

Titles create expectations, whether they are expectations you apply to yourself or expectations others ask of you. Will I really be able to live up to all of the connotations that the term expatriate has set for me? I hope so. I know that people will continue reading this blog because they are hoping for me to relate the cool experiences, not the purchase of a Coach purse. And I know that I myself will not be satisfied with this whole adventure unless I feel that Will and I have savored it to its maximum potential. Does this mean we’ll make the exciting, exotic decision every single time? Probably not. But it does mean that we’re on the right path. The path to mystery, thrills, danger, intrigue, defiance, and roguishness. And if we don’t make it all the way there… well, Coach purses are nice, too.