"Like a Drifter I Walk Alone"

There are songs that are not just music – they are mirrors of our lives. For me, Here I Go Again by Whitesnake has become exactly that mirror. When David Coverdale sings "Like a drifter I walk alone," I don’t just hear the words – I am them.

My life has been a long road of farewells and new beginnings. Girlfriends I've loved but left. Friends who were once indispensable, but whose paths eventually diverged from mine. Jobs and assignments I once poured myself into, but later chose to leave when they no longer aligned with my inner compass. Lifestyles I built, lived to the fullest, and then broke away from – just to keep growing.

There’s nothing glamorous about always moving on. It’s not some movie-like adventure where everything magically works out. No, it's often painful, full of guilt and doubt, shadowed by loneliness. But it has been necessary. For me, there was never really a choice: I've always known when it was time to move on, no matter how much it hurt.

Life as an Inner Journey

Many see life as a pursuit of stability: find your place, build your relationships, and then hold onto them. I admire those who can live like that. But for me, life has always been an inner journey rather than an external one. And when that inner voice tells me I'm done in a place, I cannot ignore it.

It started early. Even as a young man, I noticed I thought differently. I could feel when a friendship had become empty, even if we were still laughing together. I could sense when a job, once a passion, turned into a duty. That feeling of emptiness has always been my compass. When it arrived, I knew: it’s time to go.

It’s not about being ungrateful or disloyal. Quite the opposite. I am someone who gives everything as long as I’m present. But when my heart is no longer there, it would be a greater betrayal – both to myself and to others – to stay.

The Price of Leaving

But every time I left something important behind, it cost me. Loneliness isn't a romantic image of standing at sunset on an empty road. Loneliness is lying awake at night wondering if you did the right thing. It’s sitting at a kitchen table, missing someone or something you chose to leave.

It’s questioning why you can’t be like everyone else. Why you always have to walk away.

Here I Go Again captures that feeling perfectly. It’s not so much a triumphant song as it is one of sorrowful acceptance. A whispered promise to yourself: "I know I have to do this again. And I know it’s going to hurt."

But it’s also a song about courage. Because it takes courage to follow your own path, especially when it means walking it alone.

Why I Keep Moving

So why have I continued? Why have I never just settled down for good?

The answer is both simple and complex: I don’t chase happiness in external things. I seek truth in my own life. And sometimes, that truth demands leaving behind everything comfortable and safe, to make room for something new that doesn’t yet have a name.

I believe every human being carries an inner fire. A glow that burns brightly when we live true to ourselves. When I stay too long in a place where that fire fades, I begin to slowly die inside. And I have promised myself never to die that way.

That’s why I’ve walked away.

"Drifter" – A Misunderstood Word

In the song, the word drifter is used. It often carries a negative tone – someone who can't commit, who’s rootless, maybe even unreliable. But I see drifter differently.

A drifter is a seeker. Someone unwilling to compromise their soul. Someone who would rather risk loneliness than live a lie.

I have worked hard for many years, taken responsibility, built relationships, done my duty. But when I felt my time was up, I moved on – even when it meant hurting myself or others.

It wasn’t about running away, but about staying true to something deeper inside me.

Life's Hardening

Life has hardened me along the way. Every time I left something important behind, I grew a little stronger. Not harder – but stronger. More rooted in who I am. Less afraid of pain. More willing to be true to myself.

When Coverdale sings "I don't know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been," it resonates throughout my body. I’ve often had no clear plan for the future. But I have always known when it was time to let go of the past.

Living like this is embracing uncertainty. It’s accepting that sometimes you’ll be completely alone on a deserted road, with no one to rely on but yourself.

And knowing that it’s okay.

Finally Stopping the Machine – Finding My Place and Love

After a lifetime of always moving forward, of always walking alone, something remarkable happened. I found a place where the endless machinery inside me – that relentless drive to move, to change, to leave – finally came to a halt.

That place is Bansko.

In this small town at the foot of the Pirin Mountains in Bulgaria, I found what I had never truly known: a place where I could be still without feeling trapped. A place that doesn’t demand I change, but instead allows me to breathe, live, and just be.

Geographically, Bansko is a gift to a restless soul like mine. From here, I can reach many worlds within a few short hours:

• Sofia, the lively and rugged capital.

• Greece, where the Mediterranean air wraps around you like an old friend.

• Serbia, Macedonia, and the ancient echoes of the Balkans' rich history.

• The Black Sea coast, with its warm waters and forgotten harbors.

Bansko is not a cage. It is a starting point. An open hand. A crossroads where adventures begin rather than end. Here, my drifter heart is free to explore without needing to uproot itself every time the wind changes.

But the true miracle of Bansko wasn't just the mountains, the roads, or the opportunities for discovery.

It was Boryana.

In Bansko, I met her — the woman who saw me for who I was, and loved me not despite my history of walking alone, but perhaps because of it. With Boryana, I found something I had never dared to believe possible:
A love that doesn’t chain me, but instead strengthens me.
A love that doesn’t ask me to stop being a drifter in my soul, but walks beside me, hand in hand.

In her, I found the home that no city, no landscape, no lifestyle had ever been able to give.

In Bansko, with Boryana, I didn’t lose myself.
I found myself.

And for the first time in my life, I no longer walk alone.

"Here I go again on my own," yes — but now, also:
"Here we go together."