Recently I had one of those revelatory moments usually reserved for birthdays ending in zero. I was bopping along, living my life, when my youngest friend informed me about a decision she has made to quit her job. The job in question isn’t very satisfying creatively, but offers all the bells and whistles of retirement plans, good insurance and so forth. Why, she asked herself, am I concerned about these things when I’m so young? Do I need the safe job and benefits when I’m living in an enlightened city with services for the uninsured and lots of opportunity? While answering her own questions, she made the decision—just like that—to quit and let the chips fall where they may.

I remember thinking like that. I remember when my greatest asset was my confidence in my ability to take care of myself. I remember living in communities offering seemingly endless opportunities to explore all of my interests. In short, I remember being young and having an array of colors from the palette with which to tint my world. I’m no longer at the beginning of my life and as the candle grows shorter, so do my options and I resent it. It’s not like I didn’t know I was getting older, but the wrinkling around the eyes and the certainty of gravity on some body parts is only part of the process. In my head, all of my options were still open, but I realized with a grand shock, that’s just not true.

While I still retain a lot of confidence in my abilities and my mind still seems to be intact, one’s options are more limited as one ages. Clearly, I won’t be doing physical labor—but then I never did—although I could have. These days I couldn’t do it with a gun to my head, so I guess working construction, being a house painter, a mechanic, or a gardener is out.

Similarly, it’s too late to become a doctor, and my legs would never take being a nurse, but I could still become a lawyer, if I was only willing to go to law school, but I’m not. After years of sitting on my ever-expanding ass and using my head and my hands to create words and graphics, and having the luxury of doing all this from my home and often in my pajamas, I’m just not corporate material either. After all, sometimes my day begins at 4 a.m. and I’m napping by noon. At most large companies, there are flex hours, but not flexible enough for someone like me. Most all people go to work at the same time, plus they don’t put couches in ladies’ rooms any more, so napping at the World Headquarters of Who Loves Ya Baby? is not going to happen. Whap! Another door slamming in my face.

It truly is a shock to realize one’s limitations in terms of what the future may hold. All of my adult life, if a job stopped being interesting or there was nothing more I could learn, I was out the door and on to the next. Not once in my adult life did I quit one job and already have another. That was far too safe. I liked a little danger and uncertainty, although to be honest, in larger markets, having certain skills could always result in temp jobs, which often paid quite well. So the wolf never really howled at the door, although there were a few times I could hear him rustling the shrubbery.

Living here is a different story. It is not a large metropolitan melting pot with ever changing employee needs. I’m not cut out either physically or psychologically to be in the service industry, and in a tourist area, what is needed is people willing to cheerfully cater to the needs of others and I would be seriously lousy and unhappy trying to perform in that arena. If it is true that where you are living when you reach a half-century is where you’ll die, I’m likely to spend eternity here. I get itchy feet after a decade or so, so I better get busy and create options. After all, tomorrow is another day, Miss Scarlett, and who knows what you might think up?

More from Leah