Last September was one of those life-changing months that I will never forget. I had left working at Emily Carr Institute in the spring of '04 and had just finished four months of paid vacation. My vacation was winding up at the end of August with a trip to Los Angeles—the final party before starting a new job as the executive director of a local charity organization. When I landed back in Vancouver, I took a cab home and as soon as I had put down my bags, I called my Dad only to get his caregiver on the phone who blurted out, "Your Dad's dead" as soon as she heard my voice.

It had been me and my Dad all my life—my mother was institutionalized when I was twelve. I still can't get used to life without him. Three days after my arrival home from LA, I found my bags from LA were still exactly where I had put them down. I hadn't touched them.

The next week I started my new job as head of about 25 staff, and in a sector that was completely new to me—it was my first ever non-arts job. Then, suddenly, my dog died and two weeks after that I found my Dad's best-friend and former caregiver barely functioning in a chair in Dad's old place. Over the next three months, I had to aid her passage into an extended care facility with me operating her power of attorney.

It was all too much for one month's life experience and so I quit my new job. I had to. I couldn't look after my Dad's affairs, his friend Rita and cope with so demanding a new job, and with more time to devote to my life, by May I had Rita comfortably eased into an extended care facility and Dad's will probated. Now all I had to do was decide what to do with myself.

One day I decided to walk around Stanley Park and by the end of my walk, I had a plan. I did not want to go back to working in any full time job. Instead, I decided my inheritance was going to allow me to quit doing anything I didn't want to do. I decided only to do creative work and not do any more arts administration.

My plan, however, involved a long start-up period. First, I wanted to travel and take courses so that I could make future income from newly acquired creative skills. I decided to give myself three years off—that is, with no expectation of income and to spend what it took in the way of equipment and courses in order to be a modest little documentary filmmaker.

"So you're retired," people say to me. "Well, I am not working," I reply. I don't feel retired. I'm living an artist's life—any income I can earn will be derived from my creative endeavours only. What I have retired is that nagging inner voice that has always wanted to maximize income and had me believing I had to work nine-to-five, Monday to Friday. Like my artist friends, I will never retire. We may experience a loss of income and professional opportunity as we age, but most of us will be involved in the creative processes forever. We create for pleasure as well as professionally (i.e., for money). The film editing courses that I am taking will give me the potential to earn again but in a more interesting and creative way than as an arts administrator.

My self appointed "sabbatical" and my decision to pursue a "career change" to filmmaking so late in life is causing many of my artist friends to consider their future. Will they work forever? For how long? How hard? Full time forever or part time instead? And again, I am stuck by the differences between my visual arts friends and my performing arts friends. Virtually all my performing arts friends are members of union or professional associations and as such, every time they have worked they have been making contributions to a pension fund. (And for those who find themselves in a compromised economic situation after a lifetime of work in the performing arts in BC, can move into subsidized housing that caters specifically to their needs (the PAL Lodge at Cardero and Georgia in Vancouver). The social and financial support networks for visual artists are non-existent by comparison. They are on their own. And since so many of us make so little money from our creative work, self-determined savings plans should be part of every artist's life plan. The administrative jobs I had in the later part of my career helped me save some RRSPs, thank goodness. Otherwise, I'd be in trouble, and with no spouse to be part of my aging strategy, I must be even more self-reliant. I will have to work some more, but at least it will be under less pressure and limited to only creative work.

As an addendum to this article, I would like to tell you that I have been busy volunteering as a result of the abundance of time I have as a non-worker. I have become a board member and significant volunteer for two organizations and I encourage all of you to be active volunteers. As a volunteer I can say "No" if I have to whereas when I was paid to work I could not; and I can say, "If I am going to do the work, I'd like to do it my way." It is wonderful to give time to organizations one admires. It is better than giving money in that as a volunteer the rewards are incredible, ongoing and personal. In effect, I have joined two communities, and I couldn't be happier. Support your local gallery or museum—any arts organization—by donating time.