Yesterday was my last day of work. Yes, I am lucky that I can get health benefits through my husband’s job. Yes, I am grateful that I work in an industry conducive to freelance work. Yes, I am taking a risk here.

For months I have been daydreaming of the wonderful lifestyle I’ll have once I no longer have a commute and can nap in the middle of the day. There will be time for exercise, getting all housework done during the week, cooking healthy family dinners daily.

Right? I will have time for these activities, won’t I? I’ll bike to the farm stand and the library. I’ll get involved at my son’s elementary school. I will write prolifically and edit expertly. I will have plenty of freelance work without begging former coworkers for handouts.

Or maybe I won’t. Maybe life will be a little tougher in some ways, a little more strained. Maybe I’ll be more anxious about finances but less inclined to get off the couch. Maybe I’ll second guess my decision to break free from corporate life.

I read in a local paper today that there is an upcoming networking event, and I realized that might be a good event for me to attend. I can get some business cards made, shake some hands, smile confidently, and tell my fellow networkers, “Hi, I’m Amanda. I’m a freelance editor and writer.” But where is the line between “freelancer” and “unemployed?”

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