I've had moments in the past - like when my Mum died, and then my Dad - when I've realised at a cellular level that life is finite. My days are numbered and I'd better stop faffing about and get on with *it*. Whatever *it* might be. I've spent years, decades even, working in uninspiring jobs, purely for the paycheck. I've dabbled at weekends with photography, writing, making notes, creating websites. Nothing ever came of my dabbling. My notebooks are full of the same things - write a book, write a specific book, become a writer, earn a living from writing/being creative. Be self-employed. Don't work for the man. Fulfil my purpose. (First, perhaps - discover what that purpose might be!). I had a moment last year. I was working in a job that took all of my energy. Supposedly four days a week, I ended up working seven. Gradually, I gained control, reorganised, created new processes, streamlined. It took my heart and soul. I was impeded by my boss. Nice enough guy but massively out of his depth. In the end, one day, the feather broke the camel's back and I said my piece. The writing was on the wall after that. That heated conversation was a pivotal moment, a catalyst, a trigger. The whole house of cards collapsed. I saw things for what they were. An organisation trying to put lipstick on a pig. I could have stayed a few more months but the result would have been the same. I started 2024 with a clean slate, ideas, half-baked plans, and a sense of relief. My ineffectual boss did me one favour. He made me see where my path lay. Would I spend another year doing something that didn't light me up? Another year taking a deep breath every morning before I put my key in the lock of the office door? Or, as I approach my 60s (eek), would I start living my dream life? ^ef63ae > When you get past 60, you do feel a sort of licence finally to write fearlessly ... > > [Sebastian Barry](https://www.theguardian.com/books/2024/feb/10/sebastian-barry-old-gods-time-interview-when-you-get-past-60-you-do-feel-a-licence-to-write-fearlessly) Amor Towles talks about having a limited amount of time as he turns 60, and the importance of prioritising the important work.  Judi Dench, in her late 80s, thinks she's still 56 as a way to live for today and forget about ageing. If I'm lucky, I might have another 20 years ahead of me. How will I fill that time? Like Jenny, now in her 80s, who has homes in Goa and Switzerland, travels, thinks nothing of bobbing down to London for a party, gives the best afternoon teas and is a game old bird? Or Annie, also 80 - she spends Winters in France, runs a charity in Bangladesh, is an artist and calligrapher, is spirited and full of verve? My Mum's oldest friend, Barbara. She's 93 this year, still drives. Every year she books several coach holidays, goes on her own, and sends us postcards. Yvonne, a recent acquaintance, is the oldest of the lot. She's 94, recently started using an iPad, is visually impaired but still makes a point of getting out somewhere every day. Each of these women live life to the fullest. They have a lot to say for themselves, they're interested in a lot. Apart from Annie, they all live alone. These are the women I aspire to be like.  *Thanks to [Deborah Vass](https://stillsketching.substack.com/p/a-winter-palette) for sharing this song!*