As I ready myself to transplant my life away from Toronto, my home of almost ten years, I find I’m more than a little nervous about something.

I’m about to move to Vancouver, but I won’t have a job when I get there.

That’s not quite true, but within that sentence is an interesting idea. See, I do have a job. I’m a writer. Not “content writer for…” or something like that, not writing in my spare hours while I work full or part-time somewhere, but a freelance writer. Working from my own experience, at my own discretion, on my own terms. The same work I’m currently doing for my clients won’t change from Toronto to Vancouver, or anywhere else in the world. But if one or more of those projects were to dry up unexpectedly (as has just seemed to have occurred with an exciting film I was looking forward to working on over the next couple of months), I’m sort of hung out to dry.

I tweeted not too long ago that freelancing makes me feel like Han Solo. That’s definitely still true, but I’m starting to wonder if I feel like Han Solo the freewheeling badass, or Han Solo dodging bounty hunters (seriously guys, that was a close call on Ord Mantell) and Jabba the Hutt’s debt collectors. I suppose it could be both, and maybe that’s the point.

100% lying about the vest, though. I was probably naked when I tweeted this.

Of course, there’s nothing stopping me from acquiring a part-time job when I arrive in BC. If I need the financial security that comes with doing someone else’s work, then I might be able to find somewhere that can give me that. But it’ll be a far cry from the soaring euphoria I’ve recently experienced in working only for myself.