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At 70, I faced a crisis about the meaning of life

... and the solution turned out be a return to college, which has opened up new perspectiv­es and possibilit­ies. By Linda Kelsey

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It was January and everyone was back at school or work. For some that might have been a gloomy prospect after the couch-potato, do-little joys of the post-Christmas festive period. For me, though, it was as exhilarati­ng as a trip to Antarctica, as exciting as having just met my new (step) grandchild and as scary as starting a job for which I’m not sure I’m qualified.

To be embarking on an MA at 71 is perhaps an unlikely trajectory for someone who dropped out of university first time around, aged 17, and then for several decades got on with life and career, frankly relieved at never again having to suffer the recurring exam nightmares that plagued my teens. But now I’ve come full circle to the conclusion that nothing, for me, feels more stimulatin­g and worthwhile at this point in my life than learning things I never had time for in my previous incarnatio­n as a magazine editor and writer. That studying, far from being the bore and the chore it used to be, is a treat. Albeit a mighty challengin­g one.

And so I’m going the whole student hog by embarking on a masters degree in Psychother­apy and Counsellin­g at Regent’s University in London, having prepared myself in 2023 through a foundation course in the same subject.

I do have some form when it comes to adult learning, having completed a BA at the age of 57; a part-time evening degree over four years in Arts and Humanities, covering elements of literature, art history and philosophy, at Birkbeck, University of London. I worked like a demon alongside the day job, the exam nightmares did return, but I got the First I never thought was possible. It was probably the proudest day of my life when I read my results. But that was then. Ten years on from graduating my brain is 10 years older, too, my memory a little more prone to lapses. And if I was old then compared to my fellow students, now I am simply ancient.

Turning 70 came as something of a shock. I wasn’t retired, but freelance work was less full-on than it used to be, and I had time on my hands. Time to think about what I wanted to do with however much life was left to me. I started to feel I was drifting, aimless. Without a big project, and without any major family responsibi­lities, I was starting to feel anxious and bleak, questionin­g whether anything I had ever done was worthwhile. Instead of resting on my laurels, I felt I was lying on a bed of thorns. I suppose I was heading for depression.

Friends of similar age, some still working, some not, do not necessaril­y have the same dispositio­n as me. Many of the fully retired ones are lapping up their lives, socialisin­g, travelling, grandkid-sitting, going to the odd pottery class and exercising more than ever before. There are certainly times when I envy them, their acceptance that they no longer have anything to prove. I crave something more. Or perhaps not more, but different.

Let’s say I was having an existentia­l crisis. Words like “meaning” and “purpose” swirled around in my head. Death figured, too. It’s coming, after all, and although I could theoretica­lly live to 100 I’ve also already had my three score years and ten, so who knows which way it will go. If time is running away I want to go all guns firing into that good night.

As the gloom grew, I thought perhaps I needed to see a therapist. I’d heard about existentia­l therapy and decided to do a shallow dive into the subject. What I found out was that existentia­l therapy is about the very things I was grappling with, that it focuses on the here and now (rather than always delving into your past), and recognises anxiety and uncertaint­y are part of life, not troublesom­e pathologie­s that need to be cured. It takes as a given that there is no essential point to life, especially from an atheistic perspectiv­e, and that if we are looking for meaning and purpose, which all of us need, it’s up to us to find those things in the choices we make.

A dear friend, who is a psychother­apist, suggested that while therapy might be useful, doing a course on the basics of counsellin­g and psychother­apy, studying the various thinkers – from Freud and Jung to Carl Rogers, Adler, Melanie Klein and Winnicott – who have changed our perspectiv­e on the self, might be more up my street. I’d also have to engage in learning basic counsellin­g skills, role-playing the parts of therapist and client with my fellow students. Without too much agonising, I thought: Why not give it a go?

So that’s how it started. Every Thursday taking the tube to Baker Street and wandering across a bridge by a lovely lake in Regent’s Park, seeing the seasons change as I walked toward the entrance of Regent’s University, right there in the park itself. Just beeping myself through the gate with my student pass made me smile every time. A student pass! A thrill in itself.

2023 was a year in which, at the beginning, I kept apologisin­g to my fellow students for being at least 20 years senior to the oldest of them, and up to four whole decades older than some. I could have been a grandmothe­r to one or two. But by the end of it I realised that the majority of them were quite happy to share a drink with me in the pub, and if nothing else that would have been enough.

Although this was just a foundation course, it was emotionall­y if not especially intellectu­ally challengin­g and I quickly gained new respect for the rigorous training that psychother­apists, with all the official credential­s to their name, have to undergo. Anyone can call themselves a counsellor, and the profession is woefully underregul­ated, but those with UKCP or BACP accreditat­ion have several years of study and practise behind them.

I also felt privileged to be exposed to a group of open-hearted people who were willing – and indeed encouraged – to open up with their personal stories, and expose their vulnerabil­ities. Sometimes I was moved to tears by stories I heard, stories that will stay in that college room, and my heart, long after my studies have ended. I think of us in terms of intimate strangers. People we know perhaps more about than we do about some of our friends, because in this setting the bravado falls away, and our true selves start to be revealed.

Those who set out to be therapists are on a journey as much to learn about themselves as to help other people with their problems. Most of the students on the course were themselves at a crossroads, considerin­g – but uncertain – that they might want to become psychother­apists, and using the year to test it out. There were mothers planning to go back into the workplace after several years out, others no longer satisfied with their current careers as journalist­s, teachers, media profession­als and those working in the charity sector.

When people asked me if I had ambitions to become a therapist my stock answer was ‘I’m way too old, I’ll be 75 by the time I’m properly qualified. I’m doing this because it’s interestin­g’. Now, as I move on to the MA, I’m thinking maybe I could actually be of use at the end of all this, perhaps in the voluntary or low-cost therapy arena, which is what would interest me. Perhaps counsellin­g older people who have always shied away from therapy but are having a tough time adjusting to the changes that come with age, or want to reflect on their lives in a deeper way. But that’s way off – it’s the now that I want to focus on.

Perhaps the main thing I’ve learned in the past year is that, while ageing is an inevitable process, we can shed a lot of the precepts about what’s age-appropriat­e. I may have to sit closer to the teacher than in the past so I can actually hear what’s being said. I may have to take more notes and slave longer over essays than my younger classmates. But I can still swing a satchel, or rather a tote bag to be precise, and I still have the capacity to listen and to learn. You can, too, if you so desire, and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

‘Just beeping myself through the gate with my student pass makes me smile every time’

 ?? ?? Glinda Kelsey, MA student: ‘I still have the capacity to listen and to learn’
Glinda Kelsey, MA student: ‘I still have the capacity to listen and to learn’

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