Back to School at 46

There were many agonising scenes in Normal People, but watching Connell stare uncomfortably at his feet during an English tutorial in Trinity while his peers confidently and robustly debated the subtleties of Daniel Defoe’s writing was the most excruciating for me. It was tantamount to a muscle memory dragging me back to university 28 years ago when I was a shy, intimidated English undergraduate who dreaded the intimacies of tutorials and craved the anonymity of 500-strong lecture halls.

What really made the butterflies in my stomach beat about like flies trapped beneath a window blind, however, was the fear that I could be putting myself back into this very same, anxiety-inducing position come September when I begin a master’s degree in NCAD. The day after my 46th birthday I’ll return to full-time education almost three decades after I first stepped off the 84 bus outside the concrete compound that is UCD. I’ll be a “fresher” again, just a little less fresh in the face.

I’ll be older than my peers, and probably older than many of my teachers too.

This decision has been a long time in the making. I have finally accepted that I am never going to find “the one” - a job that will make me happy for the rest of my career. The past 15 years have been turbulent - fulfilling absolutely - but a little too like the proverbial rollercoaster. I’ve suffered two redundancies, two resignations due to unpleasant and difficult workplaces and two stints as a freelancer (neither by choice), the second of which began just before lockdown, which has brought its own unique set of challenges.

I’ve had to reimagine myself constantly during this time to remain relevant in a changing media landscape, pushing myself far beyond my comfort zone of magazine pages into podcasting, hosting events, brand strategising and social media. But magazines are suffering what seems like an irreversible decline, and being a freelance writer and editor, although something I’m thoroughly enjoying, is as shaky as Donald Trump’s version of the truth. Holding on, let alone rising up, in the world of modern media is beginning to feel like a feat of endurance.

It was time to stop hoping for the best and begin planning for it. I never anticipated being part of the gig economy but if that’s my future, I want as many options as possible within it. So I applied for a place on an MA in Design History and Material Culture at NCAD. It incorporates everything I’m interested in; art, design, architecture, film, media and aesthetics. I’ve gone with my heart, not my head, choosing a course because it excites me even if it doesn’t offer a direct and alternative career path. It’s the course I would have chosen at 18 if only I’d had the confidence to think about a creative college for anything more than a fleeting, fearful moment.

midlife crisis?

This makes me think there’s probably something of a mid-life crisis about my decision too, if you believe Psychology Today’s definition of the phenomenon. Apparently, for smart, goal-driven women, a mid-life crisis is not about regaining their lost youth by means of a piercing and a Porsche, it’s about a restless craving to realise their potential. And this is at the heart of my decision. I want to discover whether or not I can cut it in one of the most creative environments in the country. I want to find out whether I could feel I “belong” in an environment as artistic and inspiring as NCAD. I’ve spent many years wondering about The Road Not Taken, deliberating over whether or not I’d be happier now if I’d studied art instead of English; if I’d be more successful, or financially better off (the latter is unlikely, I admit).

You see, my work life doesn’t look the way I thought it would at 45. I’ve grafted since I graduated in 1996; I’ve never taken more than a two-week break from any job; I’ve saved religiously and always understood that financial security was important to me. Yet, I haven’t achieved it. A crippling recession, the digital revolution and a global pandemic have tripped me up, and others like me, again and again. In fact, according to an article on Oprah.com, female Gen Xers “possess a deep-bone, almost hallucinatory panic about money”. I absolutely do. And that’s another reason why the decision to go back to college is so unnerving - it costs a lot of money. It’s hard not to wonder if I’d be better off hanging onto my cash (there’s no guarantee the investment will pay off) or if my time would be better spent looking for a “proper” job (I was brought up to think this was the holy grail).

I’m very fortunate that I can afford the college fees, although I’m not in a position to focus solely on my studies, so while the master’s is technically full-time, like most mature students, I’ll be juggling work and life with academia. Without suggesting for a minute that I’m mentally or physically in decline at 45, I’m not the woman I was at 25. I worry that I’ll be overwhelmed by reading lists; that doubling up on deadlines - for work and college - will have me feeling twice my age; that my freelance work will suffer, leaving me looking like a Jack of all trades but a master of none. I also irrationally worry about inconsequential things that only a mature student would, like whether or not there’ll be parking. Some days it’s a mind melt.

lifelong learning

I’ve read a lot of inspiring stories about the benefits of becoming a mature student, but I’ve nervously scanned just as many that focus on financial losses and emotional breakdowns. I’m lucky then that I grew up with lifelong learning. My Dad, a father of six who worked full-time, earned a bachelor's degree and a master’s degree in history in his 50s. After 15 years in academia working as a molecular biologist, my younger sister retrained to become a secondary school teacher, while my older brother has just embarked on a PhD in architecture. In my family, education at any age is wholly encouraged and supported, not for the letters that it adds after your name, but for the learning experience in and of itself.

I read an article in The Guardian in January which revealed that according to a study, people were, on average, most unhappy at the age of 47. Readers wrote in, explaining why they felt this way, and what most of them expressed was the experience that life had come to a kind of standstill, which they felt powerless to change. I think the most frightening thing to feel in midlife is that you’re going nowhere. Time is not running out, but it’s moving a little faster these days.

I hope this MA means I’ll circumvent the 47-year-old fall off. If I’m lucky, by then I’ll have met a new community of like-minded people, discovered alternative career paths and formed new friendships. Perhaps I’ll even be fulfilling fresh ambitions and taking on greater long-term goals (a PhD perhaps?). If not; if I drop out or simply fail, then I’ll simply keep reminding myself that it’s better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all. I never quite believed this in my twenties, but in midlife, I know it to be true.

Marie Kelly, June 2020.