The word oxymoron comes from two Greek roots: oxys, meaning sharp or keen, and mōros, meaning dull or foolish. Put together, the word itself is a contradiction – sharp-dull – making oxymoron an oxymoron. It first appeared in English in the 1650s, which means for centuries we have delighted in pairing opposites and called it clever.
We know the classics: sweet sorrow, deafening silence, jumbo shrimp. We recognize them instantly because they capture something true. Opposites often sit closer together than we expect.
I used to think oxymorons were just clever word pairings. Turns out, they’re also personality types. I should know. I’m a walking oxymoron.
Here are nine oxymorons that describe me. I wonder if you’ll recognize yourself in any of them.
1. Caffeinated Calm
I begin nearly every morning with yoga in my basement. I fire up YouTube and hang out with Yoga with Adriene, who speaks in a voice that suggests all problems can be solved with breath and gentle stretching. At the same time, I drink enough coffee for my bloodstream to host what can only be described as a staff meeting of anxious squirrels. I am reaching for inner peace while actively fueling outer alertness. Calm on the mat. Chaos in the mug.
2. Off-Duty Educator
I am retired from teaching, which means I no longer have lesson plans or grading deadlines. What I do have is an uncontrollable urge to explain things clearly and thoroughly, even when no one has asked. I give directions with examples and extreme diction. I clarify instructions on signs that already have pictures. Apparently, retirement applies to employment, not personality.
3. Grading Generously
I come from a family of teachers, which means we do not simply experience life – we evaluate it. The quality of chocolate is scored. Roadkill is critiqued. Public bathrooms receive thorough assessments. We believe in grace, of course. We just happen to express it with a rubric. I am kind, encouraging, and deeply supportive – right up until I begin mentally assigning participation points.
4. Sentimental Minimalist
I want less stuff. I say this often and with conviction. I have cleaned out many a closet and junk drawer for a struggling hoarder. I have devoted podcast episodes and previous stories on Sixty and Me to the topic (Ex. Dad’s Spicy La-Z-Boy). And yet every object I touch from MY LIFE carries a memory: a child’s laugh, a season of life, a story I’m not exactly ready to release. I attempt to declutter, only to discover I am emotionally attached to a chipped mug and three outdated throw pillows. My shelves are crowded with meaning.
5. Visible Invisibility
As a woman aging in public, I’ve discovered the peculiar experience of being professionally overlooked. My Substack, Sue Schwiebert Never Knew, feels more like a journal I’m leaving for my future self, while younger writers collect thousands of followers for being adorable. I’m not bitter. Just observant.
Maybe my forehead wrinkles double as an invisibility cloak. I’ve stood at counters while clerks addressed the man behind me. I’ve asked tech questions and received explanations suited for toddlers and houseplants, despite having served as a tech ed advisor just five years ago.
And yet, that same day, I can publish words that travel farther than I ever will. On the page, I am unmistakably here. In some spaces, I fade into the background. In others, I step fully into the light. Visibility, it turns out, is not the same as value.
6. Comfortable Adventurer
I love adventure, especially when it involves my family and the promise of a shared story afterward. I will raft rivers and ride roller coasters, but I prefer knowing the schedule, the exit strategy, and where the bathrooms are located. I enjoy risk, provided it is well organized. Spontaneity is best when carefully planned.
7. Grace-Giving Perfectionist
I speak often about extending grace to ourselves as we age. I encourage patience for forgotten names, misplaced glasses, and the sentence that wanders off mid-thought and refuses to return. I believe this deeply, until my own brain stalls and I begin conducting a private performance review. I see other people the way I once saw my uncertain nine-year-olds: full of potential, deserving of patience. For myself, however, I keep a stricter grading scale, complete with a red pen and comments in the margins.
8. Publicly Private Person
I share deeply personal stories on a podcast with people I may never meet. Strangers know about my aging brain, my sentimental heart, and the details of my last colonoscopy. Yet I hesitate before making a phone call, worried it might stretch longer than my social stamina allows. I am comfortable broadcasting vulnerability, but wary of unscheduled conversation. I share myself better with strangers reading my stories here, never hoping my friends or family will try to get to know my private thoughts.
9. Hopeful Realist
I clearly see the changes that come with time: the losses, the letting go, the quiet goodbyes. I do not pretend they are easy or insignificant. But I also believe humor lightens what might otherwise feel unbearable. I hold seriousness and laughter together, not because they cancel each other out, but because they steady one another. I hold both at once: clear eyes and a light heart.
Holding Both
Perhaps that is what an oxymoron really is. It’s not a contradiction to be solved, but a tension to be carried. We are sharper and duller than we admit. Braver and more cautious. Hopeful and realistic. Aging and beginning again.
So now I’m curious. What are your oxymorons? What opposite truths sit side by side in your life? You may discover, as I did, that the most honest descriptions of ourselves are the ones that don’t quite match.
Let’s Talk About This:
What two opposite qualities live side by side in you? When have you discovered that a contradiction in your personality wasn’t a flaw, but part of your strength?
