The Paradox of “Or”

Life—or rather our parents, school, and society as a whole—has taught us to neatly compartmentalize everything. There’s a time to play and a time to work. People we can be vulnerable with, and others around whom we need to stay composed. Emotional outbursts that are acceptable in private but frowned upon in public. Things we can do with our friends but not in front of our boss. Behaviours that are tolerated in an employee but not in a leader.

These principles have shaped the way we move through the world. Most of the time, we no longer even question how we should behave because society’s unwritten rules have become deeply ingrained in us. We adjust our behaviour to fit the context, whether to promote social harmony or, more simply, to gain acceptance from the people around us.

I Do, Therefore I Am

The problem is that we gradually begin to confuse our behaviour with our identity. Over time, and through repetition, we become the way we act. We become the responsible mother who replaces the carefree young woman we once were. The serious manager who replaces the class clown we used to play. The accommodating partner who replaces the passionate lover. The devoted father who replaces the adventurous young man.

And then, one day, we wake up wondering:

“What happened to the free-spirited woman I used to be? And the mischievous seductress who would make love anywhere on impulse?”

“What did I do with the clown who always had a witty comeback and was constantly having fun? And the wanderer who urged me never to settle down?”

Eventually, we often conclude that we’re simply “not ourselves anymore.” Of course we’re not. We’ve aged. We’ve grown. We’ve changed. We’ve evolved.

The Need to Reclaim the Part of Ourselves We’ve Lost

But that realization remains meaningful—perhaps even revealing. If we long for a very specific part of who we once were, it’s because some part of us still wants to reconnect with it.

To me, that longing has nothing to do with immaturity or childish nostalgia. It reflects our ability to recognize that some of our most fundamental traits have quietly disappeared over time. Perhaps we suppressed them to make room for something more socially acceptable, more admired, easier to embody, or simply more appealing.

So, one of two things usually happens: either we have a full-blown midlife crisis and turn our lives upside down, or we swallow our nostalgia and tell ourselves it’s time to grow up and stop dwelling on youthful fantasies.

The Real Contradiction

This is what I call the paradox of or.

Whenever we choose to embody only one of the many forces or energies that live within us, we end up betraying ourselves. From the outside, we may appear grounded, consistent, and perfectly put together. But on the inside, we experience dissonance. A part of us that longs to exist has been deliberately silenced.

Ironically, I believe authenticity emerges when we allow ourselves to embrace two character traits that seem contradictory. Nothing feels forced. Nothing is exaggerated. Nothing is performative.

The challenge, of course, is owning those contradictions—especially in public.

People may call us “bipolar” (misusing a term that has nothing to do with the actual mental health condition), inconsistent, incoherent, unpredictable, or all over the place.

So be it. Let them talk.

Because the real paradox, to me, isn’t our ability to hold two seemingly opposing truths at the same time. It’s the model of consistency and uniformity we’ve been taught to aspire to—the idea that maturity and alignment require us to become one coherent, predictable version of ourselves.

Choosing “And” Instead

That’s why I’ve chosen inconsistency.

I’m a highly structured mother during the week, yet a master of improvisation on weekends. I cook nearly all my meals from fresh, wholesome ingredients, but I also drink alcohol. I manage my finances with great discipline, yet I occasionally book spontaneous trips on a whim. I’m a passionate advocate for knowledge, yet I don’t have an extensive formal education. I’m excellent at persuading people, but terrible at negotiating. I’m deeply analytical, yet I make the biggest decisions of my life by trusting my gut.

I’m all of those things. At the same time.

Organized and spontaneous. Concerned about my health and careless with it. Calculating and impulsive with money. Knowledgeable and anti-establishment. Confident and uncertain of my own worth. Thoughtful and intuitive.

And I’m perfectly at peace with those contradictions.

Because together, they create a cohesive whole by bringing every part of me closer instead of pushing them apart.

And that’s when I feel whole.