If the ocean can calm itself, so can you. We are both salt water mixed with air. — Nayyirah Waheed
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
What's one small action this suggests?
A Metaphor That Begins with Nature
Nayyirah Waheed opens with a simple comparison that quickly becomes intimate: the ocean, despite its storms, can return to stillness. By pointing to a force so vast and seemingly untamable, she frames calm not as a fragile luxury but as a natural rhythm—turbulence followed by settling. From there, the line quietly shifts the reader’s focus inward. If something as immense as the sea can soften its own waves, then a person—however overwhelmed—may also possess an internal capacity to steady and reset.
Shared Composition, Shared Possibility
The quote’s hinge is the reminder that “we are both salt water mixed with air.” On a literal level, the human body is largely water and salt; on a symbolic level, breath (air) is the most immediate tool we have for changing our state. Waheed’s point isn’t that humans are identical to oceans, but that we belong to the same physical world and therefore share its cycles. This shared composition turns the ocean from a distant image into a mirror. Calm becomes less like a personality trait you either have or don’t have, and more like a property of being alive—something built into the material you’re made of.
Calm as a Cycle, Not a Permanent State
Because oceans are not calm all the time, Waheed’s comparison implicitly releases the pressure to be perpetually serene. The sea roars, swells, and churns—yet it also smooths out. In the same way, anxious or angry moments need not be treated as personal failures; they can be understood as weather. That transition matters: when agitation is seen as temporary motion rather than a fixed identity, it becomes easier to wait for the internal tide to turn and to support that turning with small, deliberate choices.
Breath as the Human “Tide”
Once air enters the metaphor, breathing becomes the practical bridge between poem and body. If water represents emotion and air represents breath, then regulating breath is like changing the wind over the surface—subtly influencing the waves. Traditions such as yogic pranayama and Buddhist breath meditation treat respiration as a handle on attention and reactivity, showing how physiology can guide feeling. In that light, “the ocean can calm itself” doesn’t demand instant peace; it suggests a method. Even one slower exhale can be a first retreat of the wave.
Salt Water and Tears: The Language of Feeling
Salt water also evokes tears, linking the ocean to grief, relief, and release. The comparison implies that emotional expression is not the opposite of calm but sometimes the route toward it—just as rainfall and runoff eventually return to the sea. Waheed’s image makes room for the idea that what moves through you may be part of how you settle. This reframing offers tenderness: if your body carries salt water, then crying, trembling, or needing time can be understood as natural processes rather than disruptions to strength.
A Quiet Empowerment Without Denial
Finally, the quote offers reassurance without minimizing hardship. Oceans calm, but they do not erase storms; they absorb, redistribute, and move forward. Similarly, personal calm is not pretending everything is fine—it is regaining enough steadiness to continue. By ending on shared elements—salt water and air—Waheed grounds empowerment in realism. You don’t need to become someone else to find composure; you only need to work with what you already are, letting your inner sea remember its own returning.