When times get tough, the notion of embodying a fiery phoenix rising from the ashes is quite seductive. We envision ourselves as strong, battle-worn champions who cannot be held down, no matter how hard others may try — our ultimate victory over our circumstances is simply inevitable.

 

We are strength and determination personified. And we will rise.

 

In these daydreams, however, we tend to forget (or intentionally gloss over) a critical fact about the myth of the phoenix.

 

 

At the end of its life — between 500 and 1,461 years (Greeks and Romans were a bit divided on the phoenix lifespan) — a phoenix will make a nest of aromatic wood. Then, it sets itself and its nest on fire. Following this intentional act of self-immolation, a new phoenix emerges from the ashen remains of its former self.

 

The point of this story isn’t to depict the ashes as an allegory for third-party actors or external circumstances we must bravely conquer. Quite the contrary. It teaches us that sometimes we must walk willingly and with deep, focused intention into the fiery, purifying embrace of our own death in order to be reborn — metaphorically speaking.

 

This process demands that we lift all veils of self-deception from our eyes. One cannot experience a true rebirth, a true ascension from the ashes, if we’re not willing to answer certain questions with unflinching honesty:

These questions have been my most steadfast companions over the past 18 months. I’ll be the first to admit that confronting the truths you’ll unearth isn’t easy. There have been times when the truth forced me to become the architect of significant endings in my own life — relationships that had run their course, beliefs about myself I had outgrown, ways of living that no longer served me.

 

But now that I have a clear vision in my heart of what I want my life to look like and feel like, it makes the sacrifice and surrender these moments demand worth it. And make no mistake, surrender is an essential part of this process.

 

Inanna, the Sumerian goddess of love, fertility, and war, shows us this.

 

To face her sister, the Queen of the Underworld (Ereshkigal), Inanna had to pass through seven gates. At each gate, she was required to discard a piece of her royal attire (symbols of her power and defense) in order to pass. By the final gate, she stood naked and vulnerable before her sister, stripped of all protection.

 

Then she was struck down.

 

Of course, that was only her beginning. A prelude to her resurrection, which (according to myth) also brought life and fertility back to all of the world. A dark and barren existence was reborn with lush vibrancy as a direct result of Inanna’s willingness to lay down her defenses in the face of her death.

 

 

Death. Fiery, suicidal birds. Homicidal Sumerian goddess sisters in desperate need of mediated family counseling. Or maybe just some Xanax. These are not exactly one-to-one comparisons to anything we experience in our own lives as mere mortals.

 

Using myself as an example, I’m basically 17 anxious, traumatized gerbils in a trench coat trying my best to live a happy, loving, meaningful life.

 

But that doesn’t mean we are exempt from those moments when we must be courageous, as we surrender to the discomfort of a fire we light for ourselves.

 

You’re reading this right now because you’re on a mission of your own to create something. Maybe that something is only for yourself. Maybe it’s for others. Maybe you don’t even know what that “something” is yet, you just feel a gnawing friction in your core that is pushing you to search for … well, “something.”

 

Whatever the case may be, now is your time to choose death. Choose to let go of what no longer serves you. Whether it's a small sacrifice or a significant life change, become ash on purpose.