When times get tough, the notion of embodying a fiery phoenix rising from the ashes is rather 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 “oppressors" is 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, which is somewhere 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 fire 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, of course.

 

But to do that, we have to stop lying to ourselves about an inconvenient little life truth more than a few of us willfully ignore. Sometimes we like to act as if something outside of ourselves needs to shift, in order to see the changes in our lives that we want. Someone else, not us, needs to do something.

 

Someone else needs to change their mind.

 

Someone else needs to “get it together.”

 

Someone else needs to “finally see the light” of what you’ve been saying all along.

 

Then our moment in the spotlight will come. We’ll get what we’re owed. We’ll ascend or rise to whatever station we believe is meant for us. Or maybe we’ll just get the admittedly petty satisfaction of telling someone, “I told you so.”

 

As a gal who loves being right more than breathing, cheese, or the banana daiquiri scene in The Godfather Part II, this way of thinking is incredibly attractive. 

 

I get to tell myself that I’m not the problem.

 

I’m simply the stifled, put upon visionary who’s waiting for everyone else to catch up.

 

 

Unfortunately for my tortilla chip-fragile ego, this is rarely true.

 

That’s because the most powerful variable we control in virtually all situations where we want to see big, sweeping changes in our lives is ourselves. Our actions. Our movements. Our opinions. Our decisions. No one else’s.

 

So, when you feel that itch, that restlessness for a reinvention or breakthrough of your own, you need to stop waiting for others to make way for your rebirth. (You'll be waiting forever.) Instead, you need to take matters into your own hands by asking yourself:

 

The answers to these questions can be messy. But when you have a clear picture in your head of what you really want your life to look and feel like, the occasional sacrifice and surrender these moments will require are absolutely worth it. Because 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 own certain 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.

 

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.