The phoenix of Greek and Roman mythology is a long-living bird that is born from the remains of its predecessor. Accounts of how long it lived, what size it was, its coloration, and the like, are all varied. That variation includes the way in which the phoenix was reborn. According to some accounts the phoenix decomposed before being born again. In other accounts, the phoenix dies amid combustion and flames and rises from the ashes.

Regardless of which account we are to give greatest credence to, the phoenix remains an enduring symbol of renewal and emergence in Western culture. The phoenix appears widely in literature, art, music, film, and television. While a mythical creature, the life of the phoenix can serve as a useful metaphor for us. Its emergence, or re-emergence, into the world comes as a result of the death of its predecessor. New life emerges from the passing of the old, and the new cannot arrive until the death of the old.

There is surely nothing wrong with us pursuing growth and emergence from nothing. Trying something new, bringing out a new behavior, or creating a new way of thinking about something are often great moments of transformation for our lives and something we should often strive for. But what if there are times when something new is unable to emerge? What if something old is holding up the arrival of something new? For example, if we’re holding onto an old pain, perhaps playing memories over and over again, it could very well leave us “stuck” in that place, unable to move onward to new things.

I recall a romantic breakup of some years ago that left me stuck in the old. While it was not the first time I had a relationship end, this one was particularly difficult as it had left me feeling surprised and betrayed. I started dated again soon after, with the narrative in my head that the best way to get over bad romance was some good romance. While sounding good, and perhaps sometimes the right course, in this case it was not. I needed to sit with and process my hurt, and let go of the old situation, before I was ready for one that was new.

My letting go of the old some time later, and emerging as someone new, prepared for new romance – I suspect this was much less triumphant and magnificent than a phoenix rising from the ashes. But my emergence from the old and into the new was no less important in my romantic life at the time. Experiences like that, though painful, offer opportunity for growth, renewal, and reemergence. But sometimes we have to let go of the old for the cycle to begin.

Joel