Through the River Styx: When Life Asks for a Funeral to Unfold – Pay the Ticket, Enjoy the Ride

Once you are there, and the boat parts from the shore, there is a commitment to change.

Have you ever felt in your heart that something needed to go? That clear, although very discomforting, understanding of realising that something had ended? It can be a physical death, but it can be much more. It can be a dream we can no longer fulfil or one we thought we would pursue no matter what; it’s a relationship that has run its course, perhaps moving from fusion to individuation; it's an idea of the world or ourselves that no longer reflects who we are, even if we find ourselves still behaving in that old way because everybody around us knows that persona. It can be the impression that a place is no longer what it used to be and is no longer fulfilling.

When we are struck by this realisation, we have a funeral to attend. The temptation is to run, perhaps; the melancholy of grieving what was can feel overwhelming. We might want to just ignore it. How will it be? Will my decision create pain? How are people going to react? How willing am I to feel the fear of letting go?

What if, alongside the death of something we know is gone, there isn’t just grief, but also lies the seed of something new? What if, while we grieve, we can also feel hope? And what if life is waiting for us to let go, for it to unfold?

There are different kinds of deaths. There are the ones we don’t want to see or recognise, the ones we prefer to ignore – perhaps for good reasons, initially – but the weight on the chest won’t go away. This is often stagnation, habit, a refusal to alter the status quo. It’s about a fear of change. This is a death in the direction of death itself.

And then there are the deaths in service of life. Those moments when we are called to the funeral will come; it isn’t a matter of if, but when. What meaning will we give them? Embracing life through attending such a funeral means taking the boat to cross the River Styx, paying for the ticket, and endeavouring to enjoy the ride. Before you ask, no, there is no refund. Once you are there, and the boat parts from the shore, there is a commitment to change. Melancholy will arise, perhaps from thinking of what you are leaving behind, honouring what could have been and never will be. But you’ll also connect to the hope that on the other side, there can be something meaningful: a new self, a new relationship, a new job, a new identity, a new house.

This requires immense courage and trust, especially when the change involves leaving the familiar, even when there are no guarantees. What is guaranteed is the certainty that we cannot possibly remain the people who first called for the boat. While onboard, we can look around for friends and fellow travellers; we can dream too. It’s not about merely waiting for the destination; it is about sitting with and honouring the journey itself – a cherished moment of reality where life feels truly alive.

The more we are attuned to recognising and following when it's a moment to change, the more we are able to cultivate resilience – the capacity to change every time we need to.

This lifelong practice of navigating change, of attending these smaller 'funerals' with courage and hope, not only enriches our lives but perhaps also gently prepares us for the ultimate transition. By becoming more familiar with letting go, we may find a deeper peace with impermanence itself, less afraid of the final Styx crossing because we have learned to 'enjoy the ride' of becoming, in all its phases.

If you are about to embark on a big change and feel you might need support, therapy can be a safe place. You can learn more about my approach and reach out for a confidential, free 20-minute chat.