the chase

Most attraction begins with distance.

Not distance of miles, but of attention.

The unanswered message, the intentional pause, the quiet withdrawal, these create a vacuum, and the human mind hates empty space. So it fills it with imagination. We start assigning meaning to silence, depth to absence, value to what is slightly out of reach.

That’s how the chase is born.

In love, we learn early that being less available can make us more desirable. Ignoring becomes a strategy, mystery becomes currency, and desire grows not from connection but from uncertainty. The pursuit feels alive because it keeps the ego engaged. Why don’t they want me yet? becomes the engine of attraction.

But the moment the chase ends, reality begins.

And this is where people divide.

Some understand that winning was never the point. They know that attraction is only the door, not the house. For them, commitment is not the death of excitement but its transformation. They stay because they see value beyond the adrenaline of pursuit.

Others lose interest the moment certainty arrives. Once the person is secured, the hunger dissolves, and with it, the reason to try. The excitement wasn’t about love,it was about movement. They wanted the chase, not the responsibility of holding what they caught.

Dreams follow the same pattern.

We desire them fiercely while they remain distant. We suffer for them, shape our identity around wanting them. But once achieved, many people stop. The goal that once demanded discipline now receives neglect. The hunger that built it has nowhere left to go.

The uncomfortable truth is this: chasing teaches us how to want, but not how to keep. Whether it’s a lover or a dream, most people are trained in pursuit, not in presence. Wanting feels dramatic. Staying feels ordinary. And depth lives only in what we continue to choose after the desire has been satisfied