The Forbidden Fruit Pattern

Self-Expansion Attraction

Have you ever found yourself repeatedly fascinated by people who seem to live in a completely different world from your own?

Not simply curious about them.

Not just interested in them.

But attracted to them.

There is often something about the way they move through life that captures your attention—and that makes it hard to not notice them and think about afterward.

You find yourself wondering what it would be like to connected to them. To be in a relationship. To be desired back by them.

For some people it's a person known for being rebellious, non-conformist, a bit on the edge. Maybe its the artist who seems unburdened by convention. An entrepreneur who marches to his own beat without needing to please others. For another, it's the person who seems to be living in a completely different place, a different family, culture, community and lifestyle.

At first glance, these attractions can seem to be about the people themselves.

But over the years I've found myself wondering whether something else is happening.

Sometimes what captures us isn't another person.

It's another way of being.

That realization often changes the conversation.

Instead of asking, "Why am I so drawn to this person?" we begin asking a different question:

"What is it about the life they seem to represent that feels so compelling to me?"

That isn't the same question at all.

What immediately captures your attention?

One of the things I've noticed is that people rarely describe these attractions by talking first about the relationship they want.

Instead, they describe the strong feelings and the world the other person seems to inhabit.

"They just seem so...free."

"Everything feels easier around them."

"They don't seem worried about what other people think."

"They're living a life I can't quite imagine myself living."

The details are different for everyone.

One person becomes captivated by someone adventurous.

Another by someone living a more creative life.

Another by someone who has a different lifestyle, different marital status or different religious life.

What interests me is that these qualities gradually stop functioning as personality traits and begin functioning as symbols.

Freedom.

Possibility.

Adventure.

A different version of life.

And once that happens, it's surprisingly easy to lose sight of the actual person standing in front of us.

In fact, when I've occasionally asked clients, "Tell me more about them", clients often pause for a while. They realize they've spent twenty minutes describing an idea instead of the actual person, whom they rarely know on an intimate level.

That moment is often surprisingly revealing.

Because sometimes the attraction has been organized less around who the person actually is—the real personality, strengths, challenges and idiosyncrasies—than around what they seem to make imaginable.

Movies, novels, travel, social media, and even our own fantasies can quietly strengthen this process. They show us carefully edited glimpses of lives that appear exciting, expressive, or unconstrained, while leaving out the ordinary realities that come with every life. Over time, we can begin responding less to real people than to the possibilities they've come to symbolize.

What this attraction often promises

People are often surprised when I ask a question that seems unrelated to attraction:

"If you could magically become more adventurous, more creative, more spontaneous, or more fully yourself—without changing relationships—would this attraction feel different?"

Most people don't answer right away.

But when they do, the conversation often takes an unexpected turn.

Because the attraction was never only about another person.

It was also about an experience they imagined that person could unlock.

I've come to think that many of these attractions function less like a search for a partner and more like a search for permission.

Permission to become more alive.

More expressive.

More creative.

More authentic.

More fully themselves.

One man became captivated by a woman who spent months each year traveling alone. As we talked, it slowly became clear that he didn't actually want her life. He had no interest in living out of a backpack or moving from country to country. What moved him was something quieter. She reminded him of a part of himself that had gradually disappeared beneath years of responsibility and predictability.

The attraction wasn't asking him to become someone else.

It was asking whether there were parts of himself he had quietly stopped allowing.

That's a very different question.

And it's one that often changes the direction of therapy.

Why does this pattern become so powerful?

Something I've gradually come to appreciate is that I don't see this pattern most often in people who have lived reckless or impulsive lives.

I see it in people who have lived responsible ones.

People who married young and devoted themselves to family.

People who poured themselves into demanding careers.

People who became deeply committed to a religious community, a profession, or a way of life they genuinely value.

From the outside, their lives often look stable and meaningful.

And many of them wouldn't choose differently if given the chance.

That's what makes this pattern so easy to misunderstand.

Because the attraction doesn't necessarily grow out of dissatisfaction.

It often grows alongside gratitude.

Over time, however, even a deeply meaningful life asks us to make choices. Every commitment opens certain doors while quietly closing others. Most of the time we accept those trade-offs without much thought.

But every now and then another question slips in.

"I wonder who I might have become if life had unfolded differently."

That question doesn't necessarily mean we regret the life we've chosen.

It may simply mean that parts of us have had fewer opportunities to grow.

And those quieter parts have an interesting way of making themselves known.

Sometimes they appear disguised as attraction.

I've occasionally wondered whether these attractions are less about escaping our lives than about recovering conversations we've stopped having with ourselves.

That possibility has changed the way I listen.

The hidden defense

One of the more surprising things I've noticed is that attraction can become a remarkably elegant way of avoiding self-knowledge.

That may sound backwards.

Most people think attraction reveals who they are.

Sometimes it protects them from seeing it.

It's often much easier to become fascinated by someone else's freedom than to ask why our own freedom feels so unfamiliar.

Much easier to admire someone else's creativity than to notice how long it's been since we've created anything ourselves.

Much easier to imagine another relationship than to wonder whether there is an important part of ourselves waiting to be discovered.

In that sense, attraction can perform a kind of psychological sleight of hand.

Instead of saying,

"Part of me longs for a more adventurous life,"

it whispers,

"I'm just unusually drawn to adventurous people."

Instead of recognizing a wish for greater spontaneity, we become preoccupied with someone who seems effortlessly spontaneous.

Instead of asking what freedom might look like in our own life, we become captivated by people who appear to have already found it.

The attraction isn't lying.

But it may be pointing us toward the wrong solution.

That distinction matters.

Because once we begin asking what the attraction is trying to express rather than who it is trying to acquire, entirely different possibilities begin to emerge.

How this pattern can affect relationships

One of the easiest mistakes to make is assuming that feeling deeply alive around someone automatically means they are the right person for us.

Those are not the same experience.

A male client once told me, "I've never felt this alive with anyone before."

At first he assumed that meant he had found extraordinary compatibility.

As we talked, something else became apparent.

She wasn't simply awakening feelings about her.

She was awakening parts of him that had been dormant for years.

Those are very different kinds of attraction.

When we don't recognize the difference, curiosity can gradually become idealization.

We begin filling in the gaps with imagination.

The ordinary frustrations, limitations, and imperfections of the other person's life quietly disappear behind everything they seem to represent.

Moving toward whole-person attraction

The goal isn't to become less curious.

Curiosity is one of the healthiest capacities we have.

The goal is to become curious—but in a different direction.

Instead of asking,

"Should I be with this person?"

we begin asking,

"What part of myself has this attraction been carrying?"

Sometimes the answer is creativity.

Sometimes adventure.

Sometimes playfulness.

Sometimes emotional openness.

Sometimes simply permission to become a little less predictable.

A happily married parent who finds themselves captivated by a carefree musician may not actually want a different marriage.

They may need music to become part of their own life again.

Or travel.

Or close friendships.

Or a little more room for spontaneity than they've allowed themselves in years.

I've come to think that many people don't want another person's life nearly as much as they want a wider relationship with their own.

That's an important distinction.

Because once those neglected parts begin finding healthy expression, something interesting often happens.

The attraction becomes less urgent.

Not because the other person suddenly becomes less interesting.

But because they no longer have to carry an entire unlived life on their shoulders.

Whole-person attraction becomes easier when another person is no longer responsible for introducing us to ourselves.

Looking Beneath the Attraction

By now you may have noticed that this pattern asks us to think about attraction in a somewhat different way.

Most people begin by asking,

"Why am I so drawn to this person?"

That's a reasonable question.

But over the years I've found myself becoming increasingly interested in a different one.

"What part of my own life has this person quietly come to represent?"

Those questions may sound similar, but they often lead in very different directions.

One looks outward.

The other begins looking inward.

That's why I've come to think the attraction itself is rarely the problem.

More often, it's our interpretation of the attraction that determines where we go next.

If we assume the attraction is simply telling us who we should be with, we may spend years chasing people who seem to embody an unlived life.

But if we become curious about what those people have come to symbolize, the attraction often begins revealing something much more personal.

Not another relationship.

Another conversation with ourselves.

One of the quiet paradoxes I've noticed is that people often become less preoccupied with the seductive “red exit” once they begin giving themselves permission to live more fully exactly where they are.

The goal, then, isn't to become someone else or live a different life.

Nor is it to abandon the meaningful commitments you've made.

Many people who recognize themselves in this pattern genuinely love their spouse, their family, their work, their community, and the life they've built.

The attraction doesn't necessarily mean those commitments were mistakes.

It may simply be reminding us that commitment and growth are not opposites.

Even within a deeply meaningful life, there is often room for neglected parts of ourselves to keep growing.

Perhaps that's what these attractions have been trying to tell us all along.

Not,

"Become someone else."

But,

"Don't forget the parts of yourself that haven't had much room to come with you."

That feels like a very different invitation.

Questions for Reflection

As you think about your own experience, you might find yourself sitting with questions like these:

• What kinds of people or ways of living consistently capture my imagination?

• When I picture those people, what do they seem to make possible?

• Are there parts of myself that I've admired in others for years but rarely allowed myself to develop?

• If I could begin expressing those qualities within the life I already have, how might this attraction begin to feel different?

• What would it look like to become a little more fully myself, rather than trying to become someone else?

Questions about this pattern?

If this pattern resonates with you—or you're wondering whether it applies to your own experience—I'd be happy to discuss your questions.

Questions or Consultation →