by Koby Frances, PhD
Some attractions seem surprisingly difficult to explain.
You meet someone who lives in a completely different world than your own, and almost immediately you find yourself fascinated.
Perhaps they seem adventurous.
Creative.
Independent.
Rebellious.
Emotionally expressive.
Free from convention.
Or perhaps they belong to a different culture, community, profession, or lifestyle that feels strikingly unlike your own.
At first, it seems obvious that you’re attracted to them.
But over many years of listening to people describe these experiences, I’ve begun wondering whether something else is often happening.
Sometimes what captures us isn’t simply another person.
It’s another way of being.
That possibility changes the conversation.
Instead of asking,
“Why am I so attracted to this person?”
we begin asking a different question:
“What is it about the life this person seems to represent that feels so compelling to me?”
Those are not the same question.
Sometimes attraction is really about possibility
One of the things I’ve noticed is that people with this attraction pattern rarely begin by describing the relationship they want.
Instead, they describe the world the other person seems to inhabit.
They say things like:
“They just seem so free.”
“Everything looks easier around them.”
“They’re living a life I can’t even imagine.”
Notice what happens.
The focus quickly shifts away from the individual and toward what they symbolize.
Freedom.
Adventure.
Creativity.
Authenticity.
Spontaneity.
Possibility.
Over time, these qualities stop functioning as personality traits and begin functioning as symbols.
The attraction gradually becomes organized around an imagined life rather than an actual relationship.
We often know surprisingly little about the person
One of the most revealing moments in therapy sometimes comes when I ask a simple question:
“Tell me more about them.”
Many people pause.
Not because they don’t want to answer.
But because they suddenly realize how little they actually know.
They’ve spent twenty minutes describing an idea.
Not a person.
They know the way this individual dresses.
Travels.
Creates.
Speaks.
Lives.
But they know remarkably little about their ordinary personality.
Their fears.
Their habits.
Their limitations.
Their relationships.
Their flaws.
That moment often reveals something important.
Sometimes attraction has become organized less around who another person actually is than around what they seem to make imaginable.
Why does this happen?
Over time I’ve noticed something that initially surprised me.
I don’t see this pattern most often in people who have lived reckless lives.
I see it in people who have lived deeply responsible ones.
People devoted to family.
Meaningful careers.
Religious commitments.
Communities they genuinely value.
Many wouldn’t trade those commitments.
They love the life they’ve built.
That’s what makes these attractions so confusing.
Because they rarely grow out of simple dissatisfaction.
They often grow alongside gratitude.
Yet every meaningful commitment quietly asks something of us.
Choosing one path means not choosing countless others.
Most of the time we accept those trade-offs without much thought.
Occasionally, however, another question begins quietly making itself known.
Who else might I have become?
That question doesn’t necessarily mean we’ve chosen the wrong life.
It may simply mean there are parts of ourselves that haven’t had much opportunity to develop.
Attraction sometimes becomes a conversation with ourselves
One of the questions I now ask surprisingly often is this:
“If you could become more adventurous, expressive, creative, spontaneous, or fully yourself—without changing relationships—would this attraction feel different?”
Most people don’t answer immediately.
When they do, something fascinating often happens.
They begin realizing the attraction was never only about another person.
It was also about themselves.
One man became captivated by a woman who spent months each year traveling alone.
As we talked, it slowly became clear that he had no desire to live out of a backpack or spend his life moving from country to country.
What captivated him wasn’t her lifestyle itself.
It was the reminder that he had once been deeply curious, adventurous, and open to exploring the world.
Those parts of him had gradually disappeared beneath years of responsibility.
The attraction wasn’t asking him to become someone else.
It was asking whether there were parts of himself he had quietly left behind.
That realization changed the direction of therapy completely.
The hidden defense
This pattern also reveals something else that is easy to miss.
Sometimes attraction becomes a remarkably elegant way of avoiding self-knowledge.
Rather than asking,
“Why has creativity disappeared from my life?”
we become fascinated by creative people.
Rather than asking,
“Why have I stopped taking healthy risks?”
we become captivated by adventurous people.
Rather than asking,
“What would greater freedom look like in my own life?”
we imagine relationships with people who already seem free.
The attraction isn’t dishonest.
But it may be pointing us toward the wrong solution.
The real longing often isn’t another relationship.
It’s another relationship with ourselves.
What begins to change
As people begin reconnecting with these neglected parts of themselves, something interesting often happens.
The attraction becomes quieter.
Not because the other person suddenly becomes unattractive.
But because they no longer need to carry an entire unlived life on their shoulders.
Someone begins painting again.
Traveling.
Making music.
Building friendships.
Taking creative risks.
Speaking more honestly.
Trying something new.
Little by little, the emotional urgency surrounding the attraction often begins fading.
The person remains interesting.
But they no longer feel like the only doorway into a richer life.
Whole-person attraction
This is one of the most hopeful aspects of this pattern.
The goal isn’t to become less curious.
Curiosity is one of our healthiest capacities.
The goal is simply to direct some of that curiosity inward.
Instead of asking,
“Should I be with this person?”
people gradually begin asking,
“What part of myself has this attraction been carrying?”
Sometimes the answer is creativity.
Sometimes playfulness.
Sometimes courage.
Sometimes freedom.
Sometimes simply permission to become a little more fully themselves.
As those parts begin finding expression within the life they already have, relationships also begin changing.
Instead of searching for someone who represents another life, people become increasingly interested in discovering who another person actually is.
Attraction gradually shifts from idealizing possibilities to appreciating whole people.
Looking beneath the attraction
Perhaps the most important lesson this pattern teaches is that attraction isn’t always pointing toward another relationship.
Sometimes it’s pointing toward another conversation.
A conversation with parts of ourselves that have quietly waited for years to be noticed again.
The goal isn’t to become someone else.
Nor is it to abandon the commitments that give our lives meaning.
It is simply to remember that growth and commitment are not opposites.
Even within a deeply meaningful life, there is almost always room for forgotten parts of ourselves to keep growing.
Sometimes the people who fascinate us are not showing us who we should be with.
They are reminding us of who we still have the capacity to become.
Questions about this pattern?
If this pattern feels familiar—or you’re wondering whether it helps explain your own experience—I’d be happy to discuss your questions.
Sometimes a brief consultation is enough to clarify what you’re noticing. Other times people find it helpful to explore these patterns more deeply in psychotherapy.