The Chasing Game: Maybe You’re Not Picky, Maybe You’re Addicted to the Game?

There’s a certain kind of desire we don’t talk about enough. Not the kind that builds into something real, but the kind that exists in the in-between. The almost. The chase. The part where wanting feels more powerful than having.

Here’s an uncomfortable truth I had to admit to myself at some point: I used to lose interest the moment I got what I wanted. Not slowly. Not over time. Instantly. The second it shifted from wondering if he wanted me to knowing he did… something in me would switch off. And just like that, I was out.

At first, I didn’t question it. I told myself I just “hadn’t met the right one.” That I needed more excitement. More chemistry. More… something. But if I’m being honest, it started to feel like a pattern. A predictable one. It would always begin the same way: a look, a moment, a little bit of curiosity. Then the game would start. A message here. A pause there. A little mystery, a little distance - just enough to keep things interesting.

Not manipulation, at least that’s what I told myself. Just… feeling things out. Figuring out what was in his head. And I was good at it too, good at reading the energy, good at knowing when to lean in and when to pull back, good at creating that tension that keeps someone thinking about you. Until one day, it clicks. You feel it. He’s in. And that’s when everything changes. Because instead of excitement… there’s nothing. No curiosity. No pull. No interest in seeing where it could go. Just this quiet, immediate detachment. Almost like the game ended, and I had already won. So what now?

For a long time, I thought it was about them. Maybe they just weren’t interesting enough. Maybe they gave in too easily. Maybe I needed someone more challenging, more complex, more something. But the more it kept happening, the harder it became to ignore the obvious: It wasn’t them. It was the chase. Or more specifically… who I became during the chase. Because the chase isn’t really about the other person. It’s about the feeling. The anticipation. The uncertainty. The constant question in the back of your mind: Do they want me? And when the answer is still unclear, everything feels alive. You’re sharper. More present. More engaged. You care more about how you show up. You feel chosen, but not fully secured. 

That space - the in-between - is where the high is.

But the moment that uncertainty disappears… so does the tension. And without tension, there’s nothing to chase. And without something to chase… you’re left with something much quieter. Something real. And that’s where it gets uncomfortable. Because once someone actually wants you, clearly, openly, without hesitation, you’re no longer performing. You’re seen. There’s no more guessing. No more proving. No more winning. Just presence. And if you’re not used to that… It can feel like a loss of control.

That was the part I didn’t want to look at. Because it’s much easier to say:  “I just like the chase.” Then to admit:  “I don’t know what to do once I have what I want.” Or even deeper:  “I don’t know how to stay when things become real.”

And the truth is, this doesn’t just show up in dating. It shows up everywhere. In the goals we obsess over, only to feel empty once we reach them. In the careers we build, only to immediately look for the next step. In the constant need for more, better, higher. Proud? Absofuckinglutely. Satisfied? Never…

So maybe the question isn’t: “Why do I lose interest once I get them?” Maybe the real question is: Why does wanting feel better than having? Why does the pursuit feel safer than the outcome? Why do we feel most alive in the almost… and most disconnected in the actual?

I don’t think this makes anyone a bad person. But I do think it’s something worth being honest about. Because at some point, you start to realize: If everything you want loses its value the moment you have it… Then the problem isn’t what you’re choosing. It’s what you’re chasing.

And maybe real growth looks like this: Staying. Staying when it’s no longer a game. Staying when there’s no mystery left to solve. Staying when you’re no longer trying to win, but actually trying to connect. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s different…

Or maybe, just maybe… The goal was never to win the game, but to understand why you were playing it in the first place.