The Chemistry of Longing
Why We're Addicted to the Chase—And What to Do Instead
In a world built of wanting—where every screen glows with promise,
where every notification hums a siren song to something ancient within us—
I find my hand reaching, unbidden, toward that blue light.
My thumb, an unconscious pilgrim, scrolls past joy into the numbing rhythm of pursuit.
The same door opened ten times in an hour,
knowing full well the room behind it remains unchanged.
Dopamine: the alchemical spark of anticipation.
Not merely a neurotransmitter but a storyteller,
weaving tales of treasure just beyond reach.
It quickens in the gambler’s blood before the dice tumble.
It floods the addict’s brain before the needle finds its mark.
It whispers, Keep looking.
It promises, Just one more.
This is its wisdom and its deception—
that salvation lies not in having but in hunting.
The next refresh. The next episode. The next reward.
Maybe, just maybe, this time, the vessel will finally fill.
But dopamine speaks in promises, not peace.
It is the compass that only points forward, never home.
This is why cartons consumed leave us hollow,
why infinite scrolls yield finite satisfaction,
why pleasure unmoored from presence is a ghost ship
sailing endless circles on a digital sea.
In Sanskrit, they called this raga—attachment.
A gossamer thread of yearning spun between our hearts and what we lack.
A beautiful leash we mistake for freedom,
in a marketplace that thrives on our restlessness.
For years, I believed salvation lay in discipline—
a monastic retreat from temptation.
Phone locked away like a dangerous relic.
Willpower as the only shield against longing.
And for moments, it worked.
But deprivation is hunger by another name.
And hunger has never been the path to wholeness.
Then came oxytocin: chemistry’s answer to loneliness.
While dopamine dances in pursuit, oxytocin arrives in return.
It is the flood that washes through a mother’s veins
when her child first breathes against her skin.
It transforms touch between lovers into sanctuary.
It lingers in the afterglow of truth exchanged,
in laughter that reaches the deepest chambers of ourselves,
in the eloquent pressure of fingers holding yours
just one heartbeat longer than necessity.
Our bodies have always known this dialect of difference:
Dopamine urges: Run. Chase. Want.
Oxytocin whispers: You have arrived. You are home.
And here lies the profound asymmetry:
Dopamine can be engineered, manipulated, weaponized—
the foundation of every empire built on addiction.
But oxytocin?
It cannot be synthesized in pixels or algorithms.
It is born only from what is real:
Presence. Connection. Safety.
Science confirms what mystics have always known:
Oxytocin diminishes cortisol, that ancient alarm
keeping our nervous systems vigilant for danger.
It calms the racing heart, softens the armored body,
weaves stronger bonds between fractured souls,
heals wounds visible and invisible.
Where dopamine flares and fades like lightning,
oxytocin sustains like daylight.
It doesn’t spike—it saturates.
It doesn’t rush—it roots.
And in its presence, dopamine’s tyranny weakens.
I remember a woman in the mountains,
at a retreat where silence was practiced like an instrument.
For years, she had battled the hydra of compulsion—
food, screens, relationships that fed her wanting
but never her being.
She had tried abstinence in all its austere forms.
But hunger, clever hunter, always found new paths back to her door.
Until one morning in meditation, palm pressed
against her own beating heart, she whispered:
I am here. I am safe. I am enough.
And wept as something ancient unwound inside her.
Not because she had severed something external,
but because she had welcomed something essential.
And I think of my own midnight reckonings—
body restless on sheets, mind chasing phantoms,
fingers reaching instinctively for that cold blue glow.
The times I fought my own nature like an enemy,
dragging my consciousness toward stillness,
waging war against the longing.
And then—the moments of surrender. Of oxytocin.
An embrace that stretched past social convention
into the territory of genuine comfort.
Music, not consumed, but created—
voice vibrating in my own chest like a second heartbeat.
The simple weight of my palm over my sternum,
affirming:
You are here. You have always been home.
Perhaps, then, our liberation isn’t found
in the starvation of desire, but in the nourishment of connection.
Not in chasing, but in allowing.
Not in emptying, but in filling—
with experiences that don’t evaporate upon consumption,
with presence that doesn’t leave us hollow with wanting.
Because maybe we were never truly addicted to our devices.
Never enslaved to dopamine’s restless cycle.
Perhaps we were simply starving for what is real.
I, too, was pleasantly surprised by your writings! I have never read the dichotomy of oxytocin and dopamine described that way. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. They are leaving me with much to ponder. <3
i found you through your video content, & it brought me here. this is the first time i'm reading your written content & i love it. insight that's so profound & beautifully written. it felt like a gift to read. clearly, you're not just one of my favourite video creators but content creators in general. thank you for sharing your insight. all the best 🌿 ✌🏼&🫰🏼