The Enchantment Problem

The Enchantment Problem

Every once in a while, something captures our attention and rearranges the way we see the world, occupying more space in our mind than logic alone can explain.

Let’s do a quick diagnostic.

Think of the last person, idea, or opportunity that completely captured your attention. 

The one you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

The one that warped time and space a little. 

The one that felt—if we’re being honest—slightly beyond logic.

Got it? Good. You’ve just met enchantment.

Most of us experience it far more often than we realize—especially at work, where we’re supposed to be rational adults. And yet. A founder walks into a room, and the mood shifts. An idea ignites everyone’s imagination. A leader speaks, and a wave of energy moves through the room that has nothing to do with their slide deck.

That’s enchantment. And it’s older than any org chart. Odysseus lashed to the mast. Pygmalion in love with his own creation. Persephone pulled unquestioningly toward the underworld. We’ve been telling these stories forever because they’re not really about sirens and sculptures. 

After all, they’re alive in the here and now. They’re maps of knowing that lives inside us—archetypal patterns so deep they activate before our reasoning mind even gets dressed in the morning.

The bright side of the spell

When it’s working, you can feel the difference in the room. Not a jolt of energy, more like a change in the weather. People aren’t watching the clock or checking their phones. They’re in the flow with the work.

There’s a particular quality to a team that genuinely cares how the work gets done and how the story ends. They reach into the work differently. Take risks they might otherwise talk themselves out of. Enchantment, at its best, expands what people believe is available to them.

The shadow

The same force that opens us up can also close us down. At some point, you stop seeing the leader, the strategy, the vision clearly—and start seeing through hope-colored lenses. The spell deepens, and here’s the uncomfortable part: some part of you lets it because it feels so good. Because whatever has grabbed you is intoxicating.

Psychologically, this is projection—placing our own unconscious hopes and longings onto something outside ourselves. They become a screen onto which we cast our interior life. We don’t notice, because the movie projector is so convincing. 

I see this in leadership teams regularly. Every leader carries a coherent story about what’s happening. The problem is that the mind is an unreliable narrator. 

Confirmation bias keeps convenient evidence vivid. 

Availability bias makes recent wins feel like permanent truth. 

When we’re enchanted, we can begin to see the world in hope-colored glasses. The result is a story that feels completely logical and is selectively inaccurate. This is self-enchantment. Which sounds almost pleasant until you sit with what it actually means: you’ve become the subject of your own spell.

Even in leadership coaching relationships, I pay close attention to what a leader brings into the room and what stays outside it. We call this coaching the aura—working within the story, perspective, and emotional field a leader is willing and able to share.

It’s rarely the whole picture. Every leader presents the version of events that makes the most sense to them, shaped by blind spots, bias, and the places they’d simply rather not go. The coaching lives in that gap. 

Once enchantment gathers momentum, it organizes everything around itself—our perceptions, our interpretations, what we notice and what we don’t. That’s exactly when cultivating clarity becomes an act of courage.

The skill you won’t find on a resume

Leaders invest enormous energy in developing their charisma. Far less learning to stay grounded while using it.

The leaders who do this well have a particular kind of double awareness. They let themselves be moved while keeping a tether to their core. They can be in the room and watch the room simultaneously. They stay curious when everyone else has stopped asking questions. They can say I might be wrong without risking their authority.

They’ve learned to be enchanted without being consumed. That’s the skill worth developing.

A gut check worth keeping.

When something captures your imagination, let the excitement settle—just a beat—and ask: Does this expand me or diminish me? 

Healthy enchantment steps you closer to your essential self. Its shadow creates a narrowing that can, for a while, feel like the opposite. 

The myths humans have carried for centuries carry wisdom alive in the here and now. They’re maps left by every person who was seized by something larger than themselves and had to find their way back. They made it. And they left us something to navigate by. 

Enchantment pulls us toward meaning, toward each other, toward the next thing worth building. The task is to stay awake inside it—feeling the pull, following the spark, while keeping one hand on the tiller of your own attention, anchored in your essential self.

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