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From my ex-husband to a summer fling -- anyone who's been involved with me is familiar with the discussion of what I affectionately call the Terms of Service. Online, we're used to agreeing to conditions before going forward and investing time on any platform. These conditions matter: they help us see whether we want to use a service, define what we are there to do, and establish boundaries for what we can and cannot do. Why not apply the same to our relationships?
My ex-husband and I met through work. We'd had a few exchanges privately, mostly over chat, but we were never outright flirtatious with one another -- mostly because in a corporate environment I prefer to remain fairly sterile. One day, after a meeting, we went to grab a quick bite to eat. We were both really hopped up on details from the meeting and this excitement catalyzed the existing attraction between us.
I looked at him behind the wheel, completely focused with the exception of the ridiculous grin on his face, and I said, "we're going to fuck, you realize, yes?"
After he recovered from almost crashing the vehicle, he looked over at me, with a look of disbelief, then turned back to the road.
"We need to talk about what this means," I said.
I laid out the risks of getting involved in dating and working together and how any perceived relationship might affect colleagues and our respective companies, suggesting we should employ the utmost discretion in our interactions. Then I told him what I wanted (a relationship), and the expectations I had of it.
"Now you – what do you want?"
He elaborated on what he wanted. Over that late lunch, we cross-examined one another, feeling each other out for possible incongruous elements. There were none. We wanted the same things. We worked well together. And we wanted each other.
It was a green light to proceed. And we hadn't even kissed yet.
You can say that this is too analytical and that it rejects the most wondrous components of relationships: emotion and spontaneous passion. The truth is that we tend to rein in emotion and passion more often because we fear where we're going. If you know what everyone wants and expects, you don't have to hold back. You can fall at your leisure, as fast and as hard as you want.
That's not to say that terms are written in stone. They can change – and because we're not static as human beings and are always changing, terms must change. The thing about being up-front about them from the beginning is that you set the precedent for that kind of conversation.
Yes, I know it's scary to be open about what you want. It means you have to know what that is and it exposes you to the risk of being told someone you like doesn't want that with you. But let me ask you something: would you rather hear about this sooner or later?
Elijah, the first man I dated after my divorce, refused to specify his terms with me. He continuously brought up how I had done this with my husband and how my marriage had failed, suggesting that specifying one's wants and needs doesn't help foster a union because it doesn't consider the "us," only the "me."
This is true in the preliminary stages, where I think it is essential to consider the "me" before running off to the fairytale existence of the "us." My marriage failed, but it wasn't because we told each other what we wanted and expected. It was because our wants changed and became irreconcilable.
Elijah didn't tell me his needs or expectations, but that didn't mean he had none. During the course of our brief entanglement, he would sporadically phone me or instant message me to tell me he felt unhappy or uncomfortable with some minor or completely nebulous thing. We'd go in circles for hours.
"What is the real issue here and what do I do to correct it?" I'd demand, tired of hearing his update on the state of his emotional well-being.
"I don't know. I feel like you're putting this all on me."
"I am putting this all on you. You have the issue, so you tell me what my options are to rectify it and we can go from there."
"I don't think that's fair, Anaiis. We should do this together."
"I don't think that's fair! I have deadlines! I don't have the time to sit here, sift through your catalog of emotional data, figure out
