April 25, 2013
Do you remember the first six months of your best relationship?
Full of newness, and discovery, questions and sometimes “terrible” decisions.
We remember sitting on LA freeways for hours. Both ways. At completely, utterly unreasonable hours. Very scheduled phone calls post-9 pm to take advantage of those unlimited night minutes and lasted hours about nothing. Flowers every month, just because. Overly fancy restaurants (for us, at the time) the better to bat our eyes at each other. Cramming in one social obligation after another, stacked with work and school obligations, because sometimes, that’s the only way we could see each other without abandoning our friends or family. I’m sure there were more foolish decisions, and a lot less eye batting than I assume, but I can’t remember now.
A mutual friend laughed at our rueful reminiscing: the first six months don’t count! You do stupid things in your first six months together.
This is true, we did do stupid things to be together. We spent stupid money sometimes. Things that my normally pragmatic self would laugh at now, or even raise an eyebrow over wondering if this was setting ourselves up for a lifetime of impulse buys and trips. [I did (politely) ask PiC to stop bringing flowers every month around month 6 or so. I loved the thought but hated the idea he was spending so much.] And the first six months theory is a handy “it’s ok!” dismissal of it all. But you know what?
The first six months did count.
We spent time frivolously and had a great lot of fun. We enjoyed each other’s company without undue worry, which was a huge thing for me in my early 20s otherwise weighed down with worry and pain, and learned how to communicate. Even before we became a long distance relationship, we learned how to disagree and even fight efficiently and effectively, if you can believe it, and as much as talking about fighting wouldn’t seem like the most positive thing about an early relationship – it was how we learned to communicate better and waste little to no time on dramatic flounces.
We enjoyed each other as people, and made stupidly grand gestures to show it. We also chose to share the utterly mundane to share, like the Costco hot dog dinner. There was, as it turned out, plenty of time to be 90% sensible later. We are sensible now. But those short six months were full of laughter and learning how to care for and about each other. Rather priceless.
And the silliness of the first six months didn’t just end there. We still consciously make “stupid” decisions for each other, to make each other happy or laugh, despite being a boring old married couple. But it’s ok – we’re not wearing blinders when we do it. 😉 We have a budget.
What do you think of the six months theory? What were your first six months of a solid relationship like?
Did you travel unnaturally long distances to see each other? Spend hours on the phone? Sit in traffic forever just to see each other?
February 14, 2011
PiC and I are relative failures at the whole Valentine’s Day thing, if you consider that the two paradigms most embraced are to celebrate or to have angst about it.
Once every two or three years, a close friend of his sells him the “do nothing at your own peril” spiel and he arranges a nice dinner, and for in between years we’ve been grateful to see each other if it was possible during our Long Distance Years or grateful to have each other if not.
This is our first year we’ve truly been together for it and the established simplicity, the utter lack of expectations, has been a bit of a godsend. Honestly, in the maelstrom of other life events, a big trip to plan, a wedding to discuss, another big trip to plan, simply not fussing over this day more than any other works so well for us.
Admittedly, I did gift him a surprise set of books I knew he’s been wanting, solely for the sake of surprising him yesterday, which I joke is a selfish gift since I get to read all his books. 🙂
Even better, since I couldn’t wait, it was plopped in front of him yesterday apropos of nothing and he’s now crediting it as an insanely early birthday gift so he won’t feel the need to “make up” a Valentine’s gift. Win win win! 😉
{————Carnivals————}
My thanks …..
to Well Heeled for hosting this week’s Carnival of Personal Finance and for including my post My last year with carefree taxes. Be sure to submit to next week’s Carnival!
October 30, 2009
I have no problems with making sure that my purely personal friendships jive well when money’s involved; I pay my way and assist friends in need within reason, we’re honest with each other about our limits, and it generally works out pretty well. I have no problem with keeping my business money separate from personal money in a corporate environment, and generally dining out with the office has always been fairly straightforward: the office paid. But what of the gray area in between? Specifically, when you’re networking and not interviewing with or working for the person you’re dining with?
From a purely business perspective, my friend/mentor advised me not to quibble over who paid the bill when I dined out with an older, successful, networking acquaintance. “He can most certainly afford it, he invited you, and he can always write it off,” she asserts. These points were all true, at the time. The person in question is both gracious and helpful whenever possible leads come up, and has since taken the initiative to point me and my resume at highly placed persons who were interviewing for desirable positions. [At which point it’s up to me so that there isn’t impropriety or influence on my behalf which I would never ask for or expect.]
But what happens when the acquaintance morphs into a semi-friendship? When you’re meeting to catch up and tell stories, it’s no longer 100% business. I feel like that development then brings with it the obligation to offer to, and even insist on, paying sometimes. It’s only fair. I don’t want my acquaintance/now friend to think that I simply expect a great meal at his expense; that’s certainly not the case.
I’m aware that insisting on footing the bill when he has selected the restaurant, when he is more than financially comfortable [yes, finances have come up in the conversation in a career-related turn], and/or when I am unemployed seems to smack more of irrational pride than sense. But I’m unemployed, not destitute, and it hardly seems right to assume that I shouldn’t pay simply because I don’t have access to a corporate account. That seems like a recipe for brewing resentment; the line of reasoning that “you have more money than I, so let’s use your resources, thanks!” doesn’t sit well with me. Neither party’s resources should determine who pays. It can certainly influence the selection of the experience, but I think fair means that both parties take it in turn to pay.
How does the financial relationship change when your business relationship acquires shades of the personal? How should it?
[Disclosure: This post is also published at the Carnival of Personal Finance.]
July 17, 2009
Photo credit: Me! [4th of July BBQ]Good grief!
A SBO friend relayed the story of a customer, Z, to me recently. Some months ago, Z purchased apparel as a gift to a gorgeous model-ish gal who decided that said apparel (and accessories) would become symbols of the success of their relationship.
If she decided to keep the gifts, they were on.
If she decided to return them, she was rejecting him.
Almost unsurprisingly, the chap received notice that the gifts were wending their way back to his possession, cultural differences cited as the reason for their failure as a couple. Though “disappointed,” the fella already “has another girl in the works” and rattles off the names of the designers New Gal swoons over, adding the suggestion that he is perhaps in over his head.
I’ll say! Then again, she’s got good taste, as do I. 😉 In dresses, not in men! Er …. her, not … never mind. I’m just saying that, perhaps, if the best description of a potential partner you’re able to provide is that of his or her labels, there’s not much of a foundation for a strong relationship than one might hope.
Or am I the hopeless romantic here? Is this typical of the high-powered, big-money types of relationships?
