After seven dates, the man I’m seeing described us as “exploring.” I was starting to like him, and I wanted some idea of whether that feeling was taking us anywhere. Apparently, we were still surveying the terrain.
I’m 35. He’s around 40. We’ve been dating for a couple of months, with a short break in the middle, and I can account for the outings with slightly embarrassing accuracy: three dinner or coffee dates, three dates at home where we cooked for each other, and one event. Seven dates. A respectable little collection, although I’m beginning to suspect we have filed it under different headings.
The break came after date three. Even then, I could feel some hesitation about moving things forward. I asked him directly how he felt, and he said he was happy to keep going. I was trying to find out whether he was excited about me. He was confirming that the activity could continue.
That difference has stayed with me because he does keep planning dates. He isn’t simply disappearing and leaving me to arrange everything. We spend time together, we share a lot, and I’m growing more interested. There is enough happening to keep me involved, which makes the uncertainty harder to dismiss.
Between dates, though, he doesn’t communicate. We meet for four or five hours, and then that’s it until the next one. I had imagined that, after a couple of months, seeing someone might start spreading into the rest of the week. Maybe we would spend a whole weekend together. Instead, the dates still feel like separate appointments, however much I enjoy them.
My previous relationship was long distance. I’m used to patience being necessary because there are actual miles to deal with, along with travel arrangements and all the practical work of getting into the same place. I thought dating someone in my own city would remove that complication. It has. I hadn’t anticipated finding a different kind of distance once the geography stopped being difficult.
We’re also from different cultures, so I asked a friend from his culture what she thought. Her response was that it had only been seven dates; he wasn’t necessarily going to fall in love with me already. Give it time. I can understand that. I’m not expecting him to produce deep feelings on a schedule just because I’ve counted the dinners.
What I’m struggling with is whether wanting a clearer sense of interest amounts to rushing him. There’s a gap between demanding a declaration of love and wanting to know if we’re working toward a relationship. Exclusivity is part of what I’m wondering about, but I haven’t received a clear commitment, and I don’t want to pretend that continuing to meet answers that question.
I don’t know whether he needs more time or whether this pace suits him indefinitely. I only know that my own feelings are becoming less casual. I keep gently nudging for clarity while he keeps planning dates. When I tried again last night, the word I got was “exploring.” We live in the same city. I still don’t know how close we are.
