Marry in Haste, Repent in HR

How probation is a courtship, not a contract — and why both sides should stay curious before saying “I do.”

The probationary period at work is a lot like dating. You’re both on your best behaviour, pretending to be a little more organised, confident, and emotionally available than usual. You’re curious. You ask questions. You listen intently. You pretend you don’t mind that their favourite tool is a 1998 spreadsheet. You even laugh at their jokes about email etiquette.

This is the honeymoon phase where attention is currency and interest feels mutual. You want to impress each other. You both hope this could be the one.

You go out of your way to show interest in their well-being (“How’s your work-life balance?”) and what they care about (“We love values alignment here”). You find common ground — the stuff you both like, believe in, and want to do more of. It’s not manipulation, it’s courtship. You’re building trust, finding rhythm, maybe even sharing snacks in the lunchroom.

Then comes the moment of truth: do you commit?

Too many people and organisations treat this point like an awkward proposal they can’t refuse. They get married because it seems easier than having a tricky conversation. “They’re… fine,” they say, already imagining a long and slightly resentful future. But the truth is, if you’re ignoring the mismatched expectations, the odd behaviours, or the way they chew metaphorically (or literally) with their mouth open, marriage won’t make it better. It’ll just make it permanent.

Don’t wait until you’re walking up the aisle to call it off. Once you’ve had enough time to see each other in real life, not just on your best behaviour and experiencing the intoxication of something new, once you’ve witnessed the quirks, the compromises, the follow-through (or lack of it), once you’ve had chances to talk through what’s working and what’s not, if it still feels off, don’t drag it to the altar hoping for a miracle.

That’s how you end up with ugly babies — projects no one loves, processes no one wants to maintain, and team dynamics that age like milk. The divorce will be uglier still: awkward exits, bruised egos, and an HR memo trying to make it sound mutual.

The probation period isn’t a test; it’s a dance. It’s about noticing whether you move well together. Whether the things you like about each other are genuine, and the things you don’t are manageable. Whether there’s enough curiosity, care, and shared rhythm to build something worth committing to.

So enjoy the romance. Pay attention. Have fun. And remember — this is dating, not destiny.