Spiraling down After the milonga in Trieste, things have been gradually going south. Little by little I have been sinking in some murky, unpleasant state of being. The thing is: in Poreč I felt like I have nothing. I had nothing to loose. But since then I had had some trips to tango heaven. That's why I was able to tell when I was far from it. Things have changed. I had something to loose. The baby-beginner's phase came to an end. My ladies, the more experienced followers, were not so full of praise anymore. Instead, they began demanding I made some changes fast. One lady felt she was suffocating by my hand on her back, saying I was pulling her in too tightly. This began the project of 'relaxing the back hand.' The other lady was complaining I was twisting her right wrist, which gave birth to project 'untwist the left hand and lower the elbow while you're at it.' The third lady, which was about my height, complained I was pushing my head into her head which was giving her neck pain. That was my third project. Self-improvement projects were piling up. At one time I went for a private class with Marko and Agnieszka. I decided it was time I mastered those back-ochos. Marko transformed into a surgeon. He would have Agnieszka dance with me and report on the many issues of my back ocho. Then, instead of polishing my lead and movement, they disassembled my ochos completely and decided I should first learn pivoting. Long story short: I had bad ochos when I went for the private class. I had no ochos after the class. But – and I have to state this – I gained a much better understanding of ocho mechanics. It wouldn't help much on the dancefloor, but I would be able to build upon it some time in the future. Wanting to impress my teachers with every chance I got also didn't help much. Accepting (high) expectations is at least as frustrating as it is potentially rewarding. Hitting rock bottom That nice August weekend we had workshops with Nelson and Isabel, maestros from Portugal. In the evening a milonga with a show took place. I was among the first guests to arrive. I was looking at one young lady. I haven't danced with her before, but I've seen her around. She accepted my cabeceo. Long story short: it was really bad. She hardly understood anything. I stepped on her toes with almost every forward step. She missed half of my crosses and all of my back ochos. When we began dancing, she was so tender I was afraid she might disappear into none-existence. When we ended the tanda, she was a nervous wreck with clenched hands. I had to sit down for a while after that tanda. Mateo joined me. »Mateo, you know that girl?« »That one? Yes.« »Oh. Have you danced with her before?« »I have.« »Aha. And how did you get along?« »Okay. Nothing too special, but okay.« »Hm...« »What, have you danced with her? »I have, just now. » »You didn't enjoy it?« »No, it was a disaster!« »Oh. Hm. I don't know. I like dancing with her.« »But what, she's a beginner, right?« »No! She's assistant teacher!« »Fu*k! Thank god I didn't say anything to her. I was sure she's more beginner than me!« »No, don't say anything! These are touchy things.« »Right. OK...« I lost all my enthusiasm for dancing after that talk. I was a rookie sailor, lost at sea. And the thing I have taken to be a compass in my pocket, was just a broken toy. I tried my best to pull myself together. Boys don't cry at milongas. So I had another tanda. It was bad. And then another. Also pretty bad. And so it went for a while. I was just about to drop it and go home when Sanja appeared in front of me. She came to my rescue as she had done so many times before. Unfortunately, that tanda too was pretty bad. I couldn't even dance with Sanja. I was beyond help. So I found a chair far away from the dance floor and sat down, feeling sorry for myself. At the same time I was fighting the feeling of feeling sorry for myself. At first I was upset. Then disappointed. Then tired. At last, I was as sad as a tango song. I decided to sit the rest of the milonga out. My mind engaged the self-help routine: your tango can't go up indefinitely. It's not natural. There has to be some downs before new ups. You know, just like things work in the nature. Ups and downs. All very natural. Don't worry, sunny days will come again. You don't have to dance anymore tonight. You're alright. Why not just sit and listen to the music? And enjoy watching others dance. Gradually, self-talk brought relief. I recognized I'm having a crisis. My fellow tangueros had warned me about it, saying it will surely come some day. So this was crisis then. Okay. I've had a long and beatiful rise of my tango. I will stay with being grateful for that, knowing it will come again. Some time later that night, I finally managed to step out of talking to myself. I discovered I was surrounded with tango music and friends dancing. I was totally cool with the idea of just sitting and enjoying myself. Peace made its way out of my beingness. At last, I was calm. The tears I haven't cried have dried up. By letting go of expectations and the need to impress, I became empty and free. Out of nowhere, I heard a small voice inside me: »I would like to dance now.« I went »Ohhhhh« out loud, such was the clarity and child-like purity of the voice. I looked at how my emotional body reacted: it was true. Someone inside just asked to dance. Ascension
A cortina played. Marko, who was DJ-ing, made an announcement: »ultima tanda«. At the same time Barbara B, my dancing partner, walked over with a big smile on her face. She had just finished a double-tanda with her new favourite Italian dancer. The way Barbara approached me was lovely. Her energy was already dancing with me. »Shall we dance,« she asked. »Oh, wow. Don't you want to dance with your Italian guy some more?« »No. It's ultima tanda. This one I dance with you.« »Is that so? You're supposed to dance ultima with your dancing partner or?« »I don't know. I want to.« I was on my feet. She was embodied warmth. Tango music played. I didn't recognize the song, but then again, I rarely do. Before I could start thinking about anything, we were flying across the dance floor. My feet were light and playful. Our posture seemed perfect. Our embrace was soft and comfortable. Our movement was in sync. My body moved effortlessly. All my tricks worked. We invented new tricks on the spot. I could feel her happiness. Ending the tanda, we looked at each other and there was a big smile on her face. I felt like I returned from hell, accompanied by angelic entourage, invisible to the naked eye. A realization hit me: I just got saved by a beginner! How amazing was that? We ended the tanda standing just next to the DJ booth. I turned to Marko. »Marko, what was this music?« »Did you like it?« »Yes! So musical!« »Oh, wow. A beginner and you already like Troilo.« After that milonga, Sanja prescribed tango diet for me: one week of no dancing, no classes, no practicas, not even listening to tango music. She claimed I was pushing myself too hard. Obviously, in learning tango, more is not more. But also, less is not more. Go figure.
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AuthorBlaz B, social tango dancer since February 2015. I'm sharing these posts to inspire future tango beginners, to encourage today's beginners and to possibly entertain those dancers, who have already become regulars at tango heaven.
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