Tales From the Tango World

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”      -Rabindranath Tagore

I’ve been delving into other forms of dance after belly dancing took me under its spell. Lately, I’ve been practicing tango. This is by far one of the most difficult forms of dancing I’ve learned. There’s no formula to it; one needs only to listen. I am gradually getting better – but this has been an excruciatingly long process.

I’m just about three months into it now. I know how difficult it can be as a lead and a follow, as I’ve practiced both. I’ve been practicing more as a follow lately. My tendency in dancing throughout my life is to automatically take the lead and laugh maniacally on the inside as my dancer partner attempted to rein me in. There is no flexibility for that sort of nonsense in tango and I have to learn to yield to someone else every now and then.

There is a tremendous amount of trust that one gives another in order to follow in tango. I'm learning to trust. I have yet to figure out if the hesitation is PTSD, my own reserve or just plain stubborness.

I think this cat displays better posture than me. 

There are good nights and bad ones. Sometimes one gets off on the wrong foot – literally and metaphorically. The partners that are most patient are the leads that I most enjoy.  I make a step they didn’t want. They tell me it’s okay. They remind me not to tense up and relax and the crazy things I’ve come up with that are most likely not a move in any form of dance expression have even amused some. I am grateful because they are willing to teach me, give patient and gentle instruction and aren’t too bothered by what can only be described as my sacrilegious tango antics.

This is lovely, too . . . and also far more advanced and trusting of her partner than I think I'll ever be.

Not all nights are as fun. There are times I can’t connect with the music, I can’t connect with the lead, and the lead is very annoyed by me. Last week I arrived at the practica a tad bit late. I was out with girl friends and lost track of time. I was partnered with an older and more experienced dancer. He was immediately frustrated because he said my step was not wide enough and this was thwarting his attempts at a pivot turn. I widened my step. He rolled his eyes barked that I was over dramatizing the move. I had no clue what this guy wanted from me. I felt bad because it was obvious that I was frustrating him. I tried again. He dropped my hands in the pose and said, “She just showed us this five minutes ago.”

Needless to say, I ran away as quickly as my legs would carry me without breaking a run as soon as the lesson was over and I avoided eye contact with him all night . . .  and was a horrible follow that night. I wasn’t connecting with anything and far too afraid of pissing off the leads. Truth. He attended the milonga last night; I still avoided eye contact, but did exchange the superficial pleasantries of “How are you?”

I’m horrid, but I’m learning. There are times I can get into the music and share a beautiful moment with my dance partner, and then I make a mistake, tense up and start to over think and anticipate much to the dismay of the lead. It can go downhill quit rapidly from there.

Regardless of the handful of bad experiences, I’ve stuck with it. When I first began a tango course at Portland State a seasoned dancer was kind enough to take me under his wing. He encouraged me to stick with it, praised me when I made a ‘perfect step’ and told me to own it because I am elegant. I thank you Kind Sir. He would never let me apologize. Ever. While I have not seen this gem of a lead and overall fabulous human being in a while, he still sends me links to events he thinks I’ll enjoy.

I remember once when we were practicing a tango form of a box step. We were doing well. He had me switch sides with him so I could watch us in the mirror. It was lovely. Our legs moved in synch and perfect alignment. I would not have been so excited about committing myself to this had he not shared that moment with me.

See how beautiful it can be? 

To the encouraging leads of the world: I commend you.

I imagine for most dancers, there is always room for improvement. I am still stepping on toes, getting my toes stepped on, kicking, being kicked. I almost always carry a bruise or two from a tango grapple. I don’t mind; it’s worth it. I have a very long way to go to look as graceful as most of the women out there. Every time I sit out a set I watch as they effortlessly float across the floor in their narrowly heeled tango shoes.  They are as lovely as the dance.

Perfectly pointed toes. I don't know how they do it. 

I hope the clumsiness and awkward movements dwindles away eventually and I can be as graceful as they are. I imagine it’s much more enjoyable for the leads – even the patient ones who are willing to let me dance sacrilegious tango as part of the learning process.

“To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful,  more powerful.” –Agnes De Mille

The Haunting

“Lately I’ve been thinking

Lately I’ve been dreaming of you

I’m so resistant to this type of thinking

Oh, now it’s shining through

I was alone for the last time

Before my night’s vacation with you

Alive from the first

Now I’m denied by the ghost of you” – Howie Day

I told myself forgetting him would be easy. It’s not. We both tried to patch things up despite my attempt to sever what we had; it just didn’t happen. For the sake of my sanity, I had to let go. I realized this situation had been stretched out for far too long. There’s no turning back from that and this was something that seemed to have no end in sight. He’d be back in two weeks, his schedule would be jam packed, I’d be finishing the term and it would drag out for another 3 weeks. It’s madness and the constant grief and anguish that I was experiencing was just too much.

Since doing everything I can possibly think of to get over him, I’m haunted by his memory instead. I see things that remind me of him everywhere. Everywhere. I went to dinner with my mother. She took me to the same place I met him one afternoon and I remembered the feeling I had that I may burst and die from happiness. I wasn’t bursting with happiness that night with my mother.

I took a walk last week during a study break. I’d passed that place a million times before and hadn’t noticed it until then. I’m assuming the construction to the building is what drew my eyes towards it – that’s where our reunion took place. I remember my heart danced at the sight of him and when he held me. I didn’t want him to let go. I had mixed feelings looking at the corner coffee shop; part of me wanted to hurl rocks at it and another wanted to collapse on the nearest bench and cry.

Sometimes there aren't enough rocks. 

I passed the building where I first met him several years ago. He was a vision; he still is.

I walked past the church where we sang together for a few months only for the joy of loving music.

There was a brief moment when I laughed at the irony of it all. While talking to my therapist about this experience with him, trying to make sense of where I went wrong, she mentioned Asperger’s. I heard that word in connection to him several times after that, and not just from her. The photo I attached to the blog where I first admitted I loved him – its source gave the image a caption that questioned the stereotype of whether or not someone with Asperger’s could love.  

THIS. This is the infamous photo.

I’ve been doing a lot of dancing lately – because it’s something that makes me happy. Bellydancing is still something to which I am deeply connected, but I’ve been enjoying tango because it’s an experience I can share with others. Guess who piqued my interest in the dance? Being a country bumpkin for a large portion of my life, I still think Portland is a big city. I’m a fool.

 I’ve been taking a non-credit tango course at PSU. The instructor gives some pretty spiffy discounts to students and I’m still at the stage where I suck ass and really need all the help I can get. So, I get to go to these group classes, meet new people and dance as a crappy tango dancer afterwards with whomever is up for a challenge. I always warn those who ask me – I am guaranteed to frustrate you. Truth.

This is what it looks like when I dance tango. Truth.

 Last night I attended one of these dance soirees. From my conversations with my former flame and my petty understanding of the inner workings of his mind, I assumed this sort of event would be too easy for him . . .  yet I underestimated the sense of community that is part of tango. I was chatting with whomever decided to sit next to me or *gasp* dance with a really crappy tango novice. At one point I struck up a conversation with a lovely gal while I watched in amazement at the grace and beauty of the more experienced dancers prancing about on the floor. She asked me if I knew him. I felt my muscles tense for an instant and then I said his last name. Yes, she replied. He was telling me how awesome you are. All I could muster was that we had a falling out and excused myself because I felt another crying fit coming on.

Poor gal. She apologized a couple of times because she realized she had hit a tender nerve. How could she have possibly known? I silently cursed myself for being neurotic and then decided that it was probably about time for me to go. I had reason – a large group of very fun friends and karaoke. I am so thankful for that reason – because I am a terrible liar.

Note: Not just a terrible liar, but not a very creative one, either. 

The greeting I received when I made it to karaoke will go down in history as one of my favorite moments in life. I was glad to be in the presence of a very dear friend, my radiant light, who has been so encouraging and comforting while I’ve been navigating the waters of falling in love and feelings of a broken heart all within one semester.

This little light of mine decided to flirt with every man in the room on my behalf because she wants to see me 'married off and happy'. Also, she was a bit drunk. Having never seen her in this state, I was amused.

She tells the KJ that I should be serenaded with a song. I request Coldplay. I love Coldplay. The song he chose to sing to me was The Scientist. The Scientist. The lyrics are beautiful and deep. It’s all about a breakup and wishing you could start over but knowing you can’t. F*ck me. So, while the KJ with an angelic voice to match his angelic face sang with a passion to make any gal swoon, I was using every amount of energy I possessed to not run out crying. I managed. This time I managed to shed only a few tears and compose myself quickly enough that no one knew anything was wrong. 

Yeah . . . that about sums up the karaoke experience

After barely making it out alive with a night of tango, karaoke and mass quantities of alcohol I went to a meditation workshop this morning. I couldn’t quite remember the address. I used the navigation on my phone to get there once before and thought I could look it up in the phone app. The very first address listed was in Beaverton. The name of the establishment connected to this address wasn't listed on my phone. It didn’t need to be; I don’t know why I remember it, but I did. That was the last place I met him in person. I remembered experiencing joy and sorrow at the same time. I stared at my phone in disbelief for a few moments while my mind grappled with many questions. Mainly, ‘Why’? and ‘Really'?

I was out with my dogs this afternoon at the dog park. Someone asked me at random if I believed in signs. I used to have an answer for that; now I have no freaking idea. If the Universe chooses to speak to me, it’s usually in the form of dream or meditation. By the way, guess who haunted my visions during meditation? I feel like his memory is being thrown at me from every direction. Is this the Universe or some part of my psyche that I refuse to acknowledge that still misses him? Am I randomly making connections where they don’t belong and seeing only what I want to see?

I don’t know what to make of any of this, really. I have never loved another human being as I loved him and I can only guess this is part of the process that goes hand in hand with these type of things.

Beloved, I thank you for the memories. They are something I will hold with me forever just as a part of me will always love you. Everything I ever knew is lingered by one touch from you – and everywhere I go I see your face in my mind.

He is everywhere . . . the air I breathe. 

To the Universe, Psyche, Beloved – the haunting can stop now.

“What have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender

Which in age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed.” – T.S. Eliot