On a bad day

Here is the ugly truth, if you want it: Sometimes I am jealous of every single other person you dance with.

Turn of phrase

We do not realize that we have misjudged how much time is left in the song. We step onto the floor and embrace for a few seconds; maybe we had the chance to change weight. And then the song ends.

We step apart in the brief silence between songs, and he makes a slight bow and remarks, grave-voiced but with a twinkle in his eyes, "Thank you; that was very ... pure."

Don't try this at home

Managed a cabeceo with a partner several seats down the row from me, in the mirror of the room where the milonga was being held. We were awesome!

Note to self:

I have sought dances with men for stupider reasons than that I admired their chacarera, but it did not work out any better because of that.

The sacrament of tango

I recently found myself at rather a loss for words--which, as you may imagine, doesn't happen to me all that often. I was talking about tango with a friend, specifically about the differences between close-embrace and open-embrace tango. I was trying to talk about the lack of intimacy that I feel in open embrace, without using the word "connection." And I couldn't do it.

Maybe others' experience is different; I can't presume to speak for anyone else. But I find that it is true that when I am not dancing heart-to-heart with my partner, I do not feel the same about the dance. It may be fun, in its way--I've had a few quite nice dances in open embrace--but I do not feel the connection that I feel when I am being truly and fully embraced.

A partner once asked why I don't like it when we're dancing in close embrace and he breaks it to do steps in open embrace; a dynamic or elastic embrace, I've heard it called. I'd rather start out and stay in open embrace, if I have to, than break a close embrace.

"It feels like your support goes away," I answered.

"But you shouldn't really be leaning on each other in close embrace," he pointed out (justly).

"I know," I said. "That's not really what I mean, because I won't fall over if you step away..."

It was not his physical support that I meant; it was the intimacy of the connection, the emotional closeness. When he breaks the physical connection, the emotional connection is abruptly cut off. It leaves me feeling suddenly cold--again, in more than a physical way--and lonely. The connection is real to me, and it is both physical and nonphysical--and it is mostly the nonphysical that I find the most compelling thing about tango milonguero. Something is missing, for me, without it.

As Cherie puts it, one is being literally held at arm's length in an open embrace. So the connection is both physical and mental, or emotional, or spiritual; it links mind and body. The inner and the outer seem to both reflect and affect each other.

It makes a peculiar example, probably, but I sometimes think of an episode of The Dog Whisperer--almost the only episode of that series I've ever seen. In it, a family had moved from a quiet little town to a busy, noisy city, and their dog became too paralyzed with fear and anxiety on the street to go for walks. It put its ears back and tucked its tail between its legs and flinched at every noise. Cesar Milan rigged a sort of second leash that clipped to the first one and attached with a little cuff to the dog's tail, pulling it out of the fearful posture with its tail tucked. The effect was almost magical. The dog seemed to think that, because it was no longer in a posture of fear, it must not be afraid. And it became perfectly happy to go for walks again.

Like I said, a rather peculiar example--but how different are people, really? I've been given the advice, when preparing for job interviews, to be sure to sit up straight, with my shoulders back, not folding my arms or fidgeting with a pen, and smile--because in projecting an appearance of confidence and relaxation, we're more likely to find ourselves actually feeling more confident and relaxed. And how often is it true that if you go into a new social situation with a smile, and behave in a friendly way, people usually respond with friendliness, and you probably end up having a good time and maybe making real new friends? It's like a positive feedback loop, or karma, where we get back what we put into the world--and the outward affects the inward, and the other way 'round.

There may even be something spiritual going on here, if you believe in a spiritual world. I'm Catholic, myself--though not a very good one, these days. I'm not going to say that I have no issues with the actions and official doctrines of the Church--just as I may not agree with the actions of the government of my country. Nonetheless, I can no more think of myself as not being Catholic than I can think of myself as not being American. I was born into it, and even if I lived the rest of my life in another country and sought citizenship there, I think I would always be this, at heart.

Among other things, this means that all my life I've been immersed in the belief that the spiritual world is represented and affected by the physical.* That is what a sacrament is: a mingling of physical and spiritual realities. The symbol becomes the thing that it represents. The bread and wine become the Body and Blood, and we take the Divine into our selves; that is why we kneel and bow our heads in awe and humility. And everywhere in life, our actions and words--the physical--whether positive or negative, have effects in the spiritual reality, and vice versa.

So it makes perfect sense to me that there seems to be a more-than-physical connection in the close embrace that is lacking (for me) in the open embrace. Of course there is; in one I'm being hugged close, and in the other, I'm being held at a distance. There is additional closeness there, at least while the dance lasts. The outward expresses the inward; the inward is affected by the outward.

To extend the religious metaphor, does this mean that tango could be a sacrament--a dancing communion with another person, and maybe even with the Divine? Maybe, in the same way that all of life could be seen as sacramental. In the same way that one can look for the Divine in every other person that we meet--and the beauty of the eternal dance that creates even while it destroys; that exists neither in the past nor in the future but only in the present.

... You know; if you believe in that kind of thing.**



* I think that's a key component of Latin American magical realist literature, too, and part of why I like it--but that's another line of thought, which I'm sure better scholars than I have investigated.

** It is easy to say this now, because the last few milongas I've been to were very good for me. You ask me again, after a bad night of being ignored and jostled, and I will deny everything and reject the idea that there could be anything holy about tango. I just want to establish this now, to preserve my right to gripe when I want to.

The Duet

The beautiful caramel-skinned woman next to me brims with vibrancy and infectious good cheer. She and I have been chatting pleasantly all evening, whenever we are both sitting out. It is getting late, and the crowd at the milonga is thinning. This tanda, we both like the music for listening but not for dancing, so we wait it out.

She begins singing along with the music, although there are no words to the song. When I do a little accidental double-take, not certain what I'm hearing, she grins and leans closer to sing to me, with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows. I laugh and quietly join in. I don't think anyone hears us; we're not trying to be heard. We get adventurous and harmonize occasionally, both of us singing nonsense syllables, ba da da, dum dee da da da, until the final bum bum!

We giggle like children as the cortina begins.

The answer is always, Yes, dance!

With gratitude for the inspiration of SallyCat--again.

Summer 2009:

I have just finished dinner in the apartment in Buenos Aires. L, my friend, traveling companion, and all-around partner in crime, has left to return to the States, as scheduled, so I face the prospect of almost another week by myself before my own return.

I had not realized how much her cheerful company had made the trip more fun--nor how comforting it was, in this city we knew so little, to have someone around who was generally as lost and confused as I was.

I noticed it immediately, after seeing her safely into her taxi for the airport: the little apartment was so quiet with just me in it. I cried a little bit, out of loneliness, and turned on the TV for some noise. It is the first time I have turned on the TV since I had been there--up til then I had used the radio, on what seemed to be a 24-hour tango station, oh glorious!--and I left it on all afternoon, into the evening.

As I wash up after dinner, I consider whether I should go out to the milongas that night. Would I really have a good time dancing, as homesick as I was feeling? It would be the first night I'd stayed in since I'd arrived. I could call Sr. and Sra. and make my excuses. Surely no one could blame me if I just took a night off to adjust and get my mood in order...

Uh-uh, said a little voice in my head. You didn't come all the way to Argentina to sit in your room and watch American sitcom reruns on TV! Think how L would scold you for that! You came here to dance, and you're going to go out there and meet your friends who are expecting you, and you are going to dance!

So I got cleaned up, had a fortifying bite of chocolate, and headed out to the milonga. And it was the best thing I could have done.

New Year's Day, 2011:

I am embarrassed and upset over the bad night at the New Year's Eve milonga in Nearby City. I sleep late on my cousin's couch, and then I laze around, reading, as long as I can. I put on an Internet tango radio station for noise.

As the sun starts to set, I know that I need to make up my mind whether I am going out this evening or not. If I am, then I need to start getting ready to go to dinner with my cousin.

I could just stay in, I think. Maybe it would be better to give the milonga tonight a pass. Spend more time with my cousin. Finish my book. Yesterday had been a very rough night, and surely nobody could blame me if I wanted to skip it tonight. With the mood I was in, would I really have fun anyway?

Uh-uh, says that little voice in my head--which sounds a bit like a drill sergeant, sometimes. You didn't come all the way here just to sit around in your pajamas and read! You came here to dance, and you are going to clean yourself up for a nice dinner, and you're going to go to the milonga and see whether there are any friends there, and you are going to dance!

And so I did. And it was the best thing I could have done.

History repeating?

I think it was two years ago that I first went to Nearby City with tango friends to dance over New Year's.

(...Yes, I think it must have been, because last year I spent New Year's home with a disgusting cold, watching a marathon of The Thin Man movies on TV. At least someone in the house was terribly glamorous and witty and jet-setting, even if it was only the people on the screen!)

That year, the dancing on the Eve was not so good for me. It was a rowdy, mostly open-embrace group, and I didn't dance much. But I got to know my traveling companions better, I replaced my worn-out black winter coat with a beautiful red one (opening my mind to the idea that black was not the only choice for my winter outerwear), and the seeds of my eventual trip to Buenos Aires were planted with the encouragement of a friend--because the dancing at a different milonga, on New Year's Day, was marvelous. I had as many dances as I could handle with partners new and old, who remain some of my favorites in the area.

It was all strangely echoed this year. Again, the milonga on New Year's Eve was not a good one for me (for reasons beyond just the prevailing dance style, but let's skim over that). It was too viciously cold for my pretty red coat--had to wear the heavier long one (which, by the way, is also not black; yay, colors!)--but I wore my rather stunning red dress, so at least I looked quite fabulous, in spite of the difficult night.

(It has been said before by others, but apparently it always bears saying again... Gentlemen, when you are dancing with a lady at a social event--not at a class or a practica, where one is seeking to learn new things and practice the things that give one trouble--and she has difficulty with a particular step, it is good manners and considerate dancing not to keep repeating that step as though you are hoping she'll have a sudden breakthrough if you just do it again and again. She might, I suppose; she may be able to identify and correct the problem without help--if it really is a problem with her following ... But more likely she will find herself deeply embarrassed in public, when in fact she may be a very competent dancer, at an event where everyone's main concern should only be to enjoy themselves with lovely dances. 

(I may write more about this later, because this is, unfortunately, also something that appears to repeat itself, with different partners and who-can-predict which steps. Also, I have some thoughts on the felicitous organization of special events at a milonga. But anyway.)


I was daunted to the point of considering staying home the next night, but I'm pretty stubborn and generally a believer in getting back up on the horse (or, in this case, the milonga) that threw you--and, besides, I knew this one was under the charge of different organizers, the same pair who had run the one that had gone so well for me two years ago, so I hoped it would again be better.

And it was. Once again, I had almost as many dances as I could handle from a number of lovely partners who, once again, made me feel wonderfully welcome. By the time I left, I was limping on tired, happy feet.

To anyone who may read this, I wish you a warm and lovely new year--with lots of beautiful dances!

Beauty/truth

"This is the tango community: A bunch of people who touch each other as if this were what human beings do best."

--Tango Beat: "Tango Uniform (A Christmas Story)" 

"He wants the woman to feel secure and relaxed. I realised that in the beginning he deliberately played his dance cards close to he chest because he was taking care of me. He sensed me. He found me. He knew what I could handle. He didn’t want to embarrass me in the Milonga, he kept me safe and always made me feel that I was amazing. That was his gift to me." 

--SallyCat: "More Tango Lessons" 

"By the final tango in the tanda, every hint of his physical tremor is completely gone. I am dancing with the spirit of a young man and with a soul that has danced for over fifty years. I become certain that we are dancing in the 1930s, that we have chosen each other in a packed tango hall where a live orchestra is playing, that I am the only woman in his world and that he is the only man in mine."

--SallyCat: "The Essence of Tango?"  

Warm dancing on cold evenings

I've been on a badly needed vacation, and it was my second night of dancing in an entirely new city. My first night there was at a small milonga at a lovely studio downtown--mainly older dancers, not students. It was a nice introduction to their community; I had several nice dances and started meeting people, and they were very friendly and welcoming.

But the second night. Wow.

The milonga was held in a chilly church basement on a university campus. Not the most prepossessing venue, but I think we all know by now not to judge tango solely on appearances, no? The turnout still wasn't huge, but it was a bit larger than the previous night. This group tended toward a younger crowd, being sponsored by the university tango club, but a number of the dancers from the previous night were there again--and again extended a warm welcome to me.

Wow. That was a good group of leaders. Once things got warmed up for me, I danced almost solid until the end of the milonga, and, though not all were entirely great, there was not a bad dance in the bunch. Most were very, very good; the leaders made me feel well cared-for and graceful. A few surprised me, because I wouldn't have thought, from watching them with other women, that we would dance well together--but they turned out to be some of my best dances that evening. So nice when it works out that way. It was by far the best milonga, overall, that I've been to in a long time.

Sometimes, when I'm having a good evening like that--when I'm connecting well with my partners and with the music, when all that practice means that I can move with grace and ease ... when it's all coming together--I become, for a while, the person I want to be all the time. Elegant and powerful. Un-self-conscious. I smile with the pleasure of working through challenges, and I laugh at mistakes and brush them aside. I'm not competing with anyone. There is only my partner and me and the music, only the enjoyment of this moment, and I can live in it completely.

And that leaves the smile lingering on my face as I wrap up well and step out into the very cold night.