when one thing brings so much

Last night in our class we did one very important position for leaders  - I don’t know what it’s called so I’ll try to describe it:

We step with the left foot forward and rotated to the left (ideally 90 degrees). Our frame is dissociated to the left and our entire weight is on the left foot, with the tiniest amount of support (or more accurately, contact with the ground) remaining behind on the right foot’s toe (which we used, in this case, to help in rotation).

We learned it as part of another move, but later in the class we focused exclusively on practising this position – our teachers stressed how important it is, by also showing us all the possibilities that come out of it. As they were showing us how it is integrated in the dance, I felt a tingling I haven’t felt in a while: it was a moment of inspiration that gave me a vivid glimpse into the road ahead, of how much this posture will mean to my tango. This very much affected what happened next:

tango apprenticeship 2 – being present

I was standing behind the beginners, looking at our teachers as they were explaining the basics of tango, as it was one of the first classes of the new group. One of the most important bits was the importance of being present in the moment: as you turn off your cellphone when you enter the class, you should also turn off the computer behind your eyes. There is great joy to be found in being present here and now, as this opens you up to truly experiencing the world around you as it is in that moment.

While I was listening to them with presence of mind, as I know I will be telling the same story one day,  I couldn’t help myself  thinking at the same time of the process of teaching: How do you deal with the fact that some of the people you teach will stop coming, no matter how much of yourself you give to them? Would there be periods that you just can’t wait to run through to get to the “good bits”? Will you as enthusiastically take on a new group two or five or ten years later as you do now?

The answer came surprisingly quickly: If you are present in the moment, than it does not matter whether you’re teaching the most talented dancer in the world, or a complete beginner with flat feet. At that point you are two human beings learning from and about each other – perhaps you, “the teacher”, are being taught even more than “the beginner”. While the person is front of you is learning how to properly shift their weight from one foot to the other, you are learning how good or bad your explanation was, what you can do to make it better next time, how it should change depending on the person in front of you…

In the end, the most important thing is that when you’re present in the moment, the “click” you feel at the point when one or both of you learns something is always wonderful. You give as much as you can (meaning that you are also learning how not to give yourself too much and burn out) and you know that what you give will always have some effect, even if that person never comes to your class again.

I know that I can’t honestly say that I’ve accepted all of this. It’s easy to think this way when you’re still an apprentice and you do not have anywhere near the amount of responsibility one must bear when running any sort of school. Also, the inspiration and enthusiasm I feel now is one I’m familiar with – they are always there when one starts something new and exciting, but tend to disappear as quickly when something goes wrong or with mere passage of time.

So, while this does feel different and I really think that it will turn out well (whatever that means), I still know there will be difficult periods, plateaus and so on. I must also accept the fact that I might not become a tango teacher one day – it might simply turn out not be my path.

Whatever happens, the path now is exciting and will, without a doubt, teach and give me a lot – it already has: the best I can do is be present on it as much as I can.

how many hours of a day?

It’s been some 4 weeks since I started this blog, and though there have been some close calls, so far I haven’t missed a single daily update.  There’s been a lot of impressions on this so far, but what’s most on my mind right now is how my perception of my personal time and the things I do daily is changing.

When you think about it, how many things do you have to do every single day? You  can skip on sleep, miss meals, rest from your job during the weekend… But, as far as I can remember, for the first time in my life there’s something that I must do every day. So,  I spend on average at least an hour on writing a post, and this time is from now on “forever” gone from each day.

This is why this daily writing deal still feels a bit strange and perhaps even a bit scary. You suddenly become very aware of the finite number of hours you have at your disposal. Several times I would have planned out my day, and then at one point I would realize that I need to write for my blog, and I’d have to reschedule something else, even though it might be quite important.

Yes, it feels very much worth it. I’m already getting a lot out of this whole process. Yet, as I said, even this one hour can still heavily influence the rest of my day. Right now I’m more or less flexible with my time, but soon several time-consuming projects will begin. We’ll see how the daily blogging will fit into that (or should I say, how those projects will fit alongside my daily blogging?).

I don’t know why, but I feel like this daily writing deal is very important for me personally, like there are some very important lessons hidden there that will surface as time goes on. I have no idea why I have this feeling, but then again, while I had some rational reasons why I should embark on this endeavour, what really initiated it and keeps it going is that it feels like the right thing to do.

Having this feeling constantly makes it as exhilarating as it is befuddling.  And while I have no idea of where it will take me, I can’t but smile when I think about the journey ahead.

Where’s the rush? 2

A few nights ago I was at a milonga with a non-tango friend (shouldn’t there be some sort of tango slang for this?). Since  I didn’t want to leave her sitting while I dance and I was already a bit tired anyway, this became the sort of milonga I was beginning to miss – I could just relax and enjoy the atmosphere.

It felt really nice. The first few times when I heard the songs I love dancing to, I started fidgeting a bit, but soon this turned into simply enjoying listening to them even more.

At one point my friend left, but I still remained seated, soaking in the atmosphere. Then, one of my tanguero friends approached me and asked if I was ok.  I thought I might have incidentally put a serious face or something which made people think I’m in some dark mood, so I tried to project a  spontaneous smile from then on (as sincere as trying to be spontaneous can be).

Then, near the end of the milonga,  another tanguero approached me:

“It’s di Sarli, and you’re not dancing? Are you ok?”,

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“But it’s di Sarli, and you’re just sitting there! You!”

“Er, yes. Sometimes I just like to sit down and listen to the music.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m just so not used to seeing you not dance.”

Thank you, Universe, for pushing the lesson into my face. “Well, there are no free tangueras  left anyway.”

At that moment he made a dramatic pause and looked at me as if I just told him that I need to learn karate in two weeks in order to win the prize money to save the local park from the evil construction company and avenge my father’s death at the hands of my biggest rival – in other words, he had the eyes of coaches and cop-partners from all the best B-grade 80s movies.

“I will dance with you!”

How could I say no? So, we danced to di Sarli, alternating between leader and follower. What can I say except that the experience has already become a cherished memory.

But it wasn’t over yet. When we finished, a tango teacher from Argentina who was also at the milonga approached me slowly, looked me into my eyes with a faint smile, pointed at himself and said “Mujer!”.

So, I danced with him too.  As much fun as it was, after it was over I thought about running out of the milonga, because at this point I might as well start getting dance invitations from furniture or stray animals. I really just wanted to sit down, but I guess this wasn’t the day for sitting.

But I got another important lesson from that most interesting evening. When the milonga was over, I thought that I missed my chance to relax and I’ll have to wait for another milonga to try and do it – and then I realised that I’m thinking about planning about trying to be relaxed at a milonga.

After that realization, what’s more there to say? Nothing, and I will try to keep my mouth (and brain) shut until the next milonga.

tango apprenticeship

I’m writing this post between two beginners’ classes. Last week several dozen new people have started on their tango journey, and with them a few of us embarked on our own as well: We are on an apprenticeship to become tango teachers.

So, we are all beginners, in a way. While they are struggling with making their first tango steps, we are struggling with explaining how to make those steps. While they have to sort through a thousand new instructions and sensations, we also have a thousand new challenges: running everything you want to say through your head first and trying to imagine what it sounds like to someone completely new to tango; choosing each word carefully, so that your message is as clear as possible; saying just enough to get your point across while fighting the urge to try and explain everything, as the large amount of information simply overwhelms the listener;  trying to explain all of what you said by also “translating” it into movements and sensations, deciding how to shape your entire communication based on the person in front of you…

We have already been “semi-official” assistants to the generation of students before this one, and from now on we’re on a real apprenticeship. Even though I have some experience from that previous period, we’ve got a lot more responsibilities this time round.

But it’s something I really want to do. If someone told me a year ago that I would at any point in my life want to be a tango teacher, let alone actually embark on the path of becoming one, I’d laugh in their face. Now I can only smile sheepishly.

As I said, there are so many impressions already. I’ll try to sort through them a bit in the next few days. One of the things I regret about my tango journey is only recently starting to write down all the impressions and expectations along the way. While I can recall a lot of them, I know I’ve probably forgotten even more. I don’t want to repeat the same mistake, and this time I have a lot more reasons to remember them all.

dancing for others 3

Some additional thoughts after the bigger impressions settled a bit:

I talked about the five elements – me, my partner, the ronda, the other people at the milonga and, above all, the music.  They all have their specific amount and type of  influence in creating a unique tango experience.

So, what happens when you perform? The ronda is transformed into an open space that, at first glance, gives the opportunity for expressing oneself more freely.

Yet, this open space does not make your dance better or more true or whatever – I think it simply makes it different.

First of all, the new freedom is also a demand to “fill out” that space.  And while it can be exhilarating to be able to be able to use all this space once, would you spend the entire night dancing like that?

It’s the same with the element of the audience. Here they are looking at you perform, so a connection between you certainly exists (or, in some cases, doesn’t) and at first glance it seems like a chance to show off.

But if you dance for the audience, and not for your partner and yourself, your dance loses its authentic essence. Yet the audience is there, and I believe one can connect to it in a good way – perhaps let them into the world the two of you are creating during that song, be inspired by their energy and give it back through your dance?

But I feel like the moment you are “giving back”, you are dancing only for your partner and yourself. In this way you are actually sharing something sincere with the audience.

Maybe all of this sounds paradoxical or like nonsense. I really can’t be sure. While I  feel like there’s some sense behind it all, this was basically my first performance, so it’s way too early and I have way too little experience to form any sort of opinion.

Also, the audience in this case mostly consisted of restless high-school students who came to see their friends dance hip-hop or something like that, and they had to wait for our tango performance to end. In any case, they were definitely a non-tango audience and most of them didn’t really care about our dance.

In a way, this made it all much easier. We got immersed in the music and started dancing just for the two of us. We tried to share tango with the kids watching, but they just got louder. At one point when they simply got too loud, I decided to move very swiftly and we stopped ourselves right next to them (I should note that I didn’t do this with an angry emotion or anything like that – it just came as an inspiration in that moment). I couldn’t suppress my chuckle as they jumped back in panic and suddenly got a lot more quiet.

We continued dancing for ourselves and they seemed to actually start connecting with us. In the end got an applause that felt sincere. Some of our emotion got through.

I’ll be performing again in about a month, and the elements will be quite different: it will be at the second anniversary of our school and everyone will be there – our entire tango tribe, of course, as well as all the other old and new people in our school. I can only imagine what our connection will be like then.

Well, I can’t really. And, of course, I can’t know how I ‘ll be feeling personally. While I have some more thoughts about that performance, for now I’ll let go of them. The important lesson I got two days ago is telling me to stop predicting what that performance will feel like and let the whole thing happen naturally. It seems to simple to be true, but who says what truth should seem like?

dancing for others 2

I thought that the biggest challenge will happen at the beginning of our performance. I thought that all I have to do is get myself into the right mindset and I could beat the stage fright before it had a chance to strike.

Is it superfluous to say that things didn’t go as expected?

Of course,  the universe didn’t care about what I thought my challenge should be. I went to Milena’s place to practice a bit for our performance. We chose a milonga,  La Mulateada, which we both liked a lot. We were going to improvise, of course, but we still wanted to dance to the song a few times  to get a better feel for it.

After a few steps, I realized I couldn’t  dance to it. I knew that I have been tired lately, due to lack of sleep and the flu,  but this felt much worse.  Nothing was coming out of me – I couldn’t feel the music, I couldn’t make more than three steps with the same amount of energy,  I couldn’t connect to Milena.

I was confused and starting to get frustrated. She suggested that we try a different milonga, which we did. And another one. And another. None of them worked. More frustration.

”Maybe it’s simply not your day for dancing a milonga. Let’s try something slower” she said soothingly. But I wouldn’t have any of that. I wanted to dance a  milonga – apart from the fact that I enjoy it, it’s something which can easily look impressive to an audience.  As several good friends of mine were coming over to see us dance,  I wanted to show them how good I got at tango and how much it meant to me.

But I couldn’t, because I couldn’t dance a milonga that day. And there are few things as immediately frustrating as suddenly becoming powerless, not being able to perform something at half the level you’re used to, even though you really want to.

So I started getting angry. Milena’s attempts to calm me down weren’t working not for her lack of effort,  but because I didn’t want to be calmed down by her. I had my idea of what battles I wanted to fight that day, and I wanted to win them on my own.

But, as  I said, the universe didn’t care.  I couldn’t dance the milonga no matter how much I wanted to. Even though we tried and managed to dance a few slower tango songs,  the anger was still brewing inside me.

She went to the other room to get ready, and I sat down to think. I remembered what I wrote about expectations and I realized how much I didn’t accept the current reality.  I was unsuccessfully trying to find a way around the fact that I couldn’t dance the milonga, and I coldly brushed off Milena’s attempt to help me relax, even though I needed it.

But why should I decline someone’s help if I really needed it? Why should I fight a battle on my own, if I’m clearly not strong enough?

So, I decided to accept my current reality: For whatever reason,  I can’t dance the milonga tonight. I need Milena to help me fight with my current mood, and I should sincerely thank her for putting up with my attitude and for soothing me. I’ll dance for the two of us, as sincerely as possible, and that’s what my friends should see – me doing what I love.

In the end we danced to Historia de un amor, a song so beautiful, you’re crazy not to get lost in it – so we did, and we had a great time. There are more impressions from the performance itself, but for now I’ll stick with the most important ones of that day:

Sometimes you’re dealt with circumstances you can’t do anything about, no matter how much you want to. Sometimes you’re simply weak and you need someone else’s help to overcome that moment of weakness. There is no shame in any of this and you should accept all of it. Only that way can you truly see the reality of your situation and choose the right attitude.

Again – there is nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be ashamed of.  If you realize what is within your control and what isn’t, and you know that you made the best possible choice within your power, no matter how small it might be  - then you can be at peace.

Dancing for others

One of the things that’s also been on my mind is how one dances when performing for others. There’s the definite connection with the audience, which seems like a whole new thing to think about and practice. In a month Milena and me will be one of the couples to perform on the 2nd anniversary of our school. I’m really excited about this in several ways and I’ll write more about it more in the future.

There’s a reason why I’m bringing up the subject now – tonight we’ll be performing, and we only found out about it two or three days ago. And I feel the stage fright building up.

A glimpse into the road ahead

A few nights ago I experienced something which I haven’t felt in a while. As I was walking down the street, thinking about and feeling my posture , suddenly I felt my lower back “light up”. It was like I became aware of it at a much deeper level. My posture straightened out  in a very natural way and with every step there was a pleasant tingling sensation in my lower back, as if it my legs extended all the way up to it.

The feeling was gone the next day, and I wasn´t that sad, because I sort of expected it – I had similar experiences before. Once when we were working on awareness of our embrace, my entire back and outer part of arms lit up, and the wonderful feeling lasted for two or three days.

Once during class I became aware of the ronda like it was something  as clear and unique as the music playing, an energy that shapes your dance as much as all the other elements. By the time I excitedly reached the milonga later after class. the feeling went away as quickly as it came.

Two things were common for all of these glimpses into the road ahead. First, they came after  sustained focus on the element that would later light up. Second, the reason I think they went away was because the focus wasn’t sustained enough. It was like working on a muscle for a few days, and then marveling when you see it grow, but forgetting to work again on it.

Yet, the memories of the feelings remain. Even as I write this and think of those sensations, I can feel a quiet tingling on my back, my arms… The body remembers.

That feeling in my lower back came after the 15 minutes of working on my posture earlier that day. 15 measly minutes. Apart from that episode, I´ve been a bit sloppy when it came to working on my sloppiness. I could blame the flu I caught recently, but really, I can only blame myself.

Sebastian Arce said in one seminar on milonga that 15 minutes of practice a day can make a huge difference in a month or two. I didn’t know whether to believe him, but after this experience, I certainly do.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself – even though it’s only 15 minutes, I already spend a lot of time at tango classes, and I have a lot of other things to do during the day.

Yet, I know that I have those 15 free minutes, and I want to spend them on tango. Maybe some sort of  small final nudge is all that’s needed? Simply doing them at a fixed time, like every morning? Let’s see.

The dance of five elements

There’s me. My ego, my tango journey, my moods, my choices.

There’s my partner. A world in front of me.

There’s the ronda. We all flow together like stars in a galaxy, or tolerate each other like neighbours with thin walls.

There’s the rest of the milonga. Those who watch. Those who frown. Those who smile. Those who be.

And there is the music, which is above all. It pulsates in the air and paints the evening with its colours. It reminds us of wonderful truths captured between the breaths of the bandoneon. It inspires us every night to express our Selves.

As we grow, we notice that music is just one of the elements we listen to.  We must learn to listen more and more deeply to all five.  We are given glimpses at what happens when we do.

As we grow, we notice how these  correspond to the other elements of our life. We must learn to listen to those elements as well. We must learn to dance again.