nothing to say

I have no idea what to write about. I’m spent. I’ve been completely focused on my workshop again during most of the day and I’ve seen the sublime Cirque du Soleil live in the evening. So, I really wanted to just lie down when I got a call to drop by the milonga, but I decided to go anyway, as I really felt like dancing.

I danced, but apart from a few exceptions it mostly felt erratic and empty. The thing is, though, is that I really don’t have a need to examine the reasons for that now, even though I think I have a good idea for most of them. I just want to enjoy tango, and currently I’m unable to do so, but I will be able at some point.

Writing anything more than that seems meaningless right now. I think I should read through my blog tomorrow – enough producing, time for some consuming.

Heeding the call

Another day of focus on my workshop, another day of practically no thoughts about tango. This sensation feels incredibly alien – I really couldn’t imagine tango not being a priority any time soon, let alone not being on my mind for “so long”.

Well, that’s the situation now. Activism is something I’ve dedicated more than 7 years of my life, and for the past 3 years or so I’ve been doing more and more work with it as an instructor. Though the word might seem strange in this context, I use it for a clear : I’m now facing my personal challenge of whether or not I can be a teacher of activism in the sense that I define the term, and I’m pouring all of my years of experience, and my entire self, into it.

I knew that activism will continue to be an integral part of my life, but some of the comments I’ve been getting and the experiences I’ve gone through since I started my workshop have painted a very vivid picture of how intense the journey will be.

More about that soon. I also have to decide how this will influence my posts on this blog. In any case, I can now really feel what Paul Graham meant when he wrote about the top idea on my mind.

attitude towards mistakes

The paradox of thinking about making a mistake is that it can increase the very chances of doing so – it tightens you up and makes you focus on the innumerable bad scenarios, instead of being present in the here and now.

Mistakes will happen. Mistakes will happen. Everyone, from the best to those just starting out, will make them. Equally important to know is that pretty much half the time you won’t even know why you made a mistake, or that there wouldn’t have been any way of anticipating and preventing it. You’ll trip as you walk down the street or fumble while trying to recall the word on the tip of your tongue. Mistakes happen.

In practicing my attitude towards mistakes, I am currently trying to observe them as “the things and features that can be worked on.” I don’t want to go to the extreme of not treating a mistake as what it is – something being done more or less noticeably wrong – but I do want to change my reactions when they happen and, perhaps more importantly, my general attitude before they do happen.

In tango, I’m more and more successful in this: when I dance, I dance, and if I step on my partner’s foot or I do something else which is noticeably wrong, at most I’ll say a quick “excuse me”, without giving it a second thought or having any other emotional reaction, at least during the dance itself. However, it’s nowhere near so peachy in other areas of my life. The funny thing is, I constantly preach that mistakes are a normal part of everything we do, but it’s strange to the point of frustration why I’m so fluid and relaxed  in some circumstances, and at the same time a rigid overreacting perfectionist in others.

Why is that?  Is it the worry of what others will think of me? Or what I’ll think of myself? I have a general idea, but am I missing something else?

School of activism, pt. 2

Today, after a long time, tango wasn’t on the top of my mind. Tomorrow starts the first class of my experimental school of activism, and so I’ve spent the day mulling over the entire project, thinking about all the details as well as the bigger picture: What subjects to focus on the most in the introductory class, how to design an exercise so that it involves everyone and is effective, how the learning method might change over time etc.

There are too many variables to mention: Two groups of 15 people each,  from 20 to 28 years old, some who seem like veterans of activism and others who have never done a single project before, all with their own expectations and personalities and temperaments.  An experimental method of learning and practicing activism which might prove successful from the get-go or which will need to be radically  after the second class. I really have no idea what will happen in the next 30 days.

Well, I do. I’ve been in a similar situation before, but even if I hadn’t, I know what I should do. I’ve got all the lessons from activism and tango to guide me:

Observe the situation. Know what your goal is, as it is the thread that you follow, the one thing that will tell you how you should act in the unforeseeable, ever-shifting circumstances. Accept the circumstances and do the most that you can, not what others think you should. Be fluid and open to whatever comes, because surprises both nice and nasty will be plentiful. Improvise. Remember your values. Be sincere, respect yourself and others. Have fun. Dance.

 

Two beings dancing

Today I heard something in the beginner’s class which our teachers occasionally say in all the other classes. I realized I really needed to hear it again, because it’s possibly the most important lesson of all, and one I’ve been forgetting more and more lately:

“In front of you is a human being. You are two beings dancing together.”

I think the word “being” has a bit more punch in Serbian, but the depth of the meaning should be understandable no matter the language: It’s all so easy to enter the embrace with a plan of how you’re going to dance, or with an urge to impress someone who’s watching. As the song starts and your partner is closing her eyes, you already think you know what you can expect from her and from this dance.

But that person in front of you is a person. A being.

Think of how holy that is. Look at your partner as you approach each other: a person, with dreams, thoughts, emotions, fears, aspirations – a soul. Think of the two of you, a four-legged tango being, floating through the air as one, oblivious to everything but yourselves and the ronda. The energy of the moment shapes you like clay, as your chests pulsate with each beat and your bodies flow with the melody like through water. The entire room dances.

Or, you know, there’s you and her, and there’s this song of Di Sarli you really like, and so you’re gonna quickly get into the embrace and start with a side-step, and then a sacada, and then…

So, what’s your next dance going to be like?

Deciding vs. worrying

I remember when during a dance, in one of my first milongas, I accidentally kicked my partner’s toe so hard, she let out a scream which seemed to echo through the ronda for what seemed like an eternity. I thought that I was done for: I will forever be remembered as That Guy Who Will Make You Scream In Pain.

I don’t know if anyone remembers it today. Hell, I couldn’t even say with complete certainty whom I was dancing with when I did it.

This is but one of a million such worries and preconceptions, both at the milongas and in everyday life, which I thought would bother me for ages, but in reality would quickly loose their importance and are now completely insignificant. All that energy and time wasted on endless torturous inner dialogues which only went round in circles, all the while avoiding the simple decision which might seem like a big risk or ordeal but would actually solve the entire issue completely. Or sometimes, you weren’t even supposed to do anything other than choosing your attitude towards your current predicament.

I think it was Milena whom I kicked, but I can’t be sure. In any case, a few milongas ago I kicked her again. She grimaced and let out a hiss of someone feeling strong, sudden pain. I apologized, and we continued dancing. It happens.

We all inadvertently step on each others’ toes from time to time. For a moment it hurts, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, and with it your worries should melt away too. But, in order for that to happen, we must choose how to act, choose our attitude.

Time heals some wounds. Decisions heal all.

improving through opposites

They say that growth lies in the path of your fear, and one of the things you fear are those you’re not used to. So, trying the do the opposite of what you usually do, whether in tango or in life, practically guarantees that you can learn and grow from it.

I remember when one student from our school approached me during a practica and asked me to give him some general advice on what he should work on in his dance. I observed him dance a bit and the thing I noticed is that his steps were mostly short, quick and rhythmic.  While this is quite useful in the ronda, it is very difficult to be present and musical when you’re dancing in one narrow way.

So, I suggested that he should try expressing himself through the melody rather than rhythm, all the while making only long, slow steps. He did so, and because he’s very focused and diligent in his practice, his dance got a lot richer already by the next milonga.

However, his case was easier to spot because it was clearly on one “extreme” end of a scale, so to speak. What do you do when you’re not really sure what you’re working on and thus what the opposite of that is?

Perhaps the solution could be to try both “extremes”, and see what experience each of them will bring. In some cases, just thinking about behaving in a certain way can trigger a defensive, rationalizing mechanism – “No way, I’ve never behaved like that, it’s not me” – which is a clear sign that you’re on the right way to determining your opposite.

Furthermore, as you get to know the opposite of a certain thing, you learn to understand more deeply what you already knew, as now it’s being put into a broader perspective, compared and combined with the new experiences.

This is just a quick glimpse into one of the ways of improving. Robert Greene wrote an excellent post which I read a long time ago, but didn’t get it half as much as I do now. Tomorrow I hope to go through it in detail and write a bit more about this line of thought and what it could bring.

to be continued

two ways of improving

I’ve noticed, roughly speaking, two very different set of circumstances for improvement.

In one you sort of know and/or feel what the next step is. When you’re practicing a new move or body position in tango, for instance, even though you can’t do it properly yet,  you still know and see what you’re supposed to do and you go through the sensation of what it’s like when you manage to occasionally do it right. Then you “merely” have to practice until it becomes a natural part of you. In any case, you can more or less successfully intuit what you’re supposed to be striving towards and how well you’re doing it.

The other sort of improvement is when you’re aiming for something that is so far out of your reach, you have no idea how you’re supposed to be striving towards it (if you’re aware of what it is at all). You simply don’t have the necessary level of feeling in you to sense what the next step is. What should you do in that case?

Lately, I’m starting to believe more and more strongly that the way to reach what you can’t really grasp is to follow concrete steps – exercises and guidelines in behavior - that will bring you to your goal. It’s the “Miyagi style” of improvement, though with an added explanation of why you’re doing the seemingly pointless thing.

Actually, it would be better to say that it’s not pointless, but counterintuitive. You have to force yourself to behave in a certain way which is foreign to you in order to grasp what it feels like to behave like that. I have a big problem with saying no, for instance, especially when it comes to turning down someone who’s asking you for a favor or is offering you an interesting opportunity. Because in that moment of decision I cannot feel that what matters to me is more important than the thing dangling in front of me and it will suffer if I don’t turn down the offer, I have to literally go against my nature. I have to force myself to say no, all the time being aware that saying it will feel awkward and “wrong”. But it’s the only way of not only staying focused now, but learning how to do the same more naturally tomorrow.

I’ve only just begin to think about  these two sets of circumstances, but I feel like grasping them more deeply will give me a lot. So, do I feel them out or get to them counterintuitively?

sudden progress

Today we went to a concert of Gotan Project here in Belgrade. I haven’t heard the new album and didn’t know what to expect, but we had a blast - one tanguera organized a special space for all of us for dancing, and so we swayed excitedly to the sound of Gotan. So, I was very inspired, but I noticed something more in my dance: A feeling of improvement.

It’s one of those feelings when you suddenly realize that you can feel the embrace more deeply, or you move a lot more easily or something else entirely. These moments are becoming more and more rare, but at the time when you’re about to start missing and looking  forward to them, you also find out that where you are right now is quite nice and enjoyable too. Still, they’re as wonderful to feel as ever when they do appear out of the blue.

What I’ve noticed is that tango is possibly the only place where I simply know those moments will occasionally happen. I dance for pleasure and I practice in class, and so they’re an logical and inevitable occurrence. On the other hand, at the same time I can’t think of anything else in which I’ve had this feeling lately. I’m very capable in activism, but who knows how much better I can be – I am yet to systematically practice what I preach. My Japanese is deteriorating and I really want to (and need to, due to my final exam) work on it. I started and loved doing kick-boxing, but after the summer break I got sick and two months later I’m still not cured enough to be certain I can do intense exercise.

Forgetting my current circumstances for a moment, I can’t really remember the last time I made such visible progress in something. Perhaps in Japanese, a year or two ago, but I didn’t get anywhere near the point where you’re confident in using the knowledge you have, even if perhaps you’re still not at an intermediate level.

This is bad, because that feeling – the sudden awareness of progress – is evidence of your focus on a certain thing, which I think is one of the most important parts of a human being. Yet, while there seems to be no reason to avoid focused work which can bring you so much joy, somehow right now I manage doing it only in tango. Why?

to be continued

 

dancing with Suzy

Yesterday we found out that our dog Suzy, who will be 11 years old this summer, has a tumor on her spleen, among other things. I got the news over the telephone, and the summary is that it’s gonna be tough, but there is a fine chance of everything turning out well… Or, as well as possible in the circumstances. Once the words “it will prolong her life” are uttered, you know that you usually prolong something because it isn’t very long to begin with.

When I first heard the news, I think I took them fairly well, mostly because I didn’t know how to take them any other way. And, well, they are, in a way, the best of the many bad scenarios: Even though she’s quite spry for her age, there’s no hiding the fact that she’s still 11 years old, so I sort of knew that she could live as much as 10 or as little as 1 or 2 more years. But, I knew that only in the abstract sense – I didn’t really feel it.

Now, I feel it. A few moments ago I felt it all too well, as I looked at her sleeping on the bed, with her belly shaved for the ultrasound scan. I couldn’t help myself but cry. It’s not just that I’ve never lost someone close to me – and Suzy feels like a small sister.  It’s also the fact that with her, as with all dogs, you get unconditional love and you can do no less than give the same back – the emotions are incredibly pure and strong. And the many articles I’ve read over the years about how we overestimate our dogs’ mental abilities sound convincing until she turns to me with that smart look. With those eyes.

Your dog is this small innocent furnace of emotions with a personality, and because of that, most of all because of  that innocence, the overwhelming feeling you get is that it’s just not fair. They’re not supposed to get tumors, or have a risk of internal bleeding, or suffer in any way. She has one of those already, and the other are a real possibility.

But that’s that. So, while I thought and wrote yesterday about how we should value each dance like it’s the last, I also remembered one of the moments in my life when I’m completely present, or should I say lost in the moment: when I’m snuggling my beagle, Suzy. Now it is even more so – I am sad, but also so much happier every time I look at her.

And I haven’t danced since I got these news, and I really, really want to… need to.