Those of you who’ve read of my stressful vacation adventures will be glad to read this piece. About my tango classes.
How do I explain what they are? The enjoyment? For those who love chocolate – they are the best dark one. For coffee drinkers –
the Starbucks latte made by a happy barista. For those who love reading – imagine yourself sitting with a book by a cozy floor lamp. The book that takes you away from everyday life. Far away.
I like the fact of just dancing – after exchanging names. (Sometimes, there is even none of these). No small talk or asking about occupation or family. Because I am not my occupation and family anyway.
You concentrate on the music and you ‘listen’ intently to your partner. Because his moves are your only clue as to what you are to do next. This is the skill you need to learn – to become a good follower.
I would like to say that the music is like sweet pain, but you’ll be shocked, so I’ll say that it is incompatible with “checking email/what’s for dinner tonight/I need to get tomatoes”. It takes you away from all this. I come to the class looking forward to this ‘taking away’.
You do not have to dance close, but if you do, there is nothing sexual in it. Though it is a dance, it feels close to an elegant sport where you are happy at your accomplishment and enjoy the alertness and grace of your body.
If I drag you down from the romantic clouds, there are two more things.
1. During the classes I came across overly cautious partners – a reflection of me in life (at times). First I was annoyed, but then said to myself, “This is how it looks and feels – to others”. And decided to be bolder.
2. I also came across uncalled for harsh words as to my performance (probably meant as a joke), but at least I stood up for myself and it felt good. Whereas my habitual reaction since kindergarten would be to feel like crying.
For those readers who live close by, the studio is in midtown Manhattan - TriANGulO.
Soviet scientists strove to breed wild silver foxes – to live and mate in captivity. Yet the foxes would die. Selection process helped – the foxes lived, mated, stopped being aggressive – became like pet dogs… But their fur became regular dog fur too.
Looks like it is the same with us and with everything: the essence becomes different, the fur becomes different. In captivity I am sure to lose my red hair… And the spark.