You Know You Have A Tango Problem When…
After my initial foray into the world of Argentine tango—even before I was aware that there was a world, a friend sent me a checklist of the telltale signs that one is becoming a tango addict.
I thought it was amusing, though I didn’t recognize myself in any of it.
A couple of things have cropped up lately that have prompted me to submit my own entries.
I remember thinking (a little too smugly) how fortunate I was to have a strong body, good posture and no knee issues. While all that remains true, there is the little problem of my feet in the 3” heels.
I won’t go into too much detail, after all, who really wants to hear about my foot pain? Suffice it to say that many hours on one’s toes in one’s beautiful tango shoes, is a sure way to get to meet your local podiatrists.
And after making the rounds and gathering the opinions of foot doctors and friends, I have collected a shoebox full of information.
I cried at the first opinion. Hoboken Foot & Ankle said to stop dancing or I was surely headed for surgery.
I wept with relief at the second. Hoboken Ankle & Foot said that with modifications and perhaps a lower heel (sniff), I shall live to dance another day.
I sat up straight at the third. My teacher Dante said that with a combination of dance sneakers (there is a sneaker for every occasion), toe exercises, and working with my friend Suzanne (a Feldenkrais teacher), I could keep serious injury at bay. And take my feet into my own hands.
I laughed at the fourth. My mother suggested that I take up bridge. Which is her solution to many of life’s problems.
I can officially say that I have tango-foot. Though there must be salsa-foot, samba-foot and rumba-foot. Not to mention ballet-foot. Ouch.
And if that weren’t enough tango trouble, my best friend said that she thought I was developing an unhealthy obsession with the dance. And that I had become unavailable and she felt abandoned. She also said that I was using tango to avoid loneliness. To which I replied: “Exactly! And it’s working.”
I didn’t understand what she would have me do instead. Sit home alone in a lotus position and be one with loneliness…every night?
Isn’t this what I’m supposed to be doing? Engaging in life, learning something new, making friends (women and men), and having the most wonderful time.
I assured her that I loved her, would never leave her and that an intervention was not necessary. For that is what addicts say.
When I told Dante of the tango mess I was making, he laughed, high-fived me, and said: “Now you are a dancer.”
Copyright © 2012 Nancy Green