I was all set to write about not being to be asked to dance at the milonga on Christopher Street Pier.
About how I sat there in my fancy, sexy skirt, looking as pretty and open as can be. About how I waited for close to two hours before someone asked me to dance. About how when he did ask (and I let him know of my beginner-ish status), he hesitated, and said: “Well…let’s dance one dance and if it doesn’t work out, then no one will be insulted.” I knew then that I was about to be insulted. And after the one dance, as predicted, he thanked me and walked away.
Was he never a beginner? Where was his dedication to the Argentine tango and paying it back? Where was his generosity of spirit? Apparently elsewhere.
And so, my confidence went right through the boards and into the Hudson.
All the memories of not being asked to dance flooded in. The grammar school, high school and bar mitzvah dances. The not being asked to dance at the prom. As I was not invited to the prom. Oh, and as for not being asked goes, don’t get me started about online dating.
In my middle age, I recognize that these feelings are merely visitors. Paying a visit to see if I’m still paying attention and on my toes. And as it happens, that is exactly where I can be found these days; on my toes. And the view is wonderful.
Well okay, so I wrote about it. The not-being–asked-to-dance aspect of learning a social dance.
There is of course a brighter side to this sad story. The being asked to dance and the dancing. Lately my dance card has been filling up.
There have been times recently when dancing the Argentine tango has been so sublime.
I have come to the dance floor knowing of the suffering of the world, feeling the occasional isolation of living alone or being made insane from upgrading to Lion. And the other night, in just one dance, it all took a rest. I connected to humanity, one human (male) at a time. In one dance we committed, listened to each other, negotiated and moved together. And all to the sultry and otherworldliness of tango music.
I have chosen a practice full of surprises, discoveries, history, artistry, sensuality, joy and of course great shoes. A practice where the learning is never finished.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Copyright © 2012 Nancy Green