My Tango Diaries

I've been working on this post for over 2 months. (Insert exasperated sigh here.) I'm still getting emails, having conversations, asking questions. I thought I would wait to publish until I was done, but like all things on this tango journey - this will never be "done." When I began looking into the question I got most from leaders, of what women want from them, a whole new road opened up. I started to hear, from followers and leaders, common attributes applied to their favorite dance partners. I also started to hear a description pop up again and again.  "This dancer  . . . heals my terrible day,  . . . heals some old wounds,  . . . rejuvenates my spirit."  I started to hear about more than good dances, but also about healing dancers .  I've written about my own experiences with certain "painkiller" leaders - but I thought I was the in the minority in that experience. Then the emails started. In my GMail folder on thi

Picture courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com Guest post by Jane Prusakova Foot out, step, collect back, foot out again, step, transfer weight, collect the other foot,  leap and swing back... Brave and very scared, holding on tight and venturing into the unknown...  My 9-month old is taking her very first steps.   It is also my Argentine tango steps. Admittedly, not every tanda is a venture into the unknown, but I cherish those that are.    I love the simplicity of the basic AT move (a step), and the complexity of the dance  -- the richness of the movement, the abandance of possibilities.  Any step could be followed by a multitude of other steps - and it is betweem the leader and the follower to choose which ones will come into existence.    The fleeting moment before that choice is made, the split second full of opportunities and the uncertainties, is where the world ceases to exist, only the music and the connection remain.  Can I trust what comes next? Will I fall, tripp

Courtesy of http://www.morguefile.com This post is expanding on something I wrote on Facebook that a couple of people have emailed me about. It is only slightly tango related and it takes awhile to get there, so be patient. Or feel to free to skip it entirely and wait for the next "stiletto heel in the calf" rant - I won't be offended. . . . Backstory . . . Over the years, my friend Sara had read my palms, done tarot readings (sighed sympathetically as I pulled "The Tower" repeatedly) cast runes. She would efficiently and rather clinically, tell me bits about my past, present and future with mostly accurate results. As any good fortuneteller does, she read more of the information from my face and body language, than from whatever medium she was using. One day she offered to do something she'd never done for me - she wanted to cast my zodiac chart. For her, this was no small endeavor. When she did these, she took her time - and it was

A very small rant. In front of my table, along the festival dance floor, danced two couples.  The couple to my right was so compelling that I was grateful the line of dance was moving so slowly. I could have watched them all night. In a pause in the phrase, the leader had no room to move, so he simply rocked her slowly with the music, three times like a slow heartbeat. I could see her exhale against his neck. Waves of emotion rolled out from them. It felt like they were struggling to contain such intense emotion in each elegant, graceful movement. I couldn't look away.  When they stepped again, it was so soft, so smooth, I wondered if she knew she was moving.  Every turn, every step, so deliberate, so smooth, so connected, it made my heart ache a bit to watch them. When I could no longer see them well, my eyes shifted to the couple behind them. They whirled, tapped, kicked and stomped around and around in only occasoinally contained chaos. They were hitting every beat, and about

"Lean into the sharp points and fully experience them. The essence of bravery is being without self-deception. Wisdom is inherent in (understanding) emotions." ~ Pema Chodron After the festival , my non-tango life came back far too soon. I wasn't ready. Mondays (especially after so much dancing) are often saturated with tango hangover. The non-tango world seems too bright, too cold, with too many sharp edges. Bad news, crises, politics, business as usual - all took their toll Monday. I danced at lunch to cheer myself up, but it wasn't quite enough. For once, a non-tango song brought my very tango aching to the surface. As I listened, everything felt so suddenly overwhelming. "You live your life, as if it's real, A thousand kisses deep." I have never been very nostalgic for my past. I am, on occasion however, quite nostalgic for the fantasies I've held. I sometimes miss the lies I told myself and could make mysel

Picture courtesy of Morgue File Stock Photos Another Austin Spring Tango Festival has passed - my third year.  Feet, ankles, knees are all swollen. I slept for 10+ hours last night, and I'm still exhausted. I didn't have the stamina I had hoped for - but I had enough to enjoy some absolutely, heartbreakingly beautiful dances.  Old friends, and men I had only just met, held me with such warmth and tenderness, I felt like I was floating every night. This was the first festival I attended that I really knew who I was - as a dancer, as a woman. I was comfortable in my own skin, not trying to mimic a teacher, or any other dancer. I learned so much - not in classes, but within the embraces of the men who held me, and in conversations - at the milongas, at practica, in hallways and in my kitchen at 5 in the morning. At Whataburger at 4:30 am, talking about tango in the deep, meaningful, silly ways one is prone to talking at that time of morning. I learned so much I'm having