Tango: The Ten Toes of Humility

I am trying so very hard to get over the inertia, the fear, the whateveritis that stops me from doing those things that I want to do. I don´t want to be one of those people who looks back and says, "I wish I had done ..." So I´d passed a sign in my neighborhood, "Classe de Tango" Mondays, 6:30pm. I went.

I expected a wide variety of people, all ages, locals as well as tourists, etc. Not so.

As it turned out, I was the tallest by at least 6" and the youngest by at least a decade (if not 3!). More women than men, but a close ratio there.

So there are people with 2 left feet. I am one of those. Coupled with a complete ignorance of this very difficult dance (much more intricate and difficult than I expected) and almost no ability to understand the instructors, I became the dancing embodiment of a roadblock, hurdle, trafficjam, jam car, third wheel, etc. You get the picture.

My first impulse was to just leave. To slip out, hopefully unnoticed. But then I remembered that desire to face my fear, to explore the new. I´m so glad I did.

The class started with us all in a circle, streteching legs, arms, etc. And then just stepping around the circle. Easy as pie, right? And then the dance started. Six steps...

Six steps and I was transported back to 7th grade hustle class (DO THE HUSTLE!), which I was equally inept in. While I felt bad for the woman closest to me who was asked to partner up with me, as it turned out, every woman, as well as both instructors, had the distinct ignominious experience of dancing with me at one time or another.

And then something amazing happened...

I loosened up. I would love to say that then it all came to me, like a long'lost language that awakened from a place deep within my psyche. No, that didn´t happen. But it became clear that my participation wasn´t the bigest bummer these folks had ever encountered and that we were all learning, all there for fun, and that they would, at least for a few mondays, tolerate the base missteps and nonverbal blatherings of a foreigner. I did make it clear that "Senor Bush" is no friend of mine, and that seems to help in every social situation here.

By the end, I was able to do the basics and got hugs and kisses from all the gals, hearty handshakes from the men.

I know every damn post here is the same: boy did I have a swell time and isn´t life grand, but what can I say, so it goes.

I´ve got to find a private tango teacher.