Better

10^th February

For a while I felt frustrated with what I wrote here because it just seemed to be empty milonga reports; now, perhaps, it’s swung too far the other way, and I resist writing unless I feel I have something definite to report. I’ve written a little in the last few posts about feeling steadily back to normal after a period of illness and fatigue – now we’re well into February I really do feel Better. The year is into the swing of itself; I have a kind of comfortable routine again; I bake and cook on the weekends; I see my friends all the time. Maybe the little swigs of liquid iron in the morning are already starting to work; maybe it’s just because it’s not January any more. This weekend the better and the wellness finds its way into my dancing, for certain, and it makes me very happy.

On Wednesday I practice with one of my partners for the first time this year, testing against him the elements of technique that have stuck – and they have stuck! so far! a bit! – from Vienna. The way I dance on my feet has shifted for sure, and doesn’t feel at risk of receding; the positioning of my hips and sway of my pelvis is more difficult to be certain of or consistent in, but there’s still something working there that’s different to before. We don’t discuss too much, just dance for 75 minutes or so, a range of trad and nuevo, finding that everything works, is as easy, or easier than it was before. I don’t tell him too much about what I did in Vienna beforehand, or even after, but do mention that I went for lessons. The one thing he notes is that my embrace is more ‘womanly’ than before, which I find quite funny because it is basically meaningless to me in that I don’t know what it means (what is womanly? what is unwomanly?), and I feel rather unbothered about whether it’s good or important to be womanly at all. Like, is that technique? Does is deepen the connection? But he also says that it feels like my sensitivity, which can be so haywire and strong, is deeper now and more grounded in my body. I like this.

I dance Saturday and Sunday, too, joining a workshop with the visiting teachers on Saturday to help with numbers. It’s fun, on the variation, and is basically just fast drilling of back ochos for 90 minutes. The teachers stress the importance of pivoting the base leg as the free leg comes to meet it, a kind of movement I did a little work on in Vienna, and it feels nice to repeat the movement again and again in the class, feeling it work well because of the recent experience I’d had playing with it. I get a ‘brava’ from both of the teachers throughout the class, and a good note about not dropping my level too much (on my left leg, in particular), as it costs me time when the movement needs to be very fast. I’m a little tired in the milonga afterwards, and it’s very busy in a way that feels quite overwhelming. And then, for reasons I can’t fathom, the male visiting teacher cabeceos me and we do a tanda. I’m not very good, because I’m nervous and not dancing at my best. In a way it’s a good reminder, of the kind I sometimes get when extremely high level dancers dance with me, that I’m really still quite hopeless and cannot meaningfully keep up with them, not in terms of pace but in terms of sensitivity and responsiveness. But there are some nice moments, especially in the third song, and I manage to play a little back. (And my friend says we looked pretty good, so I’ll take that.)

Sunday is great. There are days, now, when I turn up to tango and I feel I can do anything. I guess leaders have this too (but is it still, inevitably slightly follower-contingent?), but I enjoy it particular as a follower, being able to read whatever whichever leader throws at me and dance it back at them, with my body aligned and working and strong and me. I dance with a leader I’d previously written off a bit as not my style, and find that, having adjusted my alignment, we dance so much better together. I go tonight (Monday), too, and dance in my flats. Some nights when I opt for flats I’m reminded strongly that I don’t practice enough in them; other nights I turn up and am delighted (and slightly bemused?) by how much easier dancing is when you’re not wearing three inch stilettos.

I’m so glad it’s not January any more, that everything is steadily getting lighter. I keep going for stupidly long walks – from Camden to Sloane Square, or down to Bermondsey – but it gives me something to do and keeps me well. And things are up and down still, but the thing that can’t help but keep me going is the thought of dancing outside, at the bandstand, on summer evenings when it’s warm. I don’t consciously summon it to banish sad thoughts, it’s just there. It works.