My tango dancing is in its infancy, and milongas still intimidate me a lot. When I see the skill of many of the dancers at these tango parties, a sense of not being enough bubbles up, and I become paralysed, remaining in my chair. And because being at a party and not dancing at all is also very awkward, I end up staying at home, in the safety of my living room, practising with YouTube videos, if at all.
This last weekend was different. I attended not a milonga, but a gigantic tango festival.
I’m sure it wasn’t that monstrous, but I perceived it like that, and all the resistance was there. I got tickets, but my body didn’t want to go.
A whisper in my ear, though, was persistent: You know how to dance, Jesus. Have fun and learn. How else will you make progress?
I also had my friend Natalie:
“You should go! Sign up for some workshops, get to know people and maybe find some dance shoes”.
And so, I went.
On my way, I set an intention: I will be gentle with myself and track and respect my energy at every moment.
I did not want to force anything, or to be “on” all the time. I had breaks, went for rests and kept re-grounding. That worked well during those three days.
In summary, I attended two amazing workshops, danced to seven tandas (approximately 21 songs), and met the most welcoming crowd ever. Every person I danced with offered encouraging words and feedback, and some praised my walk and dance.
Since I co-created Dance in Conversation, I’ve been carrying in me a heavy impostor syndrome, always with a need to clarify things: I dance tango, but I’m only learning, I’ve just started, and I go on and on.
Something shifted in the few hours after the Tango Feast. Still in the festival afterglow, I’ve experienced a deep sense of contentment in my body.
I felt tired, but a whisper was succinct and clearer:
I am a tango dancer. Period.
