This Dance Biscuit’s Summer Journey

Tangoing in Argentina last Spring

Over the last few years, I have embraced dance as therapy and found it has brought me tremendous joy, despite any natural ability.

Last year I took tango lessons, as preparation for my trip to Argentina where the plan was to fall into the arms of a version of Al Pacino’s character in the film Scent of a Woman. 

I did, in fact, make it to Argentina for a few months and tangoed there, admittedly badly, but had so much fun which was the entire point anyway.

After my Last Tango in Argentina, I returned home and continued classes at the venerable Arthur Murray School of Dance (it’s still alive and thriving) and sort-of learned to foxtrot, marange, salsa, two-step, waltz and so forth.

Don’t get me wrong, we both tried.

I think if I had continued to invest, I would have improved but it got expensive and I was distracted by a summer liaison and faded off the dance floor like Gig Young and Faye Dunaway in the movie They Shoot Horses Don’t They where they die in a dance marathon (spoiler alert).

I did continue to focus on salsa because it felt easier, more forgiving and accessible than tango.  I went to clubs alone to practice and watch people who have mad skills to dance the night away.

In my case, I was a one-and-done dance partner except for one guy who wanted to just grind on me and had to be pried off and another one who actually lifted all 5’9” of me off the floor in a gesture worthy of a comedic version of Dancing with the Stars. 

My latest foray into dance this spring was ballet. 

On Wednesdays, I would plié, dégagé, frappé’ and rond de jambe all over the place. 

I learned to do a half pirouette and could only lift one arm because the rotator cuff tear would not enable me to fully lift my left arm.  I was a half-ballerina.

At one class, the kind and forgiving instructor gently asked the class (me included) to leap off the floor.

My feet felt cemented to that floor and the idea of lifting my body from the ground seemed thoroughly impossible. 

But I tried and I did it.  Sort of.

In that moment, I learned two things - to let go of my embarrassment and humiliation about my inability to be good at something right away and to just try.

Dance also taught me other valuable life lessons. On every dance floor, without exception, each man would say two things to me:

·         Please, let me lead; and

·         Relax.

Simple, solid advice.  An absolute metaphor for my life. 

I have been leading my whole life – pushing ahead, not very relaxed and trying to constantly be ‘in charge.’   

It can be exhausting to try to be competent in all things and control the uncontrollable.  It’s a pretense that requires a lot of energy which takes away from the learning process and the joy of the experience.

Many of us don’t try new things or abandon something in the first five minutes for very good reasons. 

It’s hard. It’s inelegant, and frustrating.

The dance communities I’ve been part of show up and give themselves grace because we are all imperfect when we attempt something new.

Maybe you get better; maybe you don’t. It doesn’t really matter. 

What matters is the continual effort and staying in the moment. Showing up even when you feel icky, sore, stupid, ugly, sad, clumsy, brain dead or whatever state of affairs is underway in your brain, body or psyche.

I’ve been trying to remember this as I mend from my recent shoulder surgery, stuck at home, unable to conduct my regularly scheduled life, or run away to a foreign country much less dance. 

Here alone with myself and my feelings I’ve confronted a lot of helplessness which begat sadness, followed by loneliness and accompanied by physical pain. 

Best. Summer. Ever.

As unwelcome as it has felt, it’s valuable and instructive to just ‘sit with it.’

I’ve had tremendous friends and family who showed up at just the perfect moment to either cart me somewhere, lift me up or let me cry it out. I am so grateful.

I also made peace with my home during my recovery and rehabilitated it to make it my sanctuary.  This was the last bastion of my marriage and now it’s permanently my space which brings me joy, comfort and the ability to feel home here and not run away.  

When I find this elusive perspective, I feel like I’m coming through another portal -  stronger, centered and grounded while staying open and vulnerable.  Maybe this was all necessary for my progress as a human, a friend, a parent, a citizen and one day maybe, even, a lover.

It’s felt uncomfortable, clumsy, scary, awkward and frustrating just like dance and trying new things – essential and necessary to enable growth and open me up to welcome love again if it ever shows up.

Developpé, changement and relevé all wrapped up in a summer of inside.  Call me uncomfortably stretched over here….

I think this is a better alternative to the Pink Floyd concept of uncomfortably numb, though that would have helped with this pain.

Meanwhile, tell me, how is your summer?  Are you uncomfortably stretched or numb?

Xoxo,

Claire