La Tanguera (Part 2)
Two decades had passed since I had first attempted to learn ballroom dancing before the thought of giving it another go began to pick at the edges of my mind. The reasons for wanting to try it were different this time but the hesitation I felt was a direct result of my original failure.
I had decided, all those years earlier, that ballroom dancing can really only be done well when you have an affinity with the partner you are dancing with. In my forties and having lived a lifetime as a single woman, I doubted I could ever have such a connection with another human being and had all but given up trying.
In addition, I had, over the years, become more and more independent, strong-willed and stubborn – how could I, of all people, relinquish control of my body to a … urgh … MAN!?
But two things played on my mind. The first was that I lived a very sedentary lifestyle and exercising was an abhorrent thought, yet, I knew that I had to do something to get more active lest I lost both my figure (such as it was) or my mental faculties.
The second was a conversation I’d had a few years earlier with an old friend of mine, Max. We used to spar about the differences between men and women, how they approach life and love in completely different fashions, and have varying degrees of expectations on each other, seemingly making them incompatible. Max had for years been dancing the Milonga, the Argentinian form of tango – he was passionate about it and felt he could express his masculinity through the dance itself.
During one of our debates he suggested that I would do well to learn to dance the tango, as it would make me more feminine. Shocked, I rebuked him for suggesting that the only way to be feminine was to give control of yourself over to a man, but he demurred and claimed that the dance would put me in touch with my repressed passion and allow me to release it.
I scoffed and laughed and punched him on the shoulder for being so ridiculous but the suggestion stayed with me. Was the reason for my eternal singledom that I was repressing my passion and therefore, my femininity?
Well, there is nothing I like more than to challenge myself. Of all the styles of ballroom dancing, I knew only the tango would do for me. The lines, structure and control embodied in its movement are very architectural and appealed to my design sensibilities, as opposed to say, the salsa, with its loose hips and flailing limbs.
But if I were to do this, I knew the only way I would stick to it was to learn quickly and the best way to do that was through private lessons.
My first lesson with Pedro was thrilling – his mastery in leading made me feel like I was flying but even more than that, from the very beginning I felt a kind of freedom I had never experienced before. I was immediately hooked!
That was four years ago. By the time the pandemic hit, Pedro told me that my body knew the dance inherently, that I could stop thinking about the steps and let myself go. I was ecstatic! I never believed I would be truly capable of partner dancing. With my ability improving every week, it was deeply disappointing to have to stop when the lockdowns pushed pause on life as a whole.
Happily, after two long years, I am finally returning to the dance. I’m rusty as hell, but the exhilaration of merging with another human being, with no other intention than to enjoy a momentary oneness and feel the passion of the music, remains.
In tango, the man – el tanguero – may lead, but the woman – la tanguera – is by no means submissive. Tango, like any form of ballroom dancing, is a symbiotic relationship, he must be confident and assertive, but she must also be strong; the dance is a battle of give and take.
Best of all, in tango, as in love, it is the woman who chooses if and when to allow the man to lead, without her permission, neither is quite as enjoyable.