The Marathon

It can't be said enough that tango is full of drama, and not just in the lyrics or in the hearts and minds of those dancing. It's a social dance and there is bound to be a lot of drama beyond the limits of the dance floor.

I met up with a tango friend last night. Someone I would consider a "friend", not just someone I say "hi" to and chitchat a bit at a milonga. We ran through the rain after I got some expensive raw chocolate from Wholefoods, the first time I went shopping at that super expensive organic food store. And we settled on one of the cold metallic benches of one of the more popular gelato places in the city. And we chatted, unsurprisingly about tango, and we chatted for hours. I was exhausted by the end.

And one of the things we talked about was the incestuous tango drama that happens in the tango community, and apparently that happens a lot in New York. To epitomize this claim, I would rephrase what she said: "my boyfriend sat down once at a table of tango people from New York and realized every single one of them had slept with a few others at the table." This friend of mine had gone through two before meeting this stable third. The first ended in the familiar drama of "Don't talk to me" and "I don't want to go to your milongas" and "I am leaving because I saw him there."

When I walked into the this past weekend's tango marathon (a milonga that lasts the entire weekend, not just one night), the first thing I saw was the French girl with her dude sitting right there at the table nearest to the entrance. I thought how a great way to start the weekend. I had completely forgotten about preparing myself for this. I was too excited to remember my walls. But that didn't bother me for much longer. But the idea of dramas in tango dogged me the whole weekend. I talked to a friend who now has a boyfriend outside tango. They are happy. They were an instant match and he quickly moved in because they were willing to take the risk. I know another friend, not at the marathon, who, after all the drama in tango (and you get more as a teacher) decided on a boy from outside tango. She seemed happy. These little stories reminded me to think hard about being close to women in tango. And they put me on a course of disillusionment for the weekend. My disillusionment continued as I watched ex-couples dancing again. They never seem completely happy. They laugh, perhaps, but there's something off between them, or perhaps I was just projecting my pessimism on them. There's this really beautiful woman dancing with her ex; after they broke up he soon left their country and got married, and she disappeared from the tango scene until now. They were teaching and performing before they broke up. Somehow this saddened me a lot, especially watching them. Tango offers you the opportunity to really connect with someone, the feeling sometimes even stronger than that which you can ever derive from any romantic relationship, even at the beginning when your heart is all butterfly fluttering. But that feeling also isn't allowed to go beyond the tanda, beyond the dance floor. And I guess this weekend I wondered what it was all about.

I wasn't really even getting that feeling. That was the biggest problem of all. I realized this last night talking to my friend. I realized my disillusionment was compounded by the gnawing question of why I was doing tango at all. The question was really, why I was doing it if I can't have that beautiful feeling beyond the dance floor, if I am simply "dancing." I realized my technique has changed. I realized from that that has allowed me to become more creative, more musical. But this past weekend I didn't feel that emotional connection. There's the technical connection. My analogy is that in a marriage you could make things "work." To raise great kids together, to have a great house together. To make each other's life better, happier, even. You can work toward this; you just need a brain and faith and love for the other person. But there needn't be an "emotional" connection. You don't need to wake up every morning looking at your spouse and fall in love again, with every little detail of his existence.

And I realized last night that was what I was missing: being present, being in love, having that feeling. I complained that I was missing that feeling, but last night I realized I have forgotten to seek it. I was too involved with the technical part, too busy trying to make the dance "fun" and musical. But I forgot about the person I was dancing with. We were partners, but somehow I forgot about each of them. My friend's boyfriend, she said, is a popular dancer not because his technique is good (you can't really practice much when you live on an island and with a five-year old daughter), but rather, he always made the woman feel loved.

I've forgotten about that this past weekend, perhaps this whole year. I was too tired. I was too jaded with the dramas in my life. I forgot to do what I told my friends I try to do in a dance: fall in love with the woman who made me feel so lucky to be able to hold her. My heart has been crushed too much this year, and I realized last night that it had no room left for women of my favorite dance.

I am still going to do all I can to improve my technique, improve my musicality. In fact, on the train I will start listening to as many tango songs as possible, study the songs, learn about all the orchestras. I love the music, in addition to the dance. But I will make room in my heart for the dances. There are dramas in my life, and no doubt so long as I continue with tango, there will be dramas in the future. But then I remember what my friend said of her boyfriend's experience at that table. People break each other's hearts, but in tango, in the end, many of them are able to sit together at the same table and presumably have a grand time. Heartbreaks happen much more often here, in this curious little world, but it also demands that you mature faster, heal faster, move on with your life sooner.