The dancer who has been dancing for a certain amount of time has passed through the multiple, multiple flirtations. They’ve had the flirtations that lead to attractions, and then the attractions that turn into dalliances, and some that go beyond that. They have weathered their self doubt, they have delved into and survived their self-critical analysis, they have handled other people’s criticism of their abilities, and they are stronger than they were before because they’re still here!
They have had good teachers, and some less than desirable instruction, they know bullshit when they see it, and are not easily impressed by the visiting performers. They have lasted through the multiple obsessions (alternative, shoe, Biagi, Fresedo, Di Sarli, milonga, etc), they have made friends that have drifted away, they have lost friends over the petty and the small, they have made enemies, and they have created bonds that only a Piazzolla tanda can break. They’ve lived through cabeceo, mirada, the verbal asks, the missed connections, the complete mismatches, the dire finds, the diamonds in the rough, the creepy, the strange, the weird, the wild, the playful, the engaging, and watching someone else’s involvement go from nothing to full on obsession.
They’ve listened for hours, and days, and weeks to the same song, to valses that blow the mind, danced in their mind to a milonga beat that won’t go away, they’ve hummed along to podesta tango not knowing the words, and not caring. They’ve tried to learn Spanish, maybe succeeded or failed, or at least got to a passable point. 😉
They have gone to a milonga all excited (thrilled, tempered, obligated, expectant, bored, and frustrated) and then come home elated, then passe, then frustrated, then suicidal, and back again. They have lived through their own neurosis. They have lived through other people’s neurosis. They have enjoyed and then criticized their own tango insanity. They’ve flirted with teaching, given it up, started again, and then given it up again.
They have lasted through the impatience of a first dance, a desired tanda, a lovely embrace, a not so lovely embrace, and perhaps a last dance at La Viruta. They’ve ‘done’ Berlin, Buenos Aires, and New York or never any and it doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve danced with ‘X’, seen ‘Y’, and studied with ‘Z’, several times. They’ve gone through throwing in the towel, and then towel after towel, so much that they’ve now bought the damned towel factory or own stock in it. They have gone through dry cleaning, dresses, clothes that have ripped, stained, jackets that have torn, and worn holes into and out of shoes. They’ve bought the hot brand of tango shoes, they’ve graduated to having them made, and they’ve whittled the number of shoes down to a manageable number that only requires one, maybe two storage facilities.
These are the seasoned dancers.
