Olga Metzner :: I dance with a man who tries to impress. Me, the people watching, himself. He’s a good dancer, but he tries too hard...

I dance with a man who tries to impress. Me, the people watching, himself. He’s a good dancer, but he tries too hard,...

Posted by Olga Metzner on Friday, June 18, 2021

I dance with a man who tries to impress. Me, the people watching, himself. He’s a good dancer, but he tries too hard, and it feels, especially from the inside. There’s no lightness in his movements, no joy, just pride and fear of judgement. This fear takes away the ability for us to connect, and I’m growing increasingly distant, slowly starting to judge myself, too, and the connection falls apart. I know what it feels like to be him, because I’ve been that dancer as well, when I tried too hard. I’m learning to let go, and it’s hard. 

 I dance with a woman who is afraid to give me her weight, even a tiny little bit. She wants to be a butterfly, light and feathery, I sense she dreams of floating above the floor, and even her clothes somewhat reflect it, her skirt is soft and moves with every breath and tiny move we make. Her hand is like an eggshell in my hand, I’m afraid to crush it, and I can’t anyway, since as soon as I try to hold her hand a bit tighter, her whole arm goes limp and I get a sense I’m crushing her. So I let her be her feathery self, but I can’t lead her, can’t connect to her. She is afraid to be heavy, so she disappears altogether. She’s so sure that a follower being light is the right thing, that she misses out on the one thing that makes this whole experience worth having: the connection, the interaction. Her tango is so full of question “am I too heavy now?”, that it becomes really hard to dance with her, lead her. I have been that woman, too, and I remember with such gratitude one teacher who told me to hold him, trust him with my weight. Years have passed, and I learned to have a gradation of heaviness and lightness, and play with it. And yet we can never know just how heavy or light we are for others. 

 I dance with a man with wonderful, warm close embrace, and I really really enjoy it. He is comfortable and soft and affirmative enough so that I genuinely feel cared for and connected. I smile to myself as I move. But then he opens the embrace… and I lose him. His head sinks into his shoulders, arms tense up, elbows shoot out sideways, and he shrinks a little. I’m so keen on getting back to that wonderful close embrace, and he’s keen on doing that giro with sacadas and parada in the open embrace… ohh! Finally back to the sweet close embrace, now we can really enjoy, both of us! After the tanda I think to myself, how I wish he worked a little more on his open embrace… He could be really one of my favourite dancers! Just a little but a big thing missing. And I tell myself, next time we dance I’ll try to keep the close embrace intact, for as long as it’s possible. 

 I watch a woman dance. She is amazing, her whole body dances, not just her legs. There’s very little decorations in her movement, yet she’s full of expression, femininity and power. Something about her is mesmerising. I want to be a bit more like her. How, how does she do this? She is just standing there, not moving at all, and yet there’s this intensity about her, that I want to dive into, swim in, feel connected to, learn it, and make my own. I ask her to teach me, and she passes her knowledge to me, over the years. And yet, I know this particular thing that drew me to her, that made her so fascinating, that thing eludes me. Maybe one day I will learn, maybe it’s something you can’t learn, maybe it’s something you might only live up to. That’s my goal, to find this thing, that I can’t even name, and it will be the source of my search for the rest of my life. And for now, I keep on watching this woman in fascination and admiration. To be there to watch is a real joy and honour. 

 I dance with a man who is sweet and musical, but I’m afraid to crush him. I make myself as light and as soft as possible, and yet he’s eluding me, as if afraid to touch me. Why are you so afraid of me? I answered to your cabeceo, I’m ready to be fully with you, completely merging with you and with music, why are you so afraid? Be with me! Dance with me! - I want to tell him. But of course I can’t, I can only make myself light and follow… I wish we didn’t miss out on the opportunity to be in a moment of togetherness, but you can’t be together if there’s fear or shame. So we move, we dance, but there’s so much more we could be. 

 I watch a couple dance. They are older, and there’s something truly honest about them. They stand out on the dance floor, and while everyone around them whirls and twists, they gently glide. I’ve been trying for more than a year to catch his gaze, pre-pandemic of course. He’s not the most technically perfect dancer, but he is honest. But he never looks at me. At times I wish I were older, maybe he’d look my way then. I’d so love to feel the honesty of his embrace, the commitment he clearly makes to being there with his partner. Nothing fancy, just together. One day I came up to him at the end of milonga and told him what I thought. He smiled, and said he can’t believe I’d like to dance with him. Why is it that we are so used to being put in one box within our community, to never leave it again? We are missing out on so much. I’m missing out on being able to dance with him. He is missing out on dancing with younger people, and showing them maybe what honesty in the dance really is. I don’t know, I still hope to one day dance with him. Still hope. 

 I dance with people, I watch people. This is tango, so familiar and yet so elusive. 

 Let’s keep dancing.

From Olga Metzner on Facebook - she's based in London.

Here's her website: https://www.tangobetter.com/

And she's got more articles & stories here: https://www.tangobetter.com/stories

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