It’s been a long time since I thought about the storms of my college days. We waited for them, the sudden pounding downpours that would evaporate to nothing within sixty seconds. I’d sit at my desk, one eye on the window and one ear alert to the first patter of raindrops. I’d tell myself I was working still, but I had no concentration on schoolwork.
The first drops of those storms almost always fall with a breeze. They’re indistinguishable at first from the sound of rustling leaves. But I know. I really do feel it in my bones.
As soon as the rain began, I’d tear out of my room, down the hall, yelling out “Rain dance!” at the top of my lungs. Down the stairs and into the downpour. A few friends would follow the call. And we’d frolic; there’s no better word to describe the careless joy of that dancing. The graceful lines of past ballet training meeting the glee of emptying a puddle in a single bound. Running around the quad, skipping and spinning, because why on earth wouldn’t we?
And after a minute, gone. We’d giggle and shiver and go back up to our rooms.
Deep down, I have a wide competitive streak. It’s something I’ve tapped into only recently, since the first time I didn’t make the finals in a dance competition and suddenly realized that I really, really wanted to. It’s new enough that I’m still figuring out how to deal with the preparation, the pressure, and the performance.
Tomorrow I will load two playlists onto my ipod before flying to Atlanta. One is titled “Choreo.” The other is titled “Swagger.” We’ll see what happens.
I’m a gal who does make New Year’s Resolutions. Even though my ability to keep them is pretty lackluster, I do like having a time and a reason to assess my situation and think about how to make it as great as possible. My 2012 list covers minor and major items, from hosting more dinners to finding a new job. But I think the most important resolutions I’ve made are about overall changes to living.
The first: stop comparing myself to others. This will be incredibly challenging for me, but it’s a damaging habit. It’s got to end. Belief in my own skills and talents should be more than enough.
Second resolution: have more faith in myself. So cliche, but so important.
I went out for drinks tonight with my coworkers, but the best conversation I had was with an easy-going stranger who was hitting on me. The screenwriter/anthropologist told me that after badly breaking his leg at age 25, he spent a year as an invalid and realized the importance of pursuing your creative outlets. “Nobody’s going to make them happen for you.” Nothing he said was especially new or insightful. But it was reassuring to hear from such an unexpected source that you might as well stop freaking out about the scary stuff and just do the damn thing you want already.
If it wasn’t a Sign, at least it was a comforting solidarity.
- Making something you love into work is stressful. Especially when it’s work for little or no money and little or no appreciation. It’s so important to keep the passion.
I biked for three miles and some change this evening. It’s a crisp, clear fall night. Dark. Brilliant. I ducked down secluded one-way streets, weaving over the pavement. A whiff of smoke caught my attention; family and friends were having a bonfire in their backyard. It was a good ride.
Today was the most frustrating I’ve had in many months. It featured many sobering reminders about human nature and human interaction.
Things started off with watching an episode of The Daily Show with the boyfriend, sparking one of our rare discussions about politics. I tend to avoid the topic for my own sanity; I don’t need the blood pressure spike or the helpless anger. At any rate, he places the blame for our current political circus on the media: media has to make money -> media runs sensationalist stories -> politicians act sensational. To me, though, that isn’t getting to the root of the problem. The media highlights sensationalism because that is what people want; it’s the fault of the news consumers. When the general populace is satisfied with a headline rather than an investigation, a soundbite rather than a fact, then media and politicians will fill that demand. It’s irrational. It’s dumb. And I can think of no good way to convince dumb, irrational people just how dangerous their thinking is. The ongoing realization of just how many dumb, irrational people are out there in the world has been eroding my optimistic viewpoint. I can’t believe it’s come to this, but the truth is…I’m becoming a pessimist. I’m more and more certain that things will get much worse before they can get better.
Next came a more local and personal example of human nature at its worst. This afternoon, my social group exploded in a fierce online discussion. People defended their actions, attacked the choices of others. Egos clashed. Side arguments branched off from the main trunk. It was, an will continue to be, a debate worthy of the 24-hour news channels. The actual argument is moot; the point is that any social group, no matter how exemplary its individual members, will fragment. Leaders will emerge, factions will form. Politics are not confined to government.
Today reminded me that everyone has an agenda. Maybe we’ll find solutions to our problems, big and small, but in the end someone’s agenda will win and someone’s will lose. And nobody in politics wants to lose.
At its heart, tango is a simple dance. You walk. All the flicks, pivots and lunges are just dressing up two people walking together. The moments of flash are wonderful, exciting, but the dance is just as powerful in its nuances. Those are where you see the tension, the passion. The brush of fingers along a partner’s arm, one foot nudging a partner’s into a slow circle, the volumes spoken by a gaze.
Tango dancing begs for glamorous retro styling. Maybe it comes from the norms set by every famous photo of tangueros: man in a suit, woman in a tight dress, sleek hair and high heels. Maybe it’s the romanticism we overlay on both narratives; the dance of the Argentine prostitutes becomes the duet of polished sensuality and the decades of war, inequality and oppression become “the good old days.”
Maybe it’s deeper and more technical than the history. Maybe the nostalgia is part of any great tango music. Ticking, clock-like percussion marks the passage of time, both measures and years. The melodic lines ebb and flow, push and pull. Every rubato passage, one note robbing from the others, makes an aching hold tumble into a resolution. What if the note could have lasted just one more beat? What if? Isn’t that what we always ask of the past?
Tango is more than the sum of its parts. Even contemporary interpretations of the dance and music present something that looks to the past, that taps into a primal, simmering emotion that’s been kept locked away.
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“Wild Wild Horses” - Atmosphere
I’ve been on a hip-hop kick of late, and it’s been doing good things for both my mood and my dancing. The best discovery is an album by Atmosphere called “When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold.” Best title ever. It’s become my new mantra.
The album’s been in my library for years, but this past week was the first time I’d listened to it in full. Occasionally tracks would pop up when I was listening on random and I’d be intrigued by the sharp, honest storytelling and melodic back beats. But I never settled down to give it a fair listen. I stand by my belief that sometimes you aren’t quite ready to experience a work of art, and it bides its time, waiting for your right moment. For me and this album, that time built up over the past few weeks of feeling down, frustrated, tired. I needed to hear songs about hurt and sadness, songs about struggle and getting by.
This retro, funky groove is one of my favorite tracks. For starters, horns on the chorus will always give me shivers. But it’s the simple sincerity of that chorus that slays me.
Everything is all I have to give you But I’m afraid it ain’t enough You’re not so young that you believe me Just because I say it’s love
Even if they come to steal you tomorrow I’ll know my smile was yours Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom Run run wild wild horses You can’t tame these horses
