The tangocoaster strikes back.

It's been an up and down weekend.

Part of it I spent with some very old friends, going round very old haunts. I passed my old school and peered through the fence. One of the things I loved about our school was that, because it was a former... well, not a stately home or country house, but certainly the large house of some very rich people... it had absolutely gorgeous grounds, and I spent much of my childhood hiding in the shrubbery making temples (I was never exactly your average kid) or sitting at the top of the tallest trees I could find. So I was sad to find that they'd cut down most of the trees and most of the shrubbery. I always hoped that one day I could go back and sit in those trees again; now I know I never can. Oh, and they'd also ditched my favourite climbing frame. Boo.

Then we went to the old school of one of my male friends (we were all at public school - that's private school for those of you across the pond). It's attached to a cathedral, as quite a lot of the oldest boys schools are here, and we all went in there and he regaled us with stories about the place. I was amazed to discover how much he knew about it, my scruffy, rebellious friend, and I had a sudden feeling of connection, a glimpse into a part of his life that had previously been unknown to me, a sense of the enormity of everyone's experience, and found myself quite emotional. Evensong was on at the eastern end and the space was full of music, and I sat down in the nave and listened, and looked, and thought about all the thousands of stones that the building was made of, each a different shape, but making its perfect contribution to the whole.

And part of my weekend, of course, involved tango. And it was very coastery. First of all I had a breakthrough milonga. After our chat earlier in the week about the problems I have bringing my whole self to the milonga, I somehow managed to do it. Well, perhaps 90% of myself. My wings were definitely out, if not *completely* unfurled. We flew around the room, with only the occasional stumble. I was elated; my teacher seemed thrilled.

And then I had the obligatory one-step-backwards. In this week's lesson, right from the start, I felt I wasn't at my best. I've learnt that I almost always feel that way at the start, but usually settle into it after a bit. But this time there was no settling. It just seemed to get worse. At the milonga afterwards we tried again, but it just wasn't happening. I worked my coping strategies. I looked for the positives. I engaged my inner Peyton ('That's ok, Psyche, you're still the best boleo in the neighbourhood.') I wheeled out the affirmations. But I just couldn't settle. The Brain was out in force. No matter how many times I tried to bring my attention back to the music, the connection, my centre, that little voice kept pointing out it wasn't going well.

Meh. I know that's just how it goes. I know that even when it feels like you're going backwards, you're still going forwards - that's just how the learning process works. I know that I was tired and emotional, I know that any really good experience is always hard to follow, I know we all have off days. But I still feel blue about it.

Oh, and I walked off the dancefloor to discover that a recent slight niggle in my knee had become quite a large niggle, with accompanying slight swelling in the ankle. Time for a trip to the osteopath.

But hey, I figure if problems, whether emotional or physical, are coming out now, it's a good thing because it gives me a chance to work on them before I go away.

Brain fodder

I danced last night with one of the current touring teachers, whose dancing I've been particularly admiring. And it didn't quite work. I mean, it wasn't a disaster, but every so often I couldn't figure out where he wanted me to go, his chest was doing something too small to be a step but too big for me to stay comfortably on my axis. And he kept to fairly straightforward stuff, which suggests to me that he wasn't sure I could handle more (it's not a taste thing, not that he prefers simplicity, because I've seen him dancing with other people).

So why? Why didn't it work? I mean, obviously it's me, but in what way? In my beginner days, I had many, many dances that for some reason just didn't work, but over time those have become fewer and fewer, and now, fortunately, it hardly ever happens. So why should it happen now? Most really good dancers are easier to connect with, not harder. Is it a style thing? Is he more old-style than I'm used to? I do sometimes find some traditional style dancers quite hard to get on with, I sometimes can't find a way to be comfortable in their embrace, but so far that's never been the really good ones. The last very traditional teacher I danced with was an absolute dream (for me - I'm sure I wasn't very exciting to him!).

See, this now has me worrying that actually I don't know how to follow at all, or that I only know how to follow nuevo, and that I'll get out to Bs As and find that I simply don't know how to dance with 90% of the people there.

Is he used to more pressure? Is that it? I don't often give much resistance, having always been taught to always put myself where I'm being led, to never force the leader to push or pull me there. When I dance with a guy who has a lot of forward momentum, that great drive from the chest that some guys have, then yes, I'll match it. But I didn't feel that from this guy, not to any great extent.

Ach. Tango. Does there ever come a point when you stop worrying about this stuff? I guess I know the answer to this - 'if you choose to'.

A breakthrough

When I was a beginner, I had this idea that if I could get to a certain level, then I would be able to relax and enjoy myself (it was one of the things that drove me so hard to improve). I now know this is arse. Although it's true that I am more chilled than I used to be, I'm still nausea-inducingly nervous before every milonga.

I can see now, it's not about your level, and it's not about the number of mistakes you made tonight. It's about your attitude. With the right state of mind, you will enjoy your evening and the many little gifts it brings. With the wrong one, you will doubt, fret, self-judge, and worry that your partner is secretly wishing he were dancing with someone else.

I'm sick of making myself miserable. It's time to find the right state of mind. I know it's possible, because two nights ago I stumbled on a state of mind that made my lesson an absolute pleasure instead of a (wholy self-induced) threat to my sense of self-worth. It wasn't that anything had changed outside myself. It wasn't that especially good things happened to me, or that I felt less tired, or was dancing better. It was just that somehow my state of mind was such that all these things were ok - it was ok for me to make mistakes, it was ok that I was tired, it was ok that things happen as they do. And I had an absolutely wonderful evening, dancing and learning and experimenting, and not worrying at all. The Brain was almost completely silent - occasionally it peeked around the corner and made a tentative suggestion that all might not be well, but I was able to just reassure it that everything was fine and go back to dancing.

So what did I do differently? Well, it seemed to be partly to do with positivity, partly to do with grounding, and a lot to do with acceptance. I'm going to try and pin this down better as time goes by in the interests of reproducing it, but here's what I remember so far. I think the grounding started it, because I was at that holistic therapy place again the other day, and picked up a card while asking how I could find a better state of mind for tango, and got this:

Ground yourself

When you detach from awareness of your body and the physical world, you become ungrounded. Although it's pleasant to float heavenward, your attention and work are needed upon the earth. We're helping you balance the spiritual and material so that you can enjoy a fulfilling earthly life.

So I decided to give it a go. Certainly I do tend to live in my head, and being present is something I work on. But this time being present seemed to lead me to a more accepting state of mind, and that, I think, was the key thing.

I really want to work on this. I have friends who don't dance as well as I do, but enjoy themselves far more. I see them laughing and joking (and then dancing) with all the best dancers, all the visiting teachers. Somehow their personalities are constructed in a way which means that they have confidence in themselves whoever they're with. Well, I may not be naturally built that way, but nonetheless I'm sure I can learn a thing or two about it. It's not that my friends don't make mistakes; it's just that they recognise them as fleeting hiccups which in no way detract from their ongoing fabulousness. They don't waste time worrying that they're dancing badly tonight / getting worse instead of better / making their partner regret dancing with them. They just go straight onto the next step. I somehow found this state of mind this week, and that means I can find it again, with a little practice.

My tango nemesis

I have a tango nemesis. It's not a fellow dancer, or a demanding teacher, or even the dreaded back sacada. No. It's my own brain.

The Brain thinks too much. The Brain thinks that if it's not constantly scanning for trouble, then we will be pounced on by lions (or possibly raptors). It therefore notices every little slip and examines it closely, just in case it's indicative of a general decline, or a serious problem. It does the same with every tiny social interaction, in case I have offended someone / embarrassed myself / given the wrong impression. It worries that I am dancing worse than usual in my new shoes, or that I am disappointing my partner, or, most frustratingly, that I can't settle into the following state of mind because I'm thinking too much. Argh! The irony!

The thing that made my very first tango experience so instantly captivating was that the Brain shut up, and the Zone took over. Instead of my insistant, fretful, critical inner monologue, I had a zen-like sense of expansion and an incredible feeling of connection with my partner. I felt as though I was really hearing him with my whole body, and really hearing, full stop, for the first time. It was a deeply spiritual feeling, and I knew straight away that I'd found something which was going to be important to me.

Most of the time, that's still the case. Most of the time, when I dance, I am present, properly present, which is a rare thing for me. But every so often, the Brain decides it doesn't want to go to sleep for a bit. After all, if it's asleep, who's watching for lions? And once it starts, it's hard to stop. The process goes through little phases. I can go months with no trouble at all, but then have one tanda where the Brain starts yabbering, and after that, for a few weeks, it will wake up regularly to check whether it's managed to go to sleep or not (it also does this when I'm actually trying to go to sleep...). There seems to be no way to tackle it directly. All I can do is try and focus on other things. Focusing on the music is the most successful approach I've found, as it forces me into right-brain mode, or taking my awareness to the level of my chest, where I am connected with my partner. But the Brain is mighty, and ultimately, I just have to be patient, and wait for the phase to pass. The less attention I can pay to the existence of the problem, the sooner this happens.

I'm going through a particulary tricky bout of Brain hyperactivity at the moment. The thing that triggered it was that my teacher pointed out that my focus was not as good at a milonga as in class. I knew this, of course - I'm always nervous at a milonga, and especially when I dance with him, so I miss things that I'm actually perfectly capable of following, and lose my flow. But since realising that one of my next big tango challenges was going to be to work on this problem, I am of course noticing it all the more when it occurs. The Brain is constantly watching to see what state of mind I'm in. And of course, as long as it's watching, I'm not in the right state of mind! It's all to the good, I suppose, as it provides me with the opportunity to work on it. But it's deeply, deeply frustating.