I throw myself into things. Between lessons, daily practice … books … blogs … videos. Why Tango. Tango & Chaos. Twelve Minutes of Love.

They give me a feel for the passion and romance. But also show me a world so far removed from my seven-lessons-in walk that it seems a crazy, absurd, impossible idea that I could ever aspire to set foot in a milonga in Buenos Aires, that year-away-goal designed to inspire and propel me forward …

The elusive ocho was followed by a practice session in which it seemed I could do nothing right. The embrace. The walk. Communicating intent. Hearing the music. All the things that were, for my level, working fine before seemed suddenly absent. I felt like I had somehow encountered, in this snakes-and-ladders game, a snake reaching all the way down to the first square.

What craziness was this, I wondered? Going – via a few lessons of ceroc – from a non-dancer to tackling tango?

Just one thing saved my sanity: the knowledge that every tango dancer at every level knows this feeling. I’m analytical, so I want reasons. But I’ve done enough reading and listening to know that sometimes there are none. Sometimes your tango just sucks.

And sometimes you think it does when it doesn’t. Sometimes you’re just not feeling it, and that’s ok too. Tango has left the building tonight. But I have faith that she will return tomorrow.

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