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Happy Tango on Amazon (and Argentina win first game)!

June 16, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat in the UK, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 24 comments

Two marvellous reasons to celebrate, from Sallycat.

People, dear readers, Sallycat supporters across the globe… I can’t quite believe it, but Happy Tango has arrived on Amazon! It seems (although I haven’t actually tried it, I confess) that it can be pre-ordered on amazon.co.ukand that you can register your interest in it on amazon.com… click on those links and you will see exactly what I mean.

See what I mean?

Can you imagine the flutter-of-butterflies feeling as Barbie danced in my tummy when I discovered this little fact, only hours ago? Thing was, a super British tango dancer who originally test-read the book for me back in January, wrote to tell me that he had registered for updates on the book’s publication date, on Amazon. On Amazon? thought I. Naturally, I checked it out pretty pronto, and blimey, there it was. Happy Tango real as real, on the world’s most famous and far-reaching online bookstore! It seems that when you apply for an ISBN number in the UK, the book data you supply gets onto a publishing industry database and gets picked up by booksellers, while you sleep (so to speak). Amazing, no?

The entries on Amazon aren’t complete yet, of course, because the book is only just now being uploaded for printing and then it will take time for information like the cover picture, the book description and the correct number of pages (216 not 250 which was an estimate!), to filter into the Amazon systems (the book will appear on amazon.co.uk most quickly because it’s British, and it will take longer to filter through to amazon.com, and maybe to other Amazons — maybe try your own particular Amazon and let me know, as I am still trying to understand how all that works).  And, of course, it will only actually become available to buy when the proof copy has been approved, and I haven’t seen that yet… but I think we are talking only weeks and not months away now, before Happy Tango is out there, in the world, with tango travellers, doing the job it longs to do. Drum roll by a million Barbies (at least as loud as, but far more tuneful than the World Cup vuvuzelas) officially starts here!

As part of the build-up drum roll, I’d love to give you a first glimpse of the relaxed new home I’m furnishing for Happy Tango on the web at sallycatway.com/happytango. Do take a look. Eventually you’ll be able to go straight to Amazon from there to buy the book. It will also be the place for me to post occasional updates (in the form of a blog of The Updates) as they become necessary (between editions), and for you to comment with your feedback, too. I know you might imagine that I’ve been swanning around England sightseeing for the last week and a half, but oh gosh, there’s been a bit of 24/7 trabajo going on, I can tell you — I am so damn determined to get to the end (or perhaps the beginning) now, and in the past weeks that has meant me learning the ropes of interior book layouts, Adobe Acrobat Pro PDF conversions, how to turn a manuscript into a paperback… all things you need to get to grips with if you are going to publish more books in the future, as I am. What a journey. But maybe, just maybe the beginning of the next phase is at last in sight.

Yesterday the journey took Me and C. to Stockport in the north of England, to see our accountant. As is our way, we ended up adventuring beyond the numbers that can govern so much of life, into the town centre where we discovered incredibly beautiful market halls, meat counters capable of making even an Argentine’s mouth water, and friendly people willing to advise Carlos on which barm would be best for a bacon butty. Here are a few fab pics to tempt you, in case you’ve never been lucky enough to get to this historic Lancashire gem. We didn’t actually travel in the train with the girls in mini-kilts, with legs up to their armpits, but if you want to spend more time with them on a steam train, you can sign up with The Railway Touring Company here. What synchronicity that we were awaiting our connection on Chester station at the precise moment when the station-announcer sang in (over the tannoy, leaving the entire station of commuters open-mouthed) the arrival of the steam train, with a powerful rendition of The runaway train came down the track… did I ever mention that I love these little surprise signs that everything is exactly as it is meant to be? The timings of The Universe… I mean, don’t you just love them?

And then, putting Amazon and Happy Tango on one side, we come to the second reason to be cheerful, and well, I reckon that whether you are into the World Cup or not, and whether you are supporting Argentina in the World Cup or not, you can’t fail to smile at the sight of Carlos celebrating the first Argentine win of the tournament, with the BBC (or maybe it was ITV) in Warrington, which is sort of near Stockport. My family couldn’t help smiling to think that we were celebrating with him… I mean, a few years ago, before Argentina became more than The Hand of God and The Falklands to me,  we would have probably been yelling at the telly (I am slightly ashamed to say) for the Argies to lose. Food for thought no? It certainly was for us, and as we reflected a bit on that over a curry after the match, I for one was relieved that my perspective has been changed (as it always can be, if only I allow it to) by touching the soul of another human being, and listening to its unique song.

As for my own unique song, thanks for listening to it bubbling here today, and I hope, for listening to a bit more of it once Happy Tango is available. If you do get the chance to pre-order the book, or register interest in it on Amazon, that’d be so cool. It’d be amazing beyond words if Happy Tango could rise up the Amazon sales rankings and fly the flag for independent publishers everywhere, for Argentine tango as it is danced in Buenos Aires, and for all of us who are prepared to travel to the ends of the earth (or at least, to other continents) and beyond, to live our dreams.

ps. And just for fun (added on Sunday 20th June), here’s the current Amazon Sales Rank for Happy Tango in the UK… and like I said, the cover image is to come later… and hopefully, lots of fabulous ratings and reviews from you guys!


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The space-in-between (and some perfect empanadas)

June 6, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat back in the UK, Uncategorized | 22 comments

I’m in the air somewhere above the Atlantic.

Argentina (where, for a bit over 3 years, I’ve been learning to live the life I want) is behind me; England (where, for 43 years, I struggled to live the life I thought I should want) is about four hours ahead of me. C., the man I love the most, is in the seat beside me, watching the Spanish-dubbed Helena Bonham Carter and Johnny Depp romp through their very own Wonderland. My parents are driving through the early hours down the M6 to meet us. I’m wrapped in two blankets, cloaked in the ear-plugged peace of a British Airways night flight, and filled with a tranquility that surprises me, but that is oh-so welcome.

This is my third trip back to Inglaterra since I first flew to Buenos Aires in 2007, and it will be the longest so far (if we stick to the dates on our tickets). As I wrote in my last post, I’ve done the absolute minimum of planning, barely making any arrangements or promises, thus keeping the sense of freedom that I now know I need for joy. I’ve also avoided the pre-departure emotional roller-coasters that were once a habit: I remember last year’s slightly nostalgic walk from the last milonga before my departure (minor dramatics) and I recall the year-before’s alarmingly emotional upheaval, as illustrated by my reaction to simply being on a plane headed towards Britain (major dramatics). That I can now sit here with a calm and happy heart, tells me mucho. If you read those two past posts, I think you’ll feel the change in energy. Getting gradually more balanced, no?

In all my life, I never found it easy to leave a place. I used to be the sort of person who’d run back to re-check the door was locked (twice), or phone a friend from the airport to ask them to go and do it. I’d get in the taxi and let my mind run over every possible thing I might have forgotten, until I found something… and I always found something.  If a re-check was impossible, I’d sometimes allow myself to worry about the thing for days into my travels – not constantly or too overtly, you understand, but kind of secretly, in moments when I was alone or in moments when I didn’t think you’d notice. But, of course, the people close to me always noticed, because you can’t be fully present when you are worrying, can you? I’d appear distracted  and sometimes be intolerant too, because someone I love would want my attention and I’d be preferring to devote that attention to the pointless, time-wasting fears and frets of VOD. How damn daft is that?

Preparing to leave Buenos Aires this time, I made the decision I just wasn’t going to do any of that stuff. And I didn’t. It was that simple. I had one wobbly day when I was exhausted from working too hard towards the publication (still aiming for the coming weeks) of Happy Tango and realised that I wasn’t going to be able to do everything I’d hoped to do in the days available. But, as is my new way (determined to change old and joyless patterns), I accepted it and relaxed my thinking accordingly. I didn’t get all my work done, so I was right in that matter, but the world sure kept turning. I’m on the plane and I’ve told my Mum I’ll be working next week. Life goes on.

In addition to accepting that I wasn’t going to fit all the work in, I played a bit harder for good measure. Me and C. got invited, by one of the most generous-hearted people I know, to learn how to make empanadas with a top cook called Teresita who lives about an hour from Buenos Aires. We ended up dancing tango for the assembled guests, C. got gorgeously talkative (on a few sips of some rather super Argentine vinos) and I got to eat heaps of mini-pasties that tasted as if they’d come straight from empanada heaven. If you fancy an off-the-beaten-track foodie experience while in Buenos Aires, check out the photos of our fun and Teresita’s website try2cook.com to find out about the sort of cool time you could have.

And any last tangos? Well, I did them too. Had to savour being in the arms of those ‘milongueros I love the most’ before hitting the dance floors of the Reino Unido, didn’t I? But, I’m looking forward to a spot of UK tango, I confess. Got some research on the gift to be doing and I can’t wait to get started. I’ve even got other tango bloggers sending out pleas for me on that score (Mark, you’re an angel). Here’s my own request. Brit boys, please ask me to dance and show me that you know the secret… that’ll be wicked!

I’m now two hours away from touchdown, so they’ll be bringing the breakfast out any minute and I’ll have to sign off. But, I’ve done what I needed to do. I wanted to write this post in the air, in the world of zero responsibilities, where I’m in neither of the lands I love. I figured that up here, where my thoughts can’t be distorted by being in either one place or the other, I’d be able to see my latest truths. And I do.

In this precious ’space-in-between’, I’m not thinking beyond hugging my Mum and Dad in Terminal 5 and checking out the World Cup TV schedules in the Radio Times, asap — gotta make sure that Carlos can get to watch the Argies win their group games and that I can watch England win theirs. And, that is it. No worries. No frets. No looking back. No looking forward. No VOD.

Hey, I have exactly the life I want! There. Here. Anywhere. Now.

Fact is, tonight (and tonight is all that exists), I am truly grateful to be flying into the dawn above the beautiful, British corner of The Universe that for the next few months will be our home.

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How Buenos Aires has changed me

May 19, 2010 in Expat in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 34 comments

How scheduled is life in the land where you live?

Me and C. are rapidly approaching a summer in the UK (yes, England is on our horizon and, for various reasons, we expect to be dancing tango in Blighty for as long as three months this time), and I’m noticing that in order to make things work for us over there, I have to do far more arranging than I normally do here in Buenos Aires. It feels alien: advance flight bookings, fixed-date month-ahead train tickets, agreements with kind and generous UK folk for them to put us up (or put up with us) or to lend us cars. On such and such date we will be travelling to such and such town to see such and such friends, and we need to sort it now, in case they are off on holiday or offering their sofa to someone else. In other words, I’m doing nothing more than the normal degree of planning that most people do to make things happen smoothly in their lives. So why does it feel do damn strange to me?

In my ‘life before Argentina’, I used to do a great deal of event scheduling. My mum bought me a wall calendar every Christmas, and it used to be packed with my future — weekends filled with dinner parties or country pubs, Southampton footie matches (home and away), visits to family and friends homes, friends and family visits to our home, meetings and greetings, often decided on and agreed weeks ahead. I remember conversations when we’d say to people, It’s going to have to be the month after next I’m afraid, and I’d be thinking, Oh God, when oh when can I have a weekend just for meeeee? But, the truth was that, in general, life felt empty without activities lined up, as if it might slip away unnoticed. Plans meant direction; lists meant action, purpose, time filled usefully; and lists and calendars with items crossed off them meant success and achievement. It was all so… well… organised. Deep down though, I was a person with longings to rebel; I wanted to rip up the calendar, and dance on its pages. As it turned out, I kind of did.

Three years on, I don’t have a calendar in Buenos Aires. I never know the date. I always have to ask people. Days of the week I remember by a few fun but fairly loose weekly fixtures, such as Mondays — tea and dancing and dinner after with mates afterwards, Wednesdays — hooking up with fellow writers, Saturdays — sharing a table with friends and more marvellous tango, Sundays — chilling out with C. Any extra plans involving others tend to get made only days or hours before the start time, and they often allow quite easily for a late change of heart (falling asleep after dancing in the afternoon, can’t do that salsa club at 1am after all, type of thing). When people want to make plans further out than a few days, I find myself saying, Do you mind if we pencil it in and confirm nearer the time? or Can we see how we feel when Sunday comes? Maybe it sounds a bit rude to those who are making generous offers to me or those used to calendars filled with plots and schemes, but I’ve learned that if I don’t feel like doing something in the moment it’s often better not to do it (for everyone concerned, to keep the energy in the situation at ease), and I know that many of my friends here feel the same. Mostly it works, and mostly it works without anyone feeling too let down when things don’t happen ‘as planned’. If it doesn’t work for me in any moment, then it just means I need to relax a little more, smile a little more, laugh a little more, let other people go their own way a little more. As soon as I do that, life feels easier, smoother, freer.

Carlos always says to me, Eat medialunas when you want to eat medialunas, sleep when you want to sleep, write when you want to write, shag when you (actually that last one is my lingo, because he is far too genteel for British words like shag)… and so on. And I do. I also impose a bit of discipline as I do have dreams, as you know, and want to keep walking towards them — so, every day, something to progress my writing work, something to move Happy Tango towards publication, something to move the general administration of life in a good direction, something to connect me with the outside world (a friend or my family or a new person I haven’t met yet), something fun, something to put me in better touch with myself, something from my list of things that bring me joy… my time gets filled fast, but on the whole, it gets filled pretty spontaneously depending on my mood, and my soul loves it. I was right about its longings. It feels happier dancing when it feels like it, than sticking to a dance schedule previously set out and agreed with others, written on an agenda or even just sketched out, ahead of time, in my head.

It’s true that some visitors seem to find my unstructured way a bit hard to understand, in that they assume that because I don’t have fixed schedules, I’m not doing anything at all — How exactly do you spend your time? or Well, you don’t have anything to get up for, do you? (meaning a conventional job I s’pose – though actually Carlos has clients so we do set our alarm just like most people – unless it’s Sunday, when I confess, we have actually been known to stay in bed all day — and how completely fabulous that feels at age 47, I can tell you).  Buenos Aires has also taught me that night hours can be just as handy as day hours… it started with dancing tango from midnight until dawn, but now I’m more likely to be writing into the early hours, or eating a very late dinner, as many Argentines do. Time seems to stretch in this city… there are no fixed meal times in my world, or monthly milonga hours (as tango is available almost around the clock), and the concept of ‘9 to 5′ just doesn’t exist in Argentina at all — ‘10 to 8′ might be closer to it, but even then it can be  bit fluid.

With no schedule, there tends to be less chance of disappointment, too. I think that if I was a millionaire and could afford full price tickets I’d probably just make my bookings the day before travel. Plans carefully made in advance can always be ripped apart at the last minute by some disruption anyway. This week for example, we’ve got British Airways announcing, un-announcing and possibly re-announcing strikes, plus a volcanic ash cloud threatening to close British airspace on any given day. Maybe we’ll be able to travel on our date. Maybe we won’t. Maybe I’ll finalise the way to pay my taxes before I leave town. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll have a published book by the end of June. Maybe I won’t. Whatever happens, the world will still turn, and I will keep walking towards my dreams and never give up on them.

Meanwhile, I accept that on my UK 2010 journey, a little more scheduling than I normally do in Buenos Aires, might be necessary. On the other hand, if you try to pin me down to something over there and I seem a bit elusive, having read this, you will understand why.

How do you live? Spontaneity or packed calendar on the wall? Sticking to the plan or seeing how you feel on the day? Full dance card the moment you walk through the door and see who’s there, or wait to listen to the music before deciding?

I’m intrigued, because lately, somewhat increasingly, and once again in unexpected ways last week, it seems that whatever detailed plans I add to my overall intentions and aims, something else happens. So at last and I think none too soon, I’m losing faith in the value of my own elaborate schemes… and, as I wrote just a few weeks ago, gaining faith in allowing The Grand Plan to unfold instead. Something else is changing too. Once, as in the saga of Carlos’ passport back in 2007, dealing with the slightest unexpected thing would send me into a tailspin for weeks. Now, it might be a bit unsettling for a few days, but embracing what is (and not what I thought it would be) comes far faster.

Buenos Aires has changed me in oh so many ways. An ability to release ‘the gift’ in the arms of the milongueros I love the most, a passion for the best medialunas in town (the ones I’m gloating over above are served at La Viruta at about 4.15am at weekends), a Barbie inside that creates fab things on the outside… Returning to England always causes me to reflect on how things used to be, and how they are now. No bad thing, I reckon. Especially when I find that I like the new and developing habits of the person I have become. Some say that people never change. I disagree. I think if your soul wants you to chuck the agenda on the floor and dance on it, and you are not stepping up to the task, it will send out its cry to The Universe to give you the opportunity. If you are ready and willing in that moment (and are prepared for some serious life adventuring), all becomes possible. Dancing on that wall calendar? Life in another land? Life with dreams lived rather than only dreamed? What is your soul crying out for today?

Why not take a moment out of the crush of the pre-arranged schedule, to listen.
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With thanks to my friend H. for the pic of me and the medialunas in La Viruta, and for the conversation as we walked along Avenida Corrientes on Monday night, that in part, inspired this post.

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The milongueros I love, the giggle, and you!

May 3, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 19 comments

One of my basic beliefs about creating art from the heart has been proved true, right here on this blog: if you do what you love and put it out in the world with good intention, you are rewarded a million times over, in ways you could never have imagined.

When I wrote the post The milongueros I love – The Gift (Part 1), a week ago, I knew that it had come from my heart. No question. It poured out in a few hours of intense (up all night writing) activity, and I was powerless to stop it. When I hit the ‘Publish’ button, I knew I’d written a cracker (cracker to me, meaning, my truth, in a language the world might understand and be entertained by). Question was though, Would people be inspired enough to comment on the post and share their experience? In my three and a half years of blogging, I have learned that it takes a fair bit to get a reader commenting on a blog for the first time. Yes, your friends and family might comment, but people you’ve never met, or people who don’t normally comment on blogs, or who don’t blog themselves? It can be a bit trickier to hook them. But, I wanted your feedback. Sallycat, be bold, I said to myself. Ask, and maybe you will receive. I did, and oh boy, I did.

In the three days after I published the post, thanks to your emailing, Twittering, Facebook-ing and posting, it was read around 1000 times, and over the period of a week I received emails, messages and comments galore. I’m not talking one liners either. You sent me essays (often extremely personal and moving), some of which I yet have to digest. Incredible. I spent hours replying to all your generous shares, and I am still doing so. Basically, I couldn’t blog until now, because I’ve been overwhelmed by feedback and I’ve ended up writing almost a book in replies, myself!

Bloggers have kindly blogged as a follow up to the post, and one was even inspired to write a poem entitled, The Older Woman (ah, I may be 47, but I can still inspire a man I’ve never met to write from his heart…). Check out Tango Beat for the poem, and Tango Commuter and Accidental Tangoiste for mentions of my post. Thank you guys and girls. And, if you blogged on the theme and linked to my post, and I didn’t spot it yet, please comment and tell me, and I’ll add you here.

If you haven’t already, do read the 67 comments (at Monday 17th May 2010) written here. There is some amazing stuff, and to be honest, I’m not yet quite sure where it is going to take me. One lovely theme that emerged was how we show to our partner (knowingly or unknowingly) that we have given or received the gift – and just to clarify, to my mind, the gift is elicited (often via the behaviours I mentioned in my post) and received by men, and given by women. Joe Tango surprised and delighted me with his knowledge of ‘the giggle’ – Where are you man? Come to Buenos Aires and dance with me! On Saturday a milonguero asked me why I was laughing as we pulled apart. I explained the word ‘giggle’ to him. After that he insisted on calling me Sally Giggle (or rather, Saleh Gigul, pronounced in lovely Castellano-style), and he giggled a lot too; see Joe Tango, you comment on some chica’s blog, and your spirit ends up with her, on the dance floor of La Leonesa, Buenos Aires, on a Saturday night… I mean to say, I’ve always giggled, and milongueros have always asked me about it, but this time, fired up by the discussions here, I was moved to pop the word ‘giggle’ into their vocabulary. Wonderful!

Another intriguing theme, and perhaps the crux of it all — in terms of whether this ability to elicit the gift and thus to experience even more bliss himself, can be taught or encouraged in a man, or whether it can only develop naturally over time — was the business of how much a woman can influence the man’s ability to receive the gift: he has so many things to think about in the early days of developing his dance, said a few folk, and yes, of course they are right. I’m interested to know, though, how many men in the very early stages of learning to dance tango have actually stopped dancing (and so removed all those distractions), in a safe environment, and simply hugged (or, OK, if hugging seems a step too far, embraced very closely) the woman in their arms, as a piece of tango music they both absolutely love, plays… and if they have, what have they felt? If they did that, could they gain a glimpse of the bliss to come further down the line, and so become more inclined to worship the Goddess of tango gifts, rather than fall at the feet of the God of tango moves? Food for my thoughts.

Then there is the all round matter of what, if anything, can be done to tear down the walls of ego and social conditioning within both men and women, in order that they can shed the blocks to giving and receiving the gift. This is the point that fascinates me. I remember how horribly awkward I felt in my first close embrace. My British reserve? Not a touchy-feely type? Not at ease in such close proximity to a man? More of a tomboy than a woman? Ego-driven anxiety about doing it wrong? I’m thinking about all that too.

The long and short of it, is that I’m not ready to write Part 2 yet, although perhaps this is a kind of Part 2 in itself. The creative process is one I am slowly getting used to, and for me, periods of ‘cooking of ideas’ are required; the cauldron has to bubble for a while.

Meanwhile, here’s a sneak preview of the magic stuff most recently conjured up by my creative process — my first book, Happy Tango: Sallycat’s Guide to Dancing in Buenos Aires. I cannot tell you how excited I am to show you this – the front cover (click here to see it)! Everyone is asking me, When can we buy it, have it, see it, read it, touch it? The answer is, I hope with all my heart,  in June. I am willing The Universe to make it so. Please help me by doing the same. I will post news, as soon as I have it! I am longing to touch it too.

Once again, I thank you for sharing your tango experiences with me. Without you lot, all the people I’ve met through tango, there’d be no book, and no tango magic at all. Here’s to us. Tango dancers who seek bliss, wherever we are in the world. People, we rock!

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Photo of Me and C. giggling in La Glorieta, with thanks to Julie-Anne Cosgrove.

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The milongueros I love – The Gift (Part 1)

April 24, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 73 comments

After a two week break from the arms of my milongueros, I am pining — big time.

I miss the thrill of hooking a favourite guy with the merest glance; I dream of melting into a familiar chest; I need the moment just before the tanda ends, when I never want to leave his arms. Ah, the passion for tango has not left me, you see. No indeed.

I wish that tonight at the milonga, some of my most-desired regulars will be there. My favourite boys always sit in the same seats, and lately I’ve noticed how when one of the seats stays empty, I feel a little pang of sadness. I’ve been asking myself why. What is it about those particular guys that makes me want them more than the others? What makes them the milongueros I love?

I have a theory that the milongueros I love the most of all, share a secret. And, it is the secret of how to obtain the gift. The gift is unbelievably precious, is given by women in the tango embrace, and once tasted by a man, cannot be resisted: it will keep him dancing tango, in pursuit of bliss, until the day he dies.

What is the gift? If you dance tango, you’ll probably know what I mean, or maybe you will by the time you’ve finished reading this post. Let me describe the 6 classic bliss-seeking behaviours of all the milongueros I love the most: various combinations of these things guarantee that I will give the gift to them, and these guys know it, the clever devils.

  1. The mystery. He’s that tiny bit aloof. I know him; we dance together every week, maybe one or two tandas. But, he often makes me wait a while for his cabeceo. And, although once we are dancing, he might chat to me between the tangos (like most Argentines do), his first cabeceo in my direction will probably bear no hint of a smile, and sometimes neither will the moment before the embrace, when we stand facing each other on the dance floor. He plays the seductive ‘tango-strangers game’, you see. And, he does it knowingly, because he is a master in the art of tango foreplay; he knows I’m longing for his embrace, and he’s holding every hint of warmth back for the bliss of the hug.
  2. The hug. Others may love the tango embrace. I am a hug girl. I want to snuggle in. I want to feel him shift to fit me, and I want him to let me shift to fit him. When it’s perfect, I call this meeting ‘the melt’, and after it’s done, we are one. I remember one of the first lessons I had with an Argentine, long ago. He made me dance with my arms around his neck. Hug me, he said, and then, No, I mean really hug me. I’m British, was a beginner and was definitely most comfortable in an open hold: I blushed bright red and giggled too much. But, I hugged him anyway. He was probably my first tango crush. Why? Easy. He let me fold into him, breathe with him, become one with him — sometimes I describe it as ‘getting into him’ because I just can’t say it a better way. If you’ve seen the movie Avatar, just think of the thrill of the tails fusing. In tango, unless this fusion (for want of a better word) happens, for me, there will be something missing. If you dance with me, and your embrace offers me the possibility of the hug, then for the three minutes of the tango that follows, I will be completely and utterly yours. But, for the most exquisite execution, the hug requires the pause.
  3. The pause. This is obvious isn’t it? If I am to feel his heart beat, he must give me a moment to find it. If I am to breathe with him, then I need time to tune in. When the guy gives me space to adjust to him before we move an inch, he’s telling me that I am worth finding and that so is he. He’s telling me that he is unafraid to be discovered — exciting, no? He’s also prolonging that foreplay I mentioned earlier, and it’s tantalising. With the achingly lingering drag of the pause, he is also letting me know (so that I’m smiling inside, even before we dance a step) that he understands the art of perhaps the most crucial behaviour of all, the slow reveal.
  4. The slow reveal. The first time I dance with someone new, this is what seals the deal for me. If he’s been dancing a while and he still hasn’t mastered this one, I probably won’t want to dance with him again. If he has mastered it, in short, he knows how to listen. To me. He starts simple and he finds out what I can do. He listens to my body, my degree of relaxation, my level of confidence, my ability, and then, he makes me feel like a Goddess — regardless of what I might appear to be able to offer him. As he works out who I am, and feels me relax in his arms, he gradually reveals his dance, his ability, his character, his little musical tricks and treats; as he does so, I can’t help smiling. It’s like his soul starts chatting to me, or loving me, or soothing me, or celebrating me, or calming me… depending on the music, his mood (and mine), and on how I respond to every tiny thing he does. He knows there will never be a moment when I don’t understand what he asks of me, because he only ever dances what he knows I can handle, and if he is really clever, what he knows I desire. He never allows me to feel that I made a mistake, he is far too wise. The smart milonguero knows that the slow reveal can get him straight to the soft heart of the gift, fast, and so it would never occur to him not to use it. He knows it is the certain route to tango gold. It is also part of the courtesy.
  5. The courtesy. He treats me like the precious jewel that he knows I long to be. From the moment he first looks my way, he has eyes for no-one else. He makes certain there are no cabeceo cock ups and that I am not stranded on the dance floor without a partner (and I help him by staying in my seat until there can be no doubt). He keeps me out of danger at all times; if there is even a hint of a collision, he checks I am OK. He asks me if I’m comfortable between tangos. He knows I might be disorientated at the end of the tanda (a direct consequence of having given him the gift), and he always escorts me back to my table. He tells me that dancing with me was a pleasure, because it was. If he’s an especially crafty character he also delivers the punch line (and leaves me smiling, for a bonus point).
  6. The punch line. Him: How long is  a tango? Me: Um, about three minutes? Him, almost whispering, so that I have to lean in a bit and his mouth breathes close to my ear: Let me tell you something. For three minutes you are in my arms, and you are completely and utterly mine, no? Me, laughing, but feeling like the most irresistible tango dancer on the planet: Tenés razon (You’re right, but said with the tone of You might just have a point there, you wicked old tango wizard you!). OK guys, I’ll be honest, you’ll probably only be able to pull this sort of thing off if you can do it without sounding like you say it to everyone, even if you do. A few of my boys can deliver these entertaining (and I admit it, slightly smarmy) lines as if they have heaven on their tongues, and they know that I will love them for that final smile they put on my face. With these remarks they are saying, You’re a beautiful woman. Or they might choose to compliment my dance as a safer option: my musicality, my walk, my lightness in their arms. And just to be clear, I’m not talking about annoying, phoney remarks here. I know when the compliment is genuine, even when it’s delivered in Castellano, and so will most women.

You might be wondering how I presume to know about the intoxicating nature of the gift. After all, I’m not a male milonguero, am I? And I’ve never danced a tango leading a woman in my arms either. No. But the proof of the gift’s existence is in the sparkle in the eyes of my guys, when they reluctantly pull away from me, as the final notes of music die. They cannot hide the truth from me. I know their bliss exists, and that the gift of it comes from me (though, oh so masterfully conjured by them).

I’m becoming fascinated by the behaviours that prove to me that the milongueros I love know the secret to getting exactly what they long for in their tango — something that I am absolutely certain includes the captured heart and soul and longing of the woman in their arms, the gift itself.

Now, I’m doing a spot of research on the matter, for a future project, and I need your help. Even if you’ve never commented here before, go on, be brave!

Tango dancing guys reading this, have you experienced the gift that I speak of, for yourselves? Do you understand the secret to getting it and would your behaviour show me that you do?

Tango dancing girls, do you know when you have given the gift? And what, in your favourite dance partners, ensures that you can — any of the behaviours I’ve listed above ring luscious-sounding bells?

I’d love to hear what you think. And if your tango dancing friends would be interested to read and comment too, please pass on the link to this post, with my love from Buenos Aires: you can use the Share/Save button, below, to wing the link around the globe: blog it, Twitter it, Facebook it, email it, tango-forum it, help it fly far and wide. I’d love as many of your thoughts as possible, and when I’ve got a few of them, I’ll write something more on the subject if I can, in The milongueros I love  - The Gift (Part 2). Thank you, my friends with generous hearts and great connections. Gracias.

And, in the interests of passing on good things myself, in case you want a little more inspiration before you comment… in a synchronistic twist (so marvellously common in my life these days), my attention this morning was drawn to this wonderful post, by Mari at My Tango Diaries. Cool.

Meanwhile, all this talk of milongueros, secrets and gifts is too much damn foreplay, even for me.

I can hold back no longer. What time does La Milonga de Los Consagrados start? Look out boys, here I come.

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The grand plan

April 22, 2010 in Live your dreams | 21 comments

Last week, Me and C. took a holiday (our first in our three years together, that hasn’t involved other people or me getting a visa) in Capilla del Monte, Córdoba. I wanted to hang out in the traffic-free countryside with my love. And, I needed some space to reflect on the personal changes I must make now, so that I can move in a clearer, surer direction on the path of stepping into the shoes of my own limitless potential, into my very own version of greatness.

If I’m honest with you, I haven’t been too comfortable with the way, over the past few months, I’ve allowed panic and fear to take hold of me when I’ve been faced with unexpected happenings — mentioned on this blog in posts like this one, here.

Back then, I chose (in my mind) to call the things ’shocks’ and ‘nasty surprises’: a stroke of manipulative genius on my part, of course, because it gave me an excuse for the panics and negative thought-spirals I was experiencing in the middle of the night. Deep down though, I was very unhappy with my reactions. I want true personal freedom, and that means wearing life lightly, whatever happens. I wasn’t doing that, and seemed powerless to stop it. I sobbed to Carlos now and again (patient, as ever), talked to my family and friends (who generously listened and tried to help), and sought various forms of outside guidance and support (relaxation iPhone Apps, doctors, books about living in the now). Meanwhile I got on with what needed doing to manage the situations as they cropped up, and in that, at least, I did a pretty good job: the book moved towards publication, a trip to England got organised, and I began to work with the skilled professionals I now realise I need to help me run a life in two lands.

As I sorted out my life stuff, the panics began to subside, but I was tired from all the emotion and I definitely didn’t want the anxiety to return with the next unplanned event. You see, I know that if I am to continue on a path of the heart, with all the uncertainty and change it can entail, I must find my calm  inside and know how to keep it strong. I went to Córdoba last week to think about that.

If you ever need to seek a peaceful retreat in Argentina, I can recommend the beautiful lofts at Terrazas del Uritorco in Capilla del Monte. You’ll see why when you look at the pics from the trip, right here in this flickr photo set. Simply to wake up with a mountain outside your window is enough to stir the soul and calm the heart. This is no ordinary mountain either. It’s known to have a powerful energy, and you might need to prepare yourself for that. Certainly I felt it. But I was seeking truth, and I was ready for anything. I kinda got it too, in the form of violent sickness for a couple of days, but it served to force physical rest… distractions, such as horse-riding treks, weren’t possible, and I was left to the silence and stillness required for revelation.

In my case it isn’t ever anything completely new that strikes in a moment of clarity. It’s usually a fresh perspective on something I already know.  I sat on my private terraza with a mountain view, snuggled in a blanket, star-gazed, and thought back over my life…

The unexpected divorce in my forties, that led to me dancing tango and having the means to start over in Argentina, where I began to discover and live my dreams, met my beloved C. and wrote a book.

The miscarriage and subsequent non-appearance of a baby, in my thirties, that left me without ties and free to make that trip to Argentina, some fifteen years later.

The failed degree in Mechanical Engineering, in my twenties, that led to me studying Computing Science instead, thus ensuring that I was equipped to embrace a life of international blogging and online book selling, twenty five years on.

As I sat looking at the mountain, a calm, clear voice spoke in my head and said,

Sallycat, when things don’t appear to be going to plan, it’s because it is the plan.

I knew it was true. I haven’t felt a breath of panic since.

Meanwhile, I’m on the verge of deciding on the final book cover design for Happy Tango, and I’m making a website for the book — all very, very exciting. I am so looking forward to sharing all that lovely creative stuff with you. For now though, no book news, just mental breakthroughs of the kind that have the potential to change lives, or at least, mine. Let me repeat my Uritorco truth:

When things don’t appear to be going to my original plan, it’s because The Universe is nudging me (or shoving me) towards the real plan. The grand plan. The soul’s plan. The greater-joy-down-the-line plan.

And I only have to cast just half an eye back over my life to see the proof.

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Are you ready for greatness?

April 11, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat - the writer within, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 12 comments

Are you ready for greatness? That is the question I’ve been asking myself this week.

It started with me noticing (on the bountiful, nonstop newsfeed that is Twitter) and reading this great article on the subject of The 6 fears that stop people writing: #004 Success, by Tom at thebookwright.com. It continued with me having a conversation on Skype with Tom in which I was forced to consider whether I needed someone else to push me along the road towards embracing the possibility of success, or not.

Tom was refreshingly honest with me, and he left me suspecting that nothing too alarming was actually stopping me claiming my own greatness and that I was already on the way to doing so — after all I have written a book; it is finished and I’m not trying to draft the first words, as I was back in January 2009 when I was getting the project off the ground. Tom  pointed me to a powerful meditation technique that connects me in the now with the future me(s) I want to be: for example, the me who is opening a box of my books in the hallway of my parents’ home in Shrewsbury, England, with my Mum and me shrieking with delight and Carlos and Dad (shown in this pic being rather great himself, as the Mayor of Shrewsbury) looking kinda proud — oh, so uplifting, and actually makes me smile broadly when I meditate on it. Meditation then, a way forward for me. See how you get on, said Tom, Come back to me if anything specific crops up. And I will.

In parallel with this, two of my good friends in Buenos Aires stepped into the picture right on cue. @theportableguru gave me a spontaneous and insightful Yantra Deck reading, from which it was clear that to move through the next phase of my journey I can find the clarity and self belief that I need by turning within, focusing on the breath and meditating. And then, both she and another wonderfully creative friend of mine who takes these stunning and spiritually inspiring photographs, said to me over tea yesterday,

Sal, when are you finally going to believe that you are already the successful and capable person you want to be, and that you might not need someone else to fix you?

As they spoke to me (kind of in unison and along these lines), I felt the truth prick uncomfortably. I am in the horrible habit of looking outside me for someone else to remove the blocks with their approval, tell me my work is good enough, tell me (for example) that it’s OK for me to actively and confidently (rather than apologetically) promote my book. There’s something in my that doesn’t like to say, I’m successful already or I’ve written this great book that you are going to want to read, because it feels like boasting or smugness. Yet, when I do say it, in private or in meditation, it makes me smile, lifts my creative energy levels sky high, and leads to me producing exciting work. Where is the harm in that then?

I am forced to admit that my reluctance to walk in the shoes of success is a past pattern, and one that does not have to be a present or future pattern; I have the power within to let that old way go and begin living a new way, as soon as I am ready to start doing it. It’s my choice. Yes, it often feels more comfortable (to me) to create drama around not being up to it or being embarrassed about doing it. But if I really want my dreams to come true, I must start walking in the world of dreams… the world of can not can’t, the world of do not don’t, the world of yes not no, a world with no blocks and no bounds. It’s not to say that I can’t look to mentors and guides to assist me along the path, but I do have to embrace the fact that until I, myself, am truly ready, they will not be able to help me.

This morning, as if to seal the deal, another mate, a Brit in Milan, Italy — I only ever met him once, but he has supported me, championed me, and followed my blog and my journey from the start — sent me a video. Have you ever seen Will Smith talk about his life experience and beliefs before? I hadn’t, until now. I loved what he had to say, and the clip at the end, well, that is what I want to say to you, and me, today and every day. Do watch it; it’s cool.

Tell me how it is for you. Do you readily step into the shoes of your own limitless potential, your own greatness, or do you, like me, sometimes allow yourself to be limited by your own reluctance to say (with plenty of swagger but minus any hint of a brag), I’m there already, I’m successful, my dreams are coming true right now — I’m fab!?

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The wait state

April 5, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 11 comments

How do you cope with waiting?

In April 2007 I moved out of a hostel and into my first apartment in Buenos Aires. I went to the supermarket, and found myself standing, for what seemed like hours, in a checkout line (I mentioned it here). How can they be so slow? I thought. I got agitated, tutted, hissed complaints under my breath in English (couldn’t do it in Spanish back then, you understand). I ended up abandoning the trolley and heading home minus the food I’d just spent an hour choosing; I stopped off at the instant service 24/7 kiosko for a couple of yoghurts instead. I announced to C. later, Well, I’m not bloody-well going to Supermarket-X again. Their service is soooo slow! He laughed at me. He knew what I didn’t, that there was nothing special and different about Supermarket-X. Oh no, nothing at all. Supermarket-X and Y and Z and every letter you can possibly think of, are the same. Fast-track and self-scan have not quite arrived in Argentina, you see. Not even three years on, in 2010. Add to that the facts that no-one ever has change or coins, people forget to weigh their fruit and veg and we all have to wait while they go back and do it, everyone wants their stuff delivered, credit cards need id… blah, blah, blah. Now, I never leave home for even the flashiest and priciest of Jumbos or Carrefours without a book in my bag and a healthy dose of patience, tolerance and acceptance in my attitude. And I must be changing because I can even manage to get home with a smile on my face — sometimes.

Last night while watching a fairly daft film about Noah’s Ark on cable (though I confess I found it terribly funny and sweet), I was reminded that when we ask God for something (or maybe when he knows we need the thing), he won’t give it to us directly, but he’ll give us a way to get the thing we ask for, and it’s up to us to take the opportunity. I don’t actually remember asking for patience…  In 2010, my life has been a series of waits. I’m forced to conclude that God and his Universe know best.

I am delighted to report that one of my waits is over: I got the go ahead for printing my book. Pirotta Press Ltd (mine) is now a client of the fabulous Lightning Source with the capability to arrange for Happy Tango to be printed either in the USA or in the UK according to the order point’s location; I’m hoping that this will mean that my book can be listed on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and thus, be easily accessible to you guys all over the world; it still has to be set up of course, but I’m optimistic — other clever people have achieved it, and I am determined to follow in their footsteps! Now though, my book is in someone else’s capable hands, and I am waiting for a cover design before I can start the next phase, the marketing. I’ve got a bit of work to finish too: the 100ish words to go on the back cover. I’ve written them, but am still sweating on whether they truly convey the content and voice of the book. Aargh! It’s that horribly painful and pointless affliction, perfectionism, all over again.

Meanwhile, I’ve got a bit of time and so the question is how to use it wisely, and avoid any unnecessary fretting. Here’s five things I’m doing to make the most of my life situation, right now. If you feel like you’re waiting on something in your life today, perhaps they might help you too.

  1. Resting. I’ve worked hard on the book and I’m shattered. I’ve at last had the healing Chinese massage that I’ve been promising myself for months, and I’m plotting a trip into the Sierras of Córdoba. I’ve got space in my life for a short while and I feel like I want to expand it and luxuriate in it.
  2. Dancing. It’s why I came to Buenos Aires, and somehow, with Happy Tango in the bag (sort of) I feel the pressure is off on all things tango… I no longer have to think about what I’m going to say about it, I can just concentrate on enjoying it! I actually accepted a milonga tanda with a stranger at La Nacional on Saturday night, and it was the best milonga I have ever danced in my life: I think both our hearts were thumping afterwards. The music was electronic (and super-fun), my body was unbelievably relaxed (maybe it was the Chinese massage), and I think my friend TangoCherie might have been a bit concerned that I was going to explode with excitement. I confess I’m not the discreetest of people to share a table with at times — when it comes to celebrating great tandas, I do tend to bubble over like a cauldron of freshly-mixed magic.
  3. Exploring the city I’m in, all over again. The early autumn weather is crisp; Feria de Mataderos started up again after its summer break; the Rosedal park is full of roses in bloom… there is much to be re-discovered and discovered, and I have only two months before I will be in England for a while. Gotta make the most of it then, yeah?
  4. Doing at least one action from my ‘things I love list’, every day: coffee and yummy cake in Baraka, writing a blog post or writing anything at all, vacuuming the flat, riding on a colectivo, touching the plants on my balcony, buying a bargain dress or a flower to decorate a dress in the local markets… small is beautiful in every one of these special pleasures.
  5. Clarifying and growing my list of the things I want in my life (and I use the word things very loosely in this case). It’s over three years since I chose to live a path of the heart, and over a year since I chose to live. Bloody hell. Doesn’t time zoom when you are having fun? On my journey I’ve learned to dance, to speak a foreign tongue, to love two lands equally, to love. I’ve kept this blog going, met kindred creative spirits all over the world, written a book. I’ve found out that I can live in one room with another person and very few possessions and rarely have a cross word, sleep without a soft toy (sometimes), do absolutely anything. I’ve experienced much, but I want to adventure more. That’s why I have a dream list, an intention list, a ‘build the life I want’ list: ever changing, ever growing, full of passion, and these days, without limits.

This morning, feeling slightly impatient and wanting to find a way out of that, I started writing about ‘the wait state’, but I now realise, that it is not a wait state at all… just time. I can choose to endure it, or I can choose to enjoy it. A no-brainer I reckon. This afternoon then. The milonga of Alicia “La Turca” in La Ideal, my loyal milongueros who treat me like a princess, my friends, pizza after. Can waiting get any better? I reckon, no.

Then there’s the fact that I sometimes feel I waited 43 years for the moment that changed my life and gave me the chance to try this one. And in this life therefore, there can be no waiting, only living. I don’t think God is trying to teach me patience at all. I think he’s trying to show me how to enjoy the now.

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Processing

March 30, 2010 in Live your dreams, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 19 comments

Sometimes the truth just pops out and hits you on the nose.

It happened to me a day or so after I wrote here about my anxieties concerning sending Happy Tango out into the big, wide world. What a relief the truth is. My mind is calming by the day, and I’m able to look back and see the route I have taken more and more clearly.

Here’s my latest theory on the process of writing from your heart.

When you make a book that takes more than 18 months to create (as mine has done), you are not going to be the same person when you finish as when you started.  Your views will shift, your ideas will evolve, your experience will grow. By the time the book is published, its heart-content will already, in a way, be part of your past.

When I write a blog post it’s immediate, isn’t it? You get my thoughts on any given day. It isn’t like that with a book: it’s written over a period of months but then it’s edited, sub-edited, crafted, test read, fed back on, tweaked, amended, designed, printed… the time involved after you originally created the heart of it, is long. So, there is a natural separation of the author from the book — the distance between the me in 2010 who is publishing the book and the me in 2008 who conceived the idea for the book. In my life there was a moment in time when I could have written this particular book for tango tourists, and truthfully now, the moment has probably passed. I’m so glad that I seized it, when I had the chance and that in doing so, I created the only book I could, the one that was meant to be.

Of course, I worked very hard to remain involved with my creation throughout; I wanted to keep the passion for Happy Tango alive, to make sure the book was full of my soul. And I think I succeeded.  But, last week I realised that some of the thoughts I was having like, Perhaps I should have… and Maybe it would have been better if… were not to do with the content of this project, but they were to do with my capacity for fresh creations: my latest ideas, my new thinking position, my potential for future projects. And the minute that penny dropped, I stopped worrying. Even my fears about the quality of my writing slipped away. I’ve learned so much about good writing in the process of this book, and I’ll be able to apply it all to the next one won’t I?

The next one? I hear you cry.  Mmmmmm. Well, I’m exploring some ideas, and kind of researching in the arms of my most-loved milongueros on the dance floor… and that’s a pretty cool place to be doing research, I can tell you.

Someone said to me the other day, You are living the life aren’t you?

In the moment that they said it, I was suffering with post-book panics and wasn’t able to embrace the comment with quite the enthusiasm it encouraged. But, today, you know what? I can wholeheartedly answer, Yeah actually, I am. And it’s good. And I’m feeling grateful for it and for the marvellous people who commented on my fear post, and helped shift me on along my path.

I needed you guys last week, and you were there to tell me the truth.

Thank you.

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Letting go (take 2)

March 22, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat - the writer within, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 16 comments

How do you let go of fears?

I’ve been plagued by them since I sent Happy Tango off and tried to let go. After sobbing to C. last night, I felt slightly better; felt like I was crying the book out of me really; crying my heart out; the two things are kind of the same you see.

Yesterday, in the bathroom mirror, I caught a glimpse of maybe, just maybe why some amazingly talented artists don’t live to see their stuff out there in the world, and why some never get their art out there at all. Despite all my big words about living my dreams, and even my big(gish) actions in trying to do so, inside I am totally terrified that I’m not up to the job, not good enough, that the words I’ve written will be ridiculed. And it’s not that I don’t believe in the book. I DO. I think that it’s absolutely bloody brilliant… 11 fab Rules for landing the happiest possible tangos in Buenos Aires; an A to Z to put you in the know; a strategy for deciding where to dance first… all utter genius!

But writing that on this page (thank you Barbie) and remembering it are two very different things (thank you VOD); I’m haunted by the small errors, the things I got wrong, that you might come out of somewhere and turn left instead of right because of a mistake I made, or that my opinion of a place might be completely different to yours (gonna happen, of course), or dare I say it, a word I missed out because I was so tired by the end of it all, that I couldn’t really judge whether or not I was reading aloud what I’d actually written. I had some amazing help with my book along the way: a fabulous editor; a brilliant sub-editor; my test readers; my darling mum, who proof read it; but in the end it was just me, in the early hours,  surrounded by mountains of papers and tango magazines and maps, making the final amendments and deciding to send it off to the designers (I am the publisher too, this time round, you see). Should I have kept it longer? Visited places all over again? Pestered a friend to read it one more time, and delayed while they did (and while I made more changes that would have meant more errors)? On balance, nooo – it had to go before my life got lost in it; but in my head, if only… and what if? This is grim thinking, and getting me absolutely nowhere.

I’m hesitant to write about this stuff. But doing so is part of my big(gish) actions to step off the edge, live my dreams, and inspire others. Living your dreams sounds nice and cool and fabuloso, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy. And I prefer to tell the truth about that.

Someone sent me a link to a website this week: thegapingvoid.com. It’s very marvellous for people like me. Tells us sharply (and in pictures, so that we can still get the message in our madder moments) that we are not alone, and that we should get on and bloody well do it anyway.  And I will. You know it. Right now though I feel like my book has been caught on camera. The snapshot has been taken, and there’s no going back. The gaping void? Well, exacto.

Anyone else ever felt like this? Or is it just me and the little girl in the bathroom mirror, and the genius guy who draws those spot-on cartoons?

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