When I was still living in Berlin, I used to dance tango.
There was one place, I particularly liked and I’d go there on Sunday afternoons and dance till I‘d had enough...
I never took dancing classes. I had decided, I wanted to learn by doing on the dance floor. I wanted it to be as real as possible.
There was an unspoken rule, that the man would ask the woman to dance by searching for eye contact. That’s how the woman was invited. She could she „yes“ and take this dance, or say „no“ by turning her eyes away. The man would except her decision. After one song, he would politely ask her, if she’d like to dance another dance. She might say „yes“ or she might say, she needed a break or something like that...
Being a woman, my task was to follow the man. I had to let go, to trust, to relax, to pay attention in a dreamy way. Once I‘d start to think, it would be over and something would go wrong. I would step on his foot, our knees would bang into each other, we would run into another couple or even worse...
The day Renatus came back, after being away for two weeks for work, I’d asked myself, how I had managed to be alone with my little newborn baby. How for god’s sake did I manage to care both for myself and for this tiny precious creature?!
I couldn’t remember and I panicked, felt suddenly insecure.
Soon after, I realized, that we’d been dancing! My baby and I had been dancing tango and we’d forgotten about time. She’d been leading. She was in charge. Giving me subtle signs: some milk, a pooh, a pie, a sleep, a cuddle, a bath, some milk, a pooh again... She always knew exactly what she wanted.
She was leading extremely well and I, without having taken dancing classes, did my very best to follow her. I gave myself fully to her. Without compromise.
I would drop and leave everything, to lay down with her for some milk.
Giving everything I could and even a more than that.
My only reward were her beautiful smiles and
they kept me going.