The Thrill of Slow Dancing

Two things happen when we get older. One is slowing down.

Slowing down is not necessarily a detriment. In fact, in this age of frenzied lifestyles, it could quite well be considered a desirable adaptation.

Some of this slowing down is of necessity, with bodies stiffening or energy failing.
But another part of it is choice.

Slowing down creates more time for one to notice and value the little things: the things
that we often overlook or take for granted. The critical stuff-of-life things,
like the soothing sound of rain or the smell of lilacs or a robin serenading the sunset, taking time to smell the roses.

The second change: We value familiarity and sameness more than variety and change.

So the research tells us. My experience concurs. I would just as soon watch a slowly setting sunset as catipulting fireworks, or listen to the birds in the backyard as go to a concert, or
do a stay-at-home vacation as fly to another continent.

I don’t think this is inertia or becoming reclusive or not wanting to experience something
new. I still have a very active mind and body and am forever wanting to learn.

I think it is about seeing increasing value in the common place and finding fascination in
the subtle shifts in the world at my fingertips.

Paying attention and being aware mixes well with slowing down, which is why for an
outing my wife and I prefer walking to driving. The faster one goes, the more one misses.

Remember walks with a child, hand in hand? (We have years ago progressed to grand-children.) It takes forever to get anywhere! Children are forever stopping to pick up a shiny stone or a twisted stick or to splash in a puddle. Everything is fresh and fascinating. We can’t rush them. We just have to slow down patiently and fret in silence about ever getting to our
destination.

Maybe this is what is happening as we age. We are going back to that childhood
fascination stage. The slower and simpler, the greater opportunity for enjoyment.

Slowing down allows us time and space to relish every little tasty morsel of life; to be
attuned to every sensation; to extravagantly roll every moment over the palate of our awareness as if we are sampling an expensive wine.

My dancing has slowed as I get older. By choice.

As I age, I slow down and turn my attention to the fundamental and
familiar. My focus shifts from the intricate and new to exploring in depth the basic,
essential elements that allow for connection. I am still spry enough to do most of the fancy footwork. But my interest in learning new steps is waning.

I linger over the delicate sensations of every step; the closeness of the embrace;
the contact; the points of shared balance. I languish in that delicate interplay between
movement and stillness, action and pausing to wonder.

This is seemingly contrary to what intrigues many of us when we first start to Tango. We want to squeeze as much fancy footwork into three minutes as possible. Not to complain.

This is a lot of fun to watch and to dance, to be sure. And it does a lot for cardio and the
ego and general sense of well-being. But it also rushes past the softness, gentleness, and delicate sense of intimate connection.

I often dance as if there is a quota of intricate maneuvers I have to squeeze in to the three minutes. Is this about my partner or my ego? Am I needing to impress my partner or merely bored?

Strangely enough, if I dance with awareness and attention, all these insecurities and egoistic preoccupations dissipate. Slowing down, keeping things simple, and paying attention
to the fundamentals makes for very pleasurable and satisfying dancing indeed.

Slowing down is a gift, not a liability.  

Not on the dance floor or in the muck-about world of a child. The more immersed I allow myself to be in the world of sticks and stones and mud puddles, the slower, more attentive, without agenda or expectations, the more delightful and rewarding the experience.

It pulls my focus into what is really important, what is to be valued and treasured. It brings a wisdom and sensitivity to life and love that comes only with age. It makes me a better companion, a better grandfather and a better dancer.

Aydan Dunnigan-Vickruck.

P.S. If you liked this post, leave a comment or a like or share – or all three. It gives me warm fuzzies.