Changes I notice as I age: One is slowing down.
Slowing down is not necessarily a drawback. 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 my body stiffening or energy failing.
But another part of it is choice.
Slowing down creates more time for me to notice and value the little things: the things
that I might otherwise 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.
A second change: I value familiarity and sameness more than variety and change.
I would just as soon watch a slowly setting sunset as catapulting 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 I am forever eager to learn.
I think it is about seeing increasing value in the commonplace and finding fascination in
the subtle shifts in the world at my fingertips.
Paying attention and being aware blends well with slowing down, which is why, for an
outing, my wife and I prefer to walk rather than drive. The faster one goes, the more one misses.
Slowing down allows me 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 I were sampling an expensive wine.
A third change: My dancing has slowed. By choice.
My focus has shifted from the flashy 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 it often feels like busyness and a distraction from the settled comfort I am seeking.
Less is more. I linger over the delicate sensations of every step; the warmth 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 seems contrary to what intrigued my wife and I when we first started dancing Tango. We wanted to squeeze as much fancy footwork into three minutes as possible. Not to complain. It was all about thrills and spills in those days.
But today it just seems to gloss over and push past the softness, gentleness, and delicate sense of intimacy.
I still occasionally dance as if there is a quota of intricate maneuvers I have to squeeze into the three minutes. Is this about my partner or my ego? Am I needing to impress or merely bored?
Strangely, if I slow down and dance with awareness and attention, all these insecurities and egoistic preoccupations dissipate. Slowing down, keeping things simple, and paying attention
to the subtle sensual shifts in energy make for very pleasurable and satisfying dancing indeed.
Slowing down is a gift, not a liability.
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 lover and a better dancer.
These muses were affirmed recently in an article by Sarah Whatle, Somatic Practices: How Motion Analysis and Mind Images Work Hand in Hand in Dance:
Dance scientist Glenna Batson has argued for the importance of attention in dance practice, claiming that attending to bodily sensations is … fundamental to the capacity and capability of building relationships to self and others (Batson, 2014, 106). Attending to sensory data coming from interior states, movement and environment … is thus a basic somatic function and tuning attention is a core part of a dancer’s practice.
A further reflection about slowing down and aging:
Remember walks with a child, hand in hand? 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 and let go of our preocupation with getting somewhere on schedule.
Maybe this is what is happening as we age. We are going back to that childhood fascination stage: the slower and simpler, the greater the opportunity for enjoyment.
As on the dance floor so 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.
I agree. Thank you!
Me too!
This comment is for the “Yes, and… Tango Improve”
I adore your concept taken from Theatre Improv, “Yes, and…”
A lead is a door left ajar, light spilling onto the floor—
each step a question the body asks, answered with curiosity.
In that listening flow, every pause and turn belongs,
and presence meets it all with a quiet, creative YES.
S L — — — O — — — — — — — — — W!
Your words remind me that true leading, like childhood wonder, begins by slowing down enough to notice.
I’m glad to step into that puddle with my partner, dancing tango one unhurried step at a time—releasing urgency, savoring fascination: a stone, a pause, a breath.
I love s–l––––––– o––––––––––––– w—slow food, slow fashion, slow dancing, slow love.
Because while fancy steps sparkle, the deepest tango lives in slow—
where every step says “yes,” everything belongs,
and presence leads.
A few dance partners have heard me use the term “sloth tango” for slow dancing.
Sloth Tango is stillness in motion.
We move slowly, each step intentional, each pause a chance to notice.
We listen deeply; to the music, to each other, to ourselves.
Every glide, every shift becomes a moment of awareness.
Motion and stillness coexist. Time stretches. Energy flows.
So, dance slowly. Breathe slowly. Listen slowly. Let your steps remind you that even in motion, you can find stillness—and even in stillness, you can discover motion.