I called Tony Piper last Thursday to wish him success.
The 12th Night Extravaganza of which he is the main organiser had not only changed venue, but had also doubled in size - metamorphing into a full-grown dance weekender. The step he took was more a giant Leap of Faith; I knew that there was a lot at stake, and that he'd been shouldering its increasingly considerable weight for a while. My regret was that I'd been unable to be involved formally this time because of my commitments to Verdant, but at least I could be a source of moral support.
Over the line Tony was his jocular self, and we exchanged relaxed banter. I appreciated his creating the illusion that he had all the time in the world for me; he wasn't aware that I'd tried unsuccessfully to get through more than thrice times previously. Actually come to think of it, he simply made the time. I'm flattered. Then he popped the question...
"Why don't you come up? You'd be my guest."
Caught flat-footed, I ummed and I ahhhed. I thought about what I had in the pipeline: a new product launch the next day; and all the preparation for being on-call for EU product compliance issues the following week to name but two, had led me not even to contemplate dancing over weekend as a possibility. Sensing my discomfort Tony left it simply at, "just let me know".
It was obvious to me that my reluctance stemmed from being surprised in a planned routine; and that I wasn't being honest with myself. I was using the stock 'not wanting to impose' as a poor excuse. By next day's noon, the commitments of the launch had melted away; and there was no reason at all not to. A brief call to say, "I'm coming up" and I found myself gazing at old York's city walls a few hours later.
Whilst on the train watching the darkened silhouettes racing past, I reflected on my state of lack of enchantment with salsa. Why would I have passed up an opportunity to be with friends, dance with them, and meet new ones? Why would I have gone so far as to seek excuses to do so even? I write the about spiritualities of friendship, entrancements of music and the quasi-hedonistic pleasures of dancing... was I being disingenuous?
In response, the black forms outside seemed to coalesce into a carapace in the centre of my mind. The tough shell of Responsibility. For 4 de Diciembre to be at its most prepared, such that promoters and audiences received the best they deserved; for my own musicianship to develop as quickly as possible, so as not to let my band-mates down; for my reading to expand, so that all decisions could be made with the highest-quality information available - every iota of breath could be justifiably consumed by Responsibility before a single pace on the floor.
Responsibility becomes a joyless thing if left untempered.
As I climbed into the taxi and uttered the words "Wentworth College, please" I knew I'd made the right decision. The forces which had shaped my arrival had saved me from the weight of expectation. Ahead was the gentle prospect of rediscovery.
(On to Part Two.)
Yeo Loo Yen
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