Yesterday, someone took my pants. I believe they were stolen from the washer in my friend's apartment building, or at least all the current evidence points to it. And yet, I'm not so angry. I'm not so upset. Though I'm not a subscriber to organized religion per se, what I feel in my life is as close as I can imagine to trusting it all up to "the will of god". Or joyfully resigning yourself to destiny or fate.
It took me days, months really, to decide what to keep to pack in my not so big backpack and what to throw out or what to send for safe keeping or to give away. The things I decided were going with me to South America were a small percentage of my wardrobe and then to have the things that I'd finally decided on stolen in Oregon... it's a kink I'm surprised by and not happy with. But then again, if it's "god's will" or whatever.
I'm not going to go holly roller on everyone but it's hard to find the vocabulary to describe this feeling. It's similar to when a stranger smiles at me from across the milonga and I smile back, agreeing to dance a series of tango songs together. We step on to the dance floor, usually not exchanging names or any small talk. My right hand takes his left. My left arm wraps around his shoulders and his right around my back or waste. We are cheek to cheek, chest to chest. He knows the smell of my hair and I can tell if he shaved recently. I close my eyes and together we conquer the dance floor.
We move as the music wills, avoiding dozens of other couples, strangers to each other but in a lovers embrace, racing among each other. In the dance, my eyes are closed to all other distractions. I do not think of the other beautiful dancers, who I might like to smile at later, who I might like to emulate in terms of style, of who is happy and who is not, if the lights have dimmed or who is moving toward the exit. My eyes are closed so my senses are tuned on the music, most that I have heard dozens of times and that enthralls me every time. My senses are tuned to my partner who is sending me everything I need to know though his body. I feel where his feet land and where to move. And a step and a sweep and a turn. the music spins us around. I am not distracted by the danger of running into the other couples. I keep my feet under me, making my movements small and beautiful. Careful and graceful. I move so as to respond quickly as to not endanger myself or others with my new two and a half inch heels.
I am balanced, holding my height and strength above my own feet. I am confident in my movements. I listen with all my senses to my partner before I move. I have trusted my sight to him and when I move I do so with out hesitation or doubt or distraction. I land on my own feet and am ready for the next step.
And so it is with nearly half the clothes I was planning to take stolen. It's a turn I wasn't expecting. But I'm on my feet and am ready to respond. I'm not distracted by their sentimentality or base unfairness of my pants being stolen (ok ok, maybe a tiny bit). I'm deciding what to replace and what I don't really need after all. Really, I many not need any of it after all. I think I'll just pack a little lighter.
and the adventures continue...
(theft not considered, it's been great being back)