I lie in bed, listening to a mix of familiar and unfamiliar tango music. All of it seems somewhat unfamiliar: I have not yet set aside the time needed to identify different orchestras, time periods, styles. A familiar song becomes unfamiliar when a different orchestra leaves out the final beat that always seems to be the period at the end of the sentence. But none of that really matters once I relax and drop into the music; I can feel the differences and anticipate where the music is going most of the time.
I feel where I would like to speed up, where I would like to pause and breathe for a moment. Where I would draw a big circle all way behind me until by left foot touched his left foot. Where I would want a quick molinete. Where I would toss in a couple boleos, or an ocho cortado, or where I would just stand and shift weight for a moment, slowly. I can hear the steps that I hope a leader would ask me for, and I can hear where I would be able to ask for some of those steps myself.
The question is whether I would enjoy leading someone into those steps that I can imagine for myself. Most times that I try to imagine leading, my mind flips back into follow-mode. I think I am on the verge of wanting to try leading. Almost there.