by Kristina Makansi

I’ve been writing stories and essays and bad poetry for as long as I can remember. And I’ve been drawing and singing and wishing I could play guitar for just as long. I took the obligatory piano lessons, played the flute in the junior high band, sang in the choir—school and church—and learned a few chords on the Sears guitar my mom bought me when I was in the sixth grade (or thereabout).

But, like so many other people, I suffered from the fear that I was just not that good. And that no matter how hard I practiced, I’d never be very good. So, I didn’t practice very hard. And I never really stuck with anything long enough to get good. Just like for years, I never got around to finishing the novels I’d started.

I have a theory.

Some people form habits easily and are dependent upon and comforted by routine. And some just aren’t. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t thrive on chaos, but I was never driven. (I have a theory about that too, but that’s for another time.)

I’m surrounded by people who are driven, though, and they drive me freakin’ crazy. Probably because I’m jealous. Or just exhausted by their relentlessness.

That said, I did return to drawing just after I got married. I bought that famous book, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, and when I had extra time, I sketched and started doing watercolors. Some of them weren’t half bad.

Here’s one of my first watercolors and a couple of more recent sketches I like:

Later, when we moved to Saint Louis, I set up a studio on the third floor of our old house and started experimenting with oils. Below is one of my favorites. It’s now hanging over the couch in our house in Tucson.

I used paint to express my mood. Sometimes my mood was fun and playful so I painted flowers or my girls. Sometimes it was angry (like when the United States invaded Iraq on the basis of lies), and sometimes it was just a bit chaotic. One of my favorites from one of my *#@%& everything periods is Swirl. I think I was searching for meaning amidst a tumultuous world.

Through the years, I continued writing bad poetry. Here’s a particularly egregious piece:

And as for music, way back in Saint Louis, we found a kindred soul who wanted to play music. Jason has always played piano and viola and composed his own pieces, but I’d basically abandoned the idea of ever playing music.

Then, one evening at a restaurant in Soulard, one of our best friends, let’s call her RT, said she’d always wanted to learn guitar. ME TOO! I exclaimed, and soon after, we both bought guitars and started teaching ourselves how to play.

Along with Jason on the viola, we spent countless wonderful hours playing and singing (she’s a soprano with a lovely voice and I’m an alto with a serviceable voice who can also do some decent harmonies) and drinking wine and laughing and griping about politics. It was soul stretching.

Years later, RT and her hubby moved to the Pacific Northwest and we moved to the desert Southwest, but when we get together (a couple of times a year), we still play and sing and drink wine and laugh. And talk politics.

And it’s still soul stretching.

Last year, I joined a guitar meetup here in Tucson and was fortunate to find some new guitar/singing friends. And in our troubled world, playing and singing with them is also soul stretching. It’s therapy.

It’s necessary.

And I’ve been practicing and playing more by myself. I’ve even played at a couple of open mics.

So, here I am being brave and sharing a recording of me singing and playing all by my lonesome. Take a listen to my rendition of Patti Griffin’s Moon Song.

Recently, I’ve been practicing some protest songs from the Vietnam War era. And, yes, it was a war even though it was never officially declared by Congress. Just like the war we’re in right now with Iran.

And all that reminded me that I’d written a protest song of my own, way back when we invaded Iraq with all our Patriotic Pax American shock and awe. So, I’m being doubly brave and sharing it here—apologies for the flat notes.

For me, all these creative interests go together and help keep me sane. Telling stories, making art, making music. Making meaning by myself and with friends and loved ones, and finding solace in a dangerous world.

How do you find meaning and solace in the world?

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