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The Missing Piece

April 14, 2011

I’ve been spotting the strangest things on the street lately.  A gold shoe.  A white anchor stenciled onto the pavement.  A 5 euro note.   I’m not sure why I’m constantly looking down; maybe its fatigue, maybe I’m in my own little world, maybe I’m watching out for doggy doo-doo.  Ick.  I know. But this is Paris; city of light, city of love, city of Frenchies and their beloved dogs…..and everything that comes with.  And do I mean everything.

But, this isn’t about that.

It’s more about the thing that I stumbled upon this morning, you guessed it, on the street.  I was making my way home from the patisserie after buying my breakfast, which was, in fact, a practically lunch croissant aux amandes.  With the sun on my face and a mouth full of the best pastry in France, I spotted this lone piece of a puzzle.  It’s weird to think that someone was actually transporting a puzzle in such a way that one solitary piece might go missing.  I mean, who carries around puzzles?

But this puzzle piece got me thinking.  Sometimes in life it really does feel like you’re a missing piece. Maybe it’s your other half.  Maybe it’s the perfect job.  Maybe it’s that last element to complete whatever collection it is you’ve been working on. Maybe you are the missing piece for someone else.

The feeling of what is missing is really apparent.  I don’t know about you, but for me, I can actually feel the hole.  Like the feeling this poor kid might have when he completes the entire puzzle down to one lonely piece.  But if we are missing pieces, were they always lost?  When did we lose them?  And, more importantly, how do we know when we find them?

I guess I’m just going to take this morning’s little street find as my the last part of my puzzle.  I’m done with having holes. Whatever it is I’m missing, I’ve now found that elusive piece.

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