the missing piece

Oh I’m lookin’ for my missin’ piece
I’m lookin’ for my missin’ piece
Hi-dee-ho, here I go,
Lookin’ for my missin’ piece
— shel silverstein

I practice many forms of journaling and sometimes this bothers me. Sometimes I want to strip it down, contain it all in one journal. Surely that would be possible? Right? Apparently not. For as much as I try, I always gravitate toward several journals. I even journal in magazines and books, with words and without, paint only and sometimes collage. Sometime my journaling is right here on the computer. 

Pieces of me, here and there and everywhere. 

Last week I wrote in my journal, "What if I am my own missing piece?" I was feeling incomplete and fractured. I was feeling as if part of me was missing and that if I could just figure it out, follow the clues, I would be able to find it, plug it in, and miraculously know my now and my next. I was looking for the magical thinking. 

Then it occurred to me that I have all that I need, that I know what I know. It's all there in those journals ( and more ... oh, so many more ). I have been collecting pieces of me in those journals for years. There is nothing missing. I am my own missing piece. 

Journaling, in its many forms, is a treasure hunt that serendipitously creates the map at the same times. It's a way for me to stumble across my own wisdom, the things that I know and need. 


I write more about art journaling and include links to resources in this post.