J ~ Jumping for JOY

Storytime

During the pandemic, I had a friend who lost all her joy. She told me Joy had left the building and she didn’t know if She would ever come back.

I didn’t blame her. She was in lockdown, at the tail end of finishing her PhD, stressed about her oral defense of her dissertation, and dealing with the intense and complex grief of losing both her mother-in-law and her father-in-law and not being able to attend proper funerals due to covid quarantines. She had a lot of reasons for Joy to go into hiding.

Throughout those months, I often dropped little care packages at her doorstep, trying to invite Joy into her space in little bits. And one day, she caught me in the act, and I invited her on a walk through her neighborhood, outdoors, and properly social distanced.

She accepted.

Only 20-minutes into the walk, it started to rain. First it was little spits and spurts, but by the time we had gotten too far away to sprint back home or to my car, it was full on pouring. We got completely soaked, from head to toe. Within minutes, the puddles in the streets were more like small rivers and streams, and stepping off a curb to cross the street meant stepping into ankle deep flows.

After crossing two streets like this, at the next intersection, I grabbed her hand and stopped at the corner.

“One. . . Two. . .” I said with a sing-songy childlike playful voice.

“THREE!”

And I jumped. splashing the flowing river puddle water everywhere. We were already drenched, so it didn’t matter.

We Joyed our way home the rest of the way, jumping in puddle after puddle like toddlers.

Lesson: The Velvet Explosion

J is what linguists call an “affricate”—your tongue touches the roof of your mouth, then releases into a soft hissing sound. It’s a controlled release of energy, like opening champagne carefully instead of letting the cork fly.

Compare this to its harder cousin, the hard G sound. When I see G through my synesthetic lens, it is more forceful, sometimes even bruising and punching.

J is the velvet version of that explosion. It’s soft yellow, cushioned, buoyant.

Joyful J’s feel like champagne bubbles rising, like that moment when you grab someone’s hand and count to three before leaping:

• Joy – rises, bubbles, can’t be contained. Notice how we turned it into a verb that rainy day: “We Joyed our way home.” When Joy becomes an action, not just a feeling, it transforms everything.

• Jump – your body leaves the ground! The physical act of defying gravity, of choosing playfulness over practicality.

• Jaunt – a casual journey taken just for pleasure, like a walk that becomes an adventure

• Jazzy – syncopated, delightfully unpredictable, like rain that changes your plans into something better

These words appear in shades of yellow and gold—like sunlight filtered through honey, the flicker of fireflies.

And J has a shadow side. Judgmental J’s carry downward-pressing energy—the heavy feelings that make Joy leave the building:

• Judge – the bounce stops, energy presses down like a gavel. How often do we judge ourselves for not being joyful enough during hard times?

• Jail – containment, the opposite of J’s desire to leap. Grief can feel like a jail. So can lockdowns. So can dissertations.

• Jealous – twisted, possessive energy that grips rather than releases

• Jaded – hardened, the effervescence gone flat, when you’ve stopped believing Joy will ever return

These appear in muddy yellows and murky browns—like honey that’s crystallized and hardened.

What I’ve learned is that J’s energy depends entirely on what sounds surround it:

J + Open Vowels (A, O) = Joyful, expansive (joy, jaunt, jovial)
J + Closed Vowels (U, I) = Judgmental, constrictive (judge, jilt, jealous)

The letter J is like a chameleon—it takes on the energy of its neighbors. Surrounded by harsh sounds, it becomes harsh. Embraced by soft, open sounds, it becomes effervescent delight.

Homework: The J-Word Consciousness Practice

Your homework this week: become a detective of your own J-words.

Track Your J’s
For seven days, notice every time you use a J-word. Keep a simple note with three columns: Word | Context | Energy

Ask yourself:

• Am I using more joyful J’s or judgmental J’s?

• When do I use judgmental language? (Toward myself? Others?)

• How do I feel after saying joyful J-words versus judgmental ones?

• Are there times when I need to actively Joy my way through something, turning it into a verb, an action, a choice?

Sacred Swaps: Trading Judgment for Joy

My friend had every reason to stay stuck in her grief, to judge herself for not being more productive, to feel jaded about life. But sometimes the antidote to judgment is permission to be playfully ridiculous. Here are your swaps:

Instead of: “Joy has left the building”
Try: “I’m going to Joy my way through this”

The Puddle-Jump Practice

At least once this week, physically JUMP. Jump into a puddle if it rains. Jump on your bed. Jump for joy when something good happens.

If you’re lucky enough to get caught in the rain with someone you love, grab their hand and count: “One... Two... THREE!” and jump together.

Feel that moment of suspension between leaving the ground and landing. That tiny moment of catching air, that moment that happens when you have reached the height and are just starting to fall brings a jiggle of joy with it. A tiny happy moment. That’s where JOY lives. Go get her. Tell her to come back to you.

As you jump, say the word “JOY” out loud. Not as something you’re waiting to feel, but as something you’re actively doing.

Feel the effervescent energy of J in your body. Feel the bounce, the lightness, the permission to be playful even when—especially when—life feels heavy.

This is the spell of J at its highest vibration. This is how Joy comes back into the building.

Jump.

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💜 I’d love to hear which J-words you notice most in your language this week. Are you a joyful J-caster or do you find yourself trapped in judgmental patterns?

If you read this whole post, please hit the red heart so more people will see it.
If you buy me a coffee I promise I will jump for JOY!