Welcome to Joy Fuel.
A manifesto in motion. For burnt-out idealists and quiet rebels ready to reclaim joy as a radical act.
In Western Washington, on a hot summer day in June, I found Joy…or more correctly, it found me.
In the middle of a barn, on a bamboo farm, I was stopped — dead in my tracks — by a hand-painted sign hung above the door. This little yellow, faded plaque read: “Hope for Tomorrow”. It caught the corner of my eye as I was mindlessly searching for my phone. The second I saw it, I crumbled. Tears poured down my face as if on queue from some higher-power; they had a well of their own.
I had been living with so little hope (and as a result joy), for so long I didn’t even notice its absence. Perhaps that’s what made me cry the most. I had forgotten how to trust in something better, and in so doing had lost my sense of self. And of all places, in this old wood barn, this rough-hewn sign helped me remember.
For the rest of the weekend, held by the quiet rhythm of the nursery, I let joy back in. Let it press against me. Remembered what it felt like. Since then I’ve been learning how to reclaim joy for myself—to let that lost part of me breathe again, stretch out, and take up space.
Joy has become an ever present part of my life.
What I’ve learned about joy since then, is precisely why I’m writing this series.
Most people think of joy as something raucous, and fleeting—like a sugar rush. It’s lightweight, maybe even frivolous. A big bursty feeling that comes and goes, untethered from anything real.
But I know joy to be deeper than that. It’s a resonant drumbeat, from deep within. It is not usually loud, though it can be. More often it works in whispers, and yet when we listen to it, it moves us in miraculous ways towards purpose and meaning that no other force is capable of. When allowed, joy will guide us towards deeper, richer expressions of ourselves.
Joy is fuel.
What you can expect.
Essays will launch every Friday (with the exception of 4th of July weekend) for the next 8 weeks. A companion for those sunny summer days (if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere).
Longer-term, this series is part of a larger body of work taking root.
In the fall, I’ll be offering Joy Circles—intimate online gatherings (6–8 people) focused on reclaiming joy as a steady, embodied practice. We’ll trace the shape of our joy to build more courage, clarity, and wholeness.
Paid subscribers will get first access when sign-ups open.
A simple ask.
If you’ve been thinking about becoming a paid subscriber, this series is a meaningful place to begin. Your support makes it possible for me to keep creating work that’s thoughtful and rooted in something deeper than the noise. You can cancel any time.
Equally powerful? Sharing this with others. If five friends join Slow Fox Life through your referral link, I’ll gift you two free months as a thank you.
So in honor of all of that. Consider this my invitation.
To all the people who…
are done with surface-level solutions to soul-deep problems.
believe the future needs more imagination, not just information.
know staying grounded is how we steady ourselves in trying times.
see joy not as an escape—but as the way through.
This is for you.
A manifesto in motion. A reminder that joy is power.
> It is not usually loud, though it can be. More often it works in whispers, and yet when we listen to it, it moves us in miraculous ways towards purpose and meaning that no other force is capable of.
Exactly this! I am increasingly finding with age that my joy is an introverted feeling in quiet and still moments -- rather than the big, expressive burst that I felt when I was younger, when the feeling spiked but would subside. The moments that I am present with it become visceral memories.