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Joy Hunter: Messy Faceplants, Radical Love, and the Journey That Changed Everything
A timely, colorful, and cinematic memoir chronicling one woman's journey to rediscover her own power, resilience, and happiness
"Joy Hunter gives us all permission to be human and invites us to radically love ourselves for exactly who we are."-KRISTEN BELL
I took a bone-deep breath as we drove away from my state, my city, my street, and my house, escaping my life and leaving behind all my broken parts.
With a successful speaking career putting her on the road 250 days a year, a slew of prestigious awards for her activism, the hugely successful book I Am That Girl, and a happy marriage, Alexis Jones was living a seemingly charmed life. But the principles of self-care, setting boundaries, and eschewing perfectionism that she espoused in her talks didn't seem to translate into her own life; she still never seemed to feel "enough" inside. Then, in a matter of months, things started to fall apart on the outside, too: She discovered that the man she'd always called dad was not her biological father, she had a devastating miscarriage, and the pandemic sidelined her travel schedule-and paycheck. A self-described "productivity junkie," she was forced to slow down for the first time in her life.
Hoping that time away would be a good distraction from all the chaos and heartbreak, Alexis rented an RV and set out for the open road to explore the rugged American west with her husband and their best friend. For her, the trip was both healing and disruptive. In the presence of nature's majesty, she re-learned the art of sitting still and surrendering to the unknowable; along treacherous hiking trails she wrestled with her self-doubt and fear of failure; and through profound conversations with friends old and new, she reconnected to the power of sisterhood and began to rebelliously reconsider her priorities and ambitions-for herself and whatever shape her family might take going forward.
A soulful memoir of seeking and finding, Joy Hunter traces Alexis's quest to reclaim her voice and find wholeness within. Along the way she discovers that there is always purpose to our pain and that happiness is not something that can simply be checked off a list. Joy, it turns out, is not a destination; it's a way of life.
"Joy Hunter gives us all permission to be human and invites us to radically love ourselves for exactly who we are."-KRISTEN BELL
I took a bone-deep breath as we drove away from my state, my city, my street, and my house, escaping my life and leaving behind all my broken parts.
With a successful speaking career putting her on the road 250 days a year, a slew of prestigious awards for her activism, the hugely successful book I Am That Girl, and a happy marriage, Alexis Jones was living a seemingly charmed life. But the principles of self-care, setting boundaries, and eschewing perfectionism that she espoused in her talks didn't seem to translate into her own life; she still never seemed to feel "enough" inside. Then, in a matter of months, things started to fall apart on the outside, too: She discovered that the man she'd always called dad was not her biological father, she had a devastating miscarriage, and the pandemic sidelined her travel schedule-and paycheck. A self-described "productivity junkie," she was forced to slow down for the first time in her life.
Hoping that time away would be a good distraction from all the chaos and heartbreak, Alexis rented an RV and set out for the open road to explore the rugged American west with her husband and their best friend. For her, the trip was both healing and disruptive. In the presence of nature's majesty, she re-learned the art of sitting still and surrendering to the unknowable; along treacherous hiking trails she wrestled with her self-doubt and fear of failure; and through profound conversations with friends old and new, she reconnected to the power of sisterhood and began to rebelliously reconsider her priorities and ambitions-for herself and whatever shape her family might take going forward.
A soulful memoir of seeking and finding, Joy Hunter traces Alexis's quest to reclaim her voice and find wholeness within. Along the way she discovers that there is always purpose to our pain and that happiness is not something that can simply be checked off a list. Joy, it turns out, is not a destination; it's a way of life.
Editorial Reviews
"Alexis Jones is wicked smart and totally captivating in every sense of the word. Joy Hunter may be her greatest feat yet. It's a story that is graced with her grit, grace, love, and the deep wisdom that she found on the other side of crushing heartbreak. This inspiring book reminds us all that even in the face of our hardest, darkest moments, joy still exists."-Marie Forleo, New York Times bestselling author of Everything is Figureoutable
"A decade and a half of friendship later and Alexis Jones continues to inspire me with her humor and brave vulnerability in talking about the things we're told to bury. Joy Hunter gives us all permission to be human and invites us to radically love ourselves for exactly who we are."-Kristen Bell
"A decade and a half of friendship later and Alexis Jones continues to inspire me with her humor and brave vulnerability in talking about the things we're told to bury. Joy Hunter gives us all permission to be human and invites us to radically love ourselves for exactly who we are."-Kristen Bell
Readers Top Reviews
J.K
I had never heard of the author before reading her book. She is very accomplished but what I’m really impressed with is she won the showcase showdown on The Price is Right! That show was a staple of my childhood as I competed from my parents’ living room 😀 Jones grapples with a secret about her past and her want for a child along with a host of other topics. She is very fortunate to have two her father and her husband, who from her descriptions, are outstanding men. I liked her family history stories. Jones comes to many realizations after a transformative trip out west, many that it takes some people a lifetime to admit. And she gets to live in Montana!
Rebecca
I have never written a review about anything but was inspired to about Joy Hunter, cause it’s exceptional. This book starts like a conversation with a good friend, and it ends with you having heard a tale that will break your heart, prompt you to laughter, all while being genuinely startled and amazed at how fate plays out for the author, as she truly learns who she is in all the ways.. but mostly, and this is why I am writing my first review about a book or anything… it will leave you reflecting on how you find and can seek… hunt even… joy in your own life. I felt changed at the end of this book. I have a feeling the many other people that find this book will to. It’s… So good. It’s joyful actually.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
Summer camp and traveling have always been in my blood. At the age of seven, I first left home and headed to Laity Lodge Youth Camp (LLYC) for two unfailingly fantastic weeks. Even now as I type, I can't wipe the smile off my face because I LIVED FOR SUMMER CAMP. I'm using shouty caps because that's the best way I know to explain the energy surging through my body as I think about my happy place. For fourteen consecutive summers, the memories I made in the sweltering Texas hill country-sleeping in un-air-conditioned hot boxes each night-remain some of the best experiences of my life.
LLYC was a coed Christian sports camp, and we filled our days there with every team sport imaginable, plus arts and crafts, rappelling, archery, riflery, horseback riding, and mountain biking. At night we watched movies on the tennis courts and caught lightning bugs in the palms of our soft adolescent hands. I'm pretty sure I didn't end a session without a bona fide camp boyfriend, but we were careful to make sure that when we were slow dancing, there was always enough room between us for Jesus.
When I look at old photos from these summers, tucked away in a metal lunch box in my closet, I see our sun-kissed faces and tan lines and am reminded of melting s'mores, frozen Snicker bars, dancing under the stars, food fights, and swimming in the emerald green water of the river that ran like a snake through the carved out canyon walls. From the moment I arrived at camp until the moment I departed, I wasn't just happy; it felt as if my heart was so full that whatever liquid joy had been pumped into me was spilling out all over me and around me, coating everything it touched, myself included, in a warm, gooey metallic gold. This pure, unadulterated joy was my default setting at camp. Back then, I didn't have to try to find it or discover it. It felt as natural as breathing.
As I grew older, I discovered that traveling, especially to unknown places, offered me this same kind of joy. When I was fifteen, I traveled outside of the country for the first time, flying to Costa Rica to live with my brother and his family for the summer. At first, the foreignness intimidated me; I was afraid to venture out into this new, unknown world. It felt safe inside the little house with the familiar faces of my sister-in-law and my toddler-aged niece and nephew. But after a few days of tagging along with them while my brother worked, I realized that I would likely die from boredom if I spent an entire summer inside.
My first foray out was to the convenience store on the corner of our block. In carefully studied Spanish, I asked to buy a candy bar. The next day I made it a block farther. And a little farther the day after that, quickly walking back to the safety of home base after each outing. I began to recognize the neighbors and got to know the neighborhood, eventually daring to use my budding vocabulary and imperfectly conjugated verbs as I waved and walked on by. At sixteen years old, I returned home at the end of the summer having experienced my first adult beverage, my first night of stoned laughter, and my first nightclub dance party. I also returned with an earned sense of confidence, an insatiable desire to keep exploring, and a permanent tattoo that I effectively hid from my dad . . . for years.
It's as if the universe heard my beacon going off like a Bat-Signal and sent me a fairy god/grandfather a year later who would support my newfound itch to travel despite my family's modest income (a euphemism for my family just being perpetually broke). Having inherited all of his financial wealth, Mr. Dunn was like a surrogate father to my mom and a surrogate grandfather to me. As he was well into his eighties, his passion for travel had become too difficult for him to pursue alone. He was estranged from his only relative-a son-so during all my high school holidays, my mom and I were invited to join him on all his extraordinary adventures around the world, at the tail end of his beautiful life. In return for his outrageous generosity, and being the effective "help," we earned our keep, overseeing all the travel logistics, pushing his wheelchair, and keeping him amused with our fresh-eyed views of the world we were exploring together. Like a twenty-first-century Cinderella, I was swept away to magical places we could never have otherwise afforded: Morocco, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Monaco, France, Switzerland, Spain, and the Channel Islands. Then when the proverbial clock turned midnight, my mom and I would humbly return to our tiny rented home in Cuernavaca, and I'd pray our phone wasn't turned off again because we couldn't pay the bill that month. When Mr. Dunn passed away a few years l...
Summer camp and traveling have always been in my blood. At the age of seven, I first left home and headed to Laity Lodge Youth Camp (LLYC) for two unfailingly fantastic weeks. Even now as I type, I can't wipe the smile off my face because I LIVED FOR SUMMER CAMP. I'm using shouty caps because that's the best way I know to explain the energy surging through my body as I think about my happy place. For fourteen consecutive summers, the memories I made in the sweltering Texas hill country-sleeping in un-air-conditioned hot boxes each night-remain some of the best experiences of my life.
LLYC was a coed Christian sports camp, and we filled our days there with every team sport imaginable, plus arts and crafts, rappelling, archery, riflery, horseback riding, and mountain biking. At night we watched movies on the tennis courts and caught lightning bugs in the palms of our soft adolescent hands. I'm pretty sure I didn't end a session without a bona fide camp boyfriend, but we were careful to make sure that when we were slow dancing, there was always enough room between us for Jesus.
When I look at old photos from these summers, tucked away in a metal lunch box in my closet, I see our sun-kissed faces and tan lines and am reminded of melting s'mores, frozen Snicker bars, dancing under the stars, food fights, and swimming in the emerald green water of the river that ran like a snake through the carved out canyon walls. From the moment I arrived at camp until the moment I departed, I wasn't just happy; it felt as if my heart was so full that whatever liquid joy had been pumped into me was spilling out all over me and around me, coating everything it touched, myself included, in a warm, gooey metallic gold. This pure, unadulterated joy was my default setting at camp. Back then, I didn't have to try to find it or discover it. It felt as natural as breathing.
As I grew older, I discovered that traveling, especially to unknown places, offered me this same kind of joy. When I was fifteen, I traveled outside of the country for the first time, flying to Costa Rica to live with my brother and his family for the summer. At first, the foreignness intimidated me; I was afraid to venture out into this new, unknown world. It felt safe inside the little house with the familiar faces of my sister-in-law and my toddler-aged niece and nephew. But after a few days of tagging along with them while my brother worked, I realized that I would likely die from boredom if I spent an entire summer inside.
My first foray out was to the convenience store on the corner of our block. In carefully studied Spanish, I asked to buy a candy bar. The next day I made it a block farther. And a little farther the day after that, quickly walking back to the safety of home base after each outing. I began to recognize the neighbors and got to know the neighborhood, eventually daring to use my budding vocabulary and imperfectly conjugated verbs as I waved and walked on by. At sixteen years old, I returned home at the end of the summer having experienced my first adult beverage, my first night of stoned laughter, and my first nightclub dance party. I also returned with an earned sense of confidence, an insatiable desire to keep exploring, and a permanent tattoo that I effectively hid from my dad . . . for years.
It's as if the universe heard my beacon going off like a Bat-Signal and sent me a fairy god/grandfather a year later who would support my newfound itch to travel despite my family's modest income (a euphemism for my family just being perpetually broke). Having inherited all of his financial wealth, Mr. Dunn was like a surrogate father to my mom and a surrogate grandfather to me. As he was well into his eighties, his passion for travel had become too difficult for him to pursue alone. He was estranged from his only relative-a son-so during all my high school holidays, my mom and I were invited to join him on all his extraordinary adventures around the world, at the tail end of his beautiful life. In return for his outrageous generosity, and being the effective "help," we earned our keep, overseeing all the travel logistics, pushing his wheelchair, and keeping him amused with our fresh-eyed views of the world we were exploring together. Like a twenty-first-century Cinderella, I was swept away to magical places we could never have otherwise afforded: Morocco, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Monaco, France, Switzerland, Spain, and the Channel Islands. Then when the proverbial clock turned midnight, my mom and I would humbly return to our tiny rented home in Cuernavaca, and I'd pray our phone wasn't turned off again because we couldn't pay the bill that month. When Mr. Dunn passed away a few years l...
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