Why orange juice?

The Tripp clan gathers around the granite island. We spin anything round away from us. As the plastic toys and white board markers approach the far end of the island, the objects either catch and spin back toward us or clatter to the wood floor amid raucaus laughter.

Johnny, drool hanging from one side of his mouth, reaches toward the floor. He takes a bouncing toy off the chest. “HA HA HA, Johnny!” someone yells. As Johnny swivels his head he catches site of the orange juice container that was left out earlier and raises his plastic cup, “Agah uh?”

“You want some OJ, Johnny?” My mom asks. “Uguh uh.” And he thrusts his cup at the OJ.

“Okay, buddy. Set your cup down.” My mom commands.

There’s still bouncing toys and yelling and laughing. Johnny only has eyes for the juice, a quizzical look plastered on his face. As my mom starts pouring, the quizzical frown flattens and his eyes ignite. The edges of his mouth turn up. The smile grows. Slowly at first, then faster, until it swallows the whole room and we’re all lost in his guttural roar of laughter.

Johnny only needs OJ to find joy. Structuring my thinking and distilling big data into actionable information for my colleagues is my OJ. I’m a little late to the game, but now that I know what will bring me joy there simply isn’t enough time to not do it.