When you jump for joy, beware that no one moves the ground from

Host: The city park glowed with that fragile gold light before sunset — a light that made everything seem almost too real, too beautiful to touch. The trees trembled slightly in the wind, their leaves whispering secrets of endings and beginnings. The faint laughter of children carried from somewhere nearby, rising and falling like a song without words.

Jack stood on the edge of an old fountain, the water still and reflecting the sky like glass. In his hand, he held a small paper cup of coffee, gone cold, but he didn’t notice. Jeeny sat on the stone ledge beside him, one leg tucked under her, her eyes following a balloon as it drifted upward — red against the pale evening sky.

Jeeny: “You know, Stanisław Jerzy Lec once said — ‘When you jump for joy, beware that no one moves the ground from beneath your feet.’”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Sounds like something a man who’s seen too much joy turn sour would say.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just someone who learned that happiness is fragile — and that the world’s full of people who envy gravity.”

Host: The wind shifted, catching the surface of the fountain and scattering the reflection into trembling fragments.

Jack: “You think that’s cynicism or wisdom?”

Jeeny: “Both. The best wisdom comes dressed in cynicism. It’s how it survives disappointment.”

Jack: (looking at her) “So he’s saying — what? Don’t trust joy?”

Jeeny: “No. Trust it — but protect it. Joy makes you vulnerable. It lifts you up, but that height… it tempts the world to remind you how far you can fall.”

Host: The sky deepened — gold turning to amber, amber to a dusky violet. The laughter of the children faded. A man walked by with a dog, nodding to them, a quiet reminder that life kept walking, whether or not they followed.

Jack: “You ever notice that people hate seeing others happy? Like it stirs something uncomfortable in them.”

Jeeny: “Because happiness in others confronts the parts of us that have gone numb. Joy’s contagious, but so is bitterness.”

Jack: “So Lec was warning us — don’t dance too loudly. The envious might hear the music.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Or he was warning us to build better ground. The kind no one can move from under you.”

Jack: “You mean, inner footing.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The kind that isn’t borrowed from circumstance or approval.”

Host: A bird landed near the fountain, hopping lightly, its reflection quivering on the water’s surface. Jeeny watched it with a small smile — the simple kind that belonged more to thought than to amusement.

Jeeny: “You know, Lec was a man who lived through war, exile, betrayal. He knew what it was like to find joy — only for the ground to shift beneath him. I think that’s why his words cut so deep. They come from the memory of losing balance.”

Jack: (softly) “Joy is dangerous in times like that.”

Jeeny: “Because it feels like defiance. And defiance always draws attention.”

Jack: “And punishment.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But he’s not saying we shouldn’t jump. He’s saying — be aware. Keep your joy, but don’t forget your footing. The higher you leap, the more you need roots.”

Host: The light now faded into blue, the world turning softer, slower. Jack took a sip of his coffee — bitter now — and laughed quietly at the taste.

Jack: “You ever think maybe joy doesn’t need protection, though? Maybe it’s meant to be reckless. Maybe that’s the point — to risk falling.”

Jeeny: “That’s beautiful. But even reckless joy has wisdom. You can jump, yes. Just don’t forget you’re human. Don’t build your happiness on things that can be stolen.”

Jack: “Like people’s approval. Or success.”

Jeeny: “Or certainty.”

Jack: “Certainty — that’s the slipperiest ground of all.”

Host: The wind picked up, scattering a few leaves across the fountain’s edge. Jeeny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze distant but present.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Lec understood something we still struggle with — that happiness isn’t an escape from life’s instability. It’s a dance with it.”

Jack: “A dance that ends the second the music changes.”

Jeeny: “Unless you learn to hear the rhythm beneath the noise — the one that doesn’t depend on circumstance.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You mean faith.”

Jeeny: “Or resilience. The two aren’t so different.”

Host: The streetlights blinked on one by one, tiny halos in the misty air. The sound of the city hummed low and steady — a reminder that even in peace, movement never stopped.

Jack: “You know, when you jump for joy, you’re at your lightest — but also your most unguarded. Maybe that’s what Lec was afraid of — not falling, but trusting the ground too much.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the paradox of joy — it lifts you, but it also leaves you exposed. It’s like sunlight on glass. Beautiful, but easily shattered.”

Jack: (quietly) “And yet, we still need it.”

Jeeny: “More than anything. But we need it grounded in truth, not illusion.”

Host: Jack looked out across the park, the last light fading from the water. A small silence grew between them — full of meaning, full of the weight of their shared understanding.

Jack: “You know, I think Lec’s warning wasn’t meant to make us afraid of joy. It was meant to teach us humility inside it. To remind us that joy isn’t ownership — it’s grace. Borrowed. Momentary. Sacred.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And the only way to keep from losing it is to stop clutching it so hard.”

Jack: “So — jump for joy. Just don’t forget to land.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Land softly, and thank the ground for holding you.”

Host: The camera would pull back then — the two of them silhouetted against the soft blue of evening, their reflections trembling in the water, the fountain murmuring like an old soul remembering laughter.

The balloon that Jeeny had been watching earlier floated higher now, vanishing into the clouds — a small symbol of joy, fragile but unashamed to rise.

And in that quiet, bittersweet stillness, Stanisław Jerzy Lec’s truth lingered — tender and timeless:

That joy is flight,
but also gravity.

That every leap toward happiness
carries the echo of loss,
and every moment of light
depends on the ground beneath it.

So when you jump for joy,
do it with open eyes —
with gratitude, not blindness —
knowing that the miracle
is not just the rise,
but the grace of still having
somewhere safe
to land.