How to practice gratitude when you’re literally staring at your cat’s asshole because he parked it on your chest at 4:47 AM—yeah, that’s where I started this morning in my freezing Ohio apartment. The radiator’s clanking like it’s auditioning for a metal band, my phone’s blowing up with election texts, and somehow I’m supposed to feel #blessed? But here’s the thing—I’ve been forcing this gratitude practice for like 73 days straight now, and against all odds, it’s kinda working. Not in that Instagram-perfect way, but in the “I didn’t yell at the slow barista” kind of way.
Why My Gratitude Practice Started with a Parking Ticket
Look, I was that person. The one who’d rant about how “everything sucks” while stress-eating gas station taquitos at 2 AM. Then I got a $47 parking ticket because I was too busy doom-scrolling to move my car during street cleaning. Sitting there in my frost-covered Civic, watching the meter maid walk away like she just stole my firstborn, something snapped. I started gratitude journaling right there on the back of the ticket envelope. Wrote: “Grateful the car’s not towed, grateful I have $47, grateful this isn’t Florida where it’d be $200.” Felt ridiculous. Felt better.
The Science Bit (That I Googled at 3 AM)
Apparently your brain’s like a needy toddler—if you keep feeding it complaints, it throws tantrums. But studies from places like Harvard (yeah, I read the actual paper, don’t @ me) say consistent gratitude practice rewires your neural pathways or whatever. Made me think of my mom’s old church saying about “counting blessings instead of sheep.” Except my sheep are student loans and that weird noise my fridge makes.
Step 1: How to Practice Gratitude When Everything’s Literally on Fire
Start stupid small. Like, comically small. My first week? I was grateful for the specific burner on my stove that actually lights on the first try. The left front one? Trash. But that right back burner? My ride or die. Write it down. Say it out loud. Text it to your group chat like the unhinged person you are. “Thankful for functioning kitchen appliances” got me 17 laughing emojis and one “are you okay Becky?”
- Hot tap water that doesn’t require a plumbing degree
- The barista who spells my name right (miracle)
- Socks without holes (currently 3/7 days)
Step 2: Make Your Gratitude Practice Weirdly Specific
Generic “I’m thankful for my health” is bullshit. Too easy to dismiss. I started getting aggressively specific: “Grateful my left knee only hurts when I climb stairs two at a time, which I do exactly never.” Or “Thankful that my neighbor’s dog only barks at 6 AM, giving me a solid 5 hours of sleep.” The specificity makes it real. Makes it yours. Makes the cashier at Kroger look at you funny when you mutter “blessed be the functioning self-checkout” under your breath.
The Time I Gratitude’d My Ex’s New Girlfriend
True story: Ran into my ex at Target. He’s with this woman who looks like she drinks kale and does yoga at 5 AM. My brain’s default setting? Pure venom. But I’d been 42 days into my gratitude practice and something possessed me to think: “Grateful she’s making him happy so I don’t have to fake it anymore.” Said it in my head. Felt my shoulders drop. Bought myself the good ice cream. Progress?
Step 3: Build a Gratitude Practice That Survives Your Actual Life
My alarm’s set for 5:30 AM with a label that says “GRATITUDE OR BUST.” Snooze it twice, then stumble to the kitchen where I keep my journal next to the coffee filters—strategic placement. Three things before caffeine hits my bloodstream:
- Something I can see right now (today: frost patterns on window looking like tiny mountains)
- Something my body can still do (wiggle toes without pain—luxury)
- Something I’m actively not dealing with today (no dentist appointments, hallelujah)
Takes 90 seconds. Costs nothing. Prevents me from becoming the person who kicks shopping carts in parking lots.
Step 4: How to Practice Gratitude When People Are The Worst
Humans are garbage sometimes. My upstairs neighbor practices tap dancing at 11 PM. The Facebook aunt who shares Minion memes about politics. That guy who vapes in the elevator. My gratitude practice for people? The “one good thing” rule. For every human who makes me want to scream:
- Tap dancer? Keeps weird hours = probably a nurse = saving lives
- Minion aunt? Still sends me birthday cards with $5 = consistent love
- Vape guy? Wears funny hats = brings unexpected joy to my day
Doesn’t make them less annoying. Makes me less homicidal.
My Gratitude Journal Looks Like a Crime Scene
Pages covered in coffee rings, crossed-out complaints, doodles of middle fingers. One entry just says “THE AUDACITY OF THIS DAY” in all caps, followed by “but my car started so whatever.” Another has a pressed leaf from the park where I cried about rent prices.
Step 5: Turn Gratitude Practice into Muscle Memory
Made it a game. Every time I wash my hands (which is, like, 47 times a day because germaphobe), I name one thing. Sink at work? Grateful for the job that pays for my stupid parking tickets. Bathroom at the gas station? Grateful for indoor plumbing and the fact that I don’t live in the 1800s. My therapist says this is “cognitive reframing.” I say it’s keeping me out of jail.
Step 6: How to Practice Gratitude When You’re Actually Winning
The dangerous part. Got a raise? New relationship? Perfect pumpkin spice latte? Easy to be grateful then. But my practice taught me to dig deeper: “Grateful for this raise, but specifically grateful that my boss noticed I stayed late without making a fuss.” Makes the good stuff stickier. Less likely to take it for granted when the inevitable shitstorm returns.
The Thanksgiving Disaster of 2023
Hosted my family. Burned the turkey. Aunt Karen brought up politics. Someone’s kid drew on my walls with permanent marker. Mid-chaos, I grabbed my phone and added to my gratitude list: “Thankful for fire alarms that work, for family who shows up even when I ruin dinner, for washable paint (lies—it wasn’t).” Everyone thought I’d lost it. Maybe I had. Felt okay though.
Step 7: Make Your Gratitude Practice Outlive Your Motivation
Motivation is a dirty liar. Some days I forget. Some days I write “grateful for wine” three times and call it good. The trick? Accountability that doesn’t suck. Made a deal with my best friend: we text each other one gratitude every day. Hers are poetic. Mine are usually “grateful the Uber driver didn’t talk.” 68-day streak and counting.
Look, this gratitude practice isn’t going to pay my bills or fix democracy or make my cat stop farting on my pillow. But it’s carved out this tiny pocket of calm in my consistently chaotic American existence. The radiator still clanks. The election ads still make me want to scream. But now I have this running list in my head of small, weird, specific things that don’t suck. And somehow, that’s enough to keep me from becoming the person who yeets their phone into traffic.
Try it for a week. Make it stupid. Make it yours. Text me your dumbest gratitude—I might just add it to mine.
(References: Harvard study on gratitude and well-being, Greater Good Science Center gratitude practices)
