Trying to Be Grateful In It
Learning to notice the wisdom inside the moments we'd rather avoid
There’s something small I keep coming back to, especially when things feel unsteady. You don’t need to spend thousands of dollars to access it. You don’t need to go on a retreat. It’s available right where you are.
This morning, like most mornings, I began with a list.
Five things I’m thankful for.
The items change day to day, but the practice stays the same. I write the list without fail.
Sometimes it looks like this:
Connecting with someone about fears and vulnerabilities
Noticing my triggers as they arise
Being in a relationship that encourages growth
This small ritual keeps my attention anchored in what matters. It gently aligns intention with awareness. It’s a practice I return to again and again. One I often suggest to others.
Last week, my partner and I were sitting in a local coffee shop, lucky enough to get the window seat overlooking the street. In the window display were old copies of Natural Awakenings magazine.
One cover caught my eye. The word Joy was printed boldly across it.
I picked it up and flipped to the article. Inside was a quote that stayed with me:
“There’s a difference between gratitude for and gratitude in. It’s easy to be grateful for positive windfalls like winning the lottery or receiving a nice gift. But when something challenging happens, such as a loved one receiving a serious medical diagnosis, how can we be grateful in that moment for the gift that lies in the wisdom of that situation?”
— Jennifer Joy Jimenez
That distinction, gratitude for versus gratitude in, feels like the deeper layer of the practice.
Because after I write my list, I often find myself journaling about it. The surface gratitude opens a door.
When I lost my job, my list often included something like.
“I’m thankful for the skills I developed while employed.”
There’s more in that sentence than it first appears.
It shifts the mind away from blame, away from replaying what went wrong or who was at fault, and toward something steadier. Gratitude softens the initial reaction. It creates space. And in that space, there’s a kind of clarity that begins to emerge.
It also points to interconnectedness.
I didn’t develop those skills alone. There were people, moments, and challenges. An entire web of conditions that made that growth possible. Recognizing that naturally gives rise to compassion.
Losing the job wasn’t what I wanted. It was difficult. But it was what happened.
And within it, there was something to learn.
Now imagine meeting each difficult moment this way.
A job loss.
A diagnosis.
A surge of anger or jealousy.
Whatever arises—what if, instead of resisting it, you became curious about it?
What if you could sit with the experience and ask, “Where is the wisdom here?”
That’s a different kind of strength. A quieter kind of empowerment.
Jennifer’s question lingers for me:
How can we be grateful in the moment for the wisdom within the situation?
I don’t always get it right. But it feels like a direction worth walking toward.
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This is where I keep brushing up against Buddhist practice. The Dharma offers a framework for transforming adversity into the path itself. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” we begin to ask.
“Can this moment be my teacher?”
Reframing challenges this way doesn’t make them disappear. It doesn’t turn pain into something pleasant.
But it does begin to shift the relationship we have with difficulty.
Over time, the mind that clings, “me, me, me”, starts to loosen.
You can feel the weight of that mindset in questions like.
“Why did this happen to me?”
“Why would someone do this to me?”
“When will things finally go my way?”
There’s a heaviness there. A tightening.
Now notice what happens when the questions change.
“What can I learn from this?”
“How can I apply this lesson elsewhere?”
“How many others might be feeling something similar right now?”
There’s space in those questions.
A softening. A widening.
They move you from the head to the heart. From reaction to reflection.
And the practice itself is simple.
A quiet moment in the morning.
A notebook.
Maybe a cup of coffee or tea.
Five things you’re grateful for.
That’s where it begins.
This morning, I wrote my five things. Some felt real. Some didn’t.
I’m still sitting with them.