When was the last time you took a moment to jot down what you were thankful for? Not only say it over a family dinner while looking at the mashed potatoes, but they actually took the time to write it down. Three little things. It doesn’t matter if it’s profound or silly. It may be “hot coffee, decent Wi-Fi, and the fact that my dog didn’t throw up on the carpet last night.” That counts.
We only remember to be thankful when the calendar tells us to. The bird comes out on Thanksgiving, everyone shares a “blessing,” and then it goes away until next November. We light a candle for gratitude once a year. But what if it’s more like air? Something you need all the time, or you’ll die without knowing it?
That’s the heartbeat of Kimi Cole’s book Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery. Gratitude shows up again and again, not in Pinterest-perfect quotes but in raw, simple entries. Some days it’s soaring joy. Other days, it’s “See calendar.” Because life doesn’t always hand you fireworks. Sometimes all you get is oxygen, and that’s enough.
The Morning Habit That Changes Everything
Kimi has been journaling for years. Fifteen-plus, actually. Not elaborate essays, not curated diary entries that would impress anyone, just fragments. Quick lines. A few truths scrawled across a page before the day had a chance to get noisy.
And here’s the kicker: she always starts with gratitude. Three things, no matter what.
On easy days, gratitude writes itself. A friend is dropping by with wine. A laugh that comes out of nowhere. The buzz of accomplishment after crossing off too many things on the to-do list.
But on hard days? The list gets leaner. “Alive. Breathing. Ate something.” And that’s the point. Gratitude doesn’t need to be grand. It just needs to be there, steady, like a pilot light that keeps the furnace from dying out.
One reader said that after finishing Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery, they picked up the same practice. Just three bullet points each morning. A month later, their review read: “It’s weird how three lines can shift your mood. I didn’t expect it to work, but I’m lighter. Less angry, more present.”
Doesn’t sound like magic. And maybe it isn’t. But it’s enough to change the tilt of a day.
Gratitude in the Middle of Pain
Here’s where most of us get tripped up. Gratitude feels easy when life’s smooth. When the job is steady, the body’s not hurting, and relationships are calm. But Cole reminds us the real test is when it’s not.
After a brutal accident left an old friend broken and battered, she bumped into him at a nightspot years later. He didn’t even recognize her at first. When he finally did, his question wasn’t small talk. It was blunt. “Are you happy?”
Her answer? “Absolutely. Thrilled.”
And his response hit harder than the music playing: “After narrowly escaping death, I find it dumbfounding when people find nothing better to do with their time than judge others. If you’re happy, then I’m very happy for you.” Then they danced.
That’s the kind of story that sneaks up on you. Because here’s someone with every reason to focus on loss, on pain, on what’s gone. And yet gratitude. The stubborn insistence on joy, even in a body that’s been through hell.
It’s not sugarcoating. It’s survival.
Thanksgiving, Every Damn Day
Gratitude once a year is a performance. Gratitude daily is a discipline. Cole calls it “Thanksgiving 365.” The idea that thankfulness shouldn’t be tethered to a date on the calendar, or to a big meal, or to social expectation.
Why wait for November to remember you’re lucky to breathe, to love, to keep trying? Why reserve gratitude for the days that look good on Instagram?
In her book, Cole writes about mornings when she wakes up thankful to have a body, even when that body aches. Grateful to have dishes to wash because it means she ate. Thankful for friends who stuck around after the transition, and yes, even grateful for the ones who didn’t, because their absence carved space for people who would.
That’s what gratitude looks like in the wild. Messy. Imperfect. Honest.
And it works. Readers have compared her practice to “therapy without the bill.” Another called it “the least preachy self-help I’ve ever encountered.” You can feel it on the page; this isn’t advice from a podium. It’s someone scribbling truth in a notebook while the coffee cools.
Why It Matters Right Now
Look around. We’re tired. Politically divided, digitally addicted, constantly told we’re not enough unless we buy this or hustle harder. Gratitude cuts through that noise, not as a platitude, but as a grounding act.
When you jot down three things you’re thankful for, you’re saying: I’m alive. I see what’s here. I’m not entirely lost in the chaos. That practice is radical, especially in today’s world.
Cole’s fragments feel like lifelines in a distracted world. She doesn’t pretend gratitude solves everything. It doesn’t erase grief, silence trolls, or fix politics. But it helps you keep breathing in a moment that wants to suffocate you with anger and distraction.
That’s survival.
How to Start Without Overthinking
You don’t need a leather-bound journal or fancy prompts. Start with what you’ve: a notebook, a phone app, or a napkin. Write three things each morning. Don’t curate them. Don’t aim for profound.
Maybe it’s:
- The dog didn’t bark at 3 a.m.
- Coffee was strong.
- I remembered to take the trash out.
Tomorrow, maybe it’s:
- Friend called to check in.
- Sunlight on the kitchen floor.
- Breathing easier than yesterday.
That’s all. That’s the whole trick.
Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery is the book to have with you if you need a friend on the road. Open it anywhere, page 17, page 99, doesn’t matter, and you’ll find a fragment that snaps you awake, makes you laugh, or reminds you you’re not alone in the weirdness.
Ready to Try It?
If you’re waiting for the perfect moment to start a gratitude habit, it’ll never come. Life’s too messy for perfect moments. That’s why this works. Three things, every day. That’s it.
And if you want proof that this tiny practice can keep you afloat, pick up Kimi•isms: Wit, Wisdom & Word F*ckery. Readers have called it “coffee with a brutally honest friend” and “a book you dog-ear, argue with, and come back to.” It’s wit. It’s survival. It’s the realist take on gratitude you’ll find.
You can grab it on Amazon today. Please keep it on your nightstand. Toss it in your bag. Let it sit on the kitchen counter next to your coffee mug. Wherever you’ll see it, because this isn’t