And, yes, I woke up this way.

Photo by Ashley Byrd on Unsplash

Looking at my naked self in the mirror in my twenties I thought, “I have no breasts! I’m too thin. I’m not sexy!”

My therapist at the time had told me to go home, look at myself naked in the mirror, and concentrate only on what I liked. She knew my first inclination was to criticize, and she was right.

When I made myself focus on the good, I noticed that the tiny breasts I did have were quite nice, and that my rounded derriere that boys had made fun of when I was growing up by calling me “Bubble…

Santa Fe is my spiritual home

Photo by Matt Briney on Unsplash. Adobe house in Santa Fe, New Mexico

I fell in love with Santa Fe, New Mexico when I was 23 years old. As we drove into the mountains, my husband at the time pulled over to the side of the road at the sight of the first aspen. I got out, touched it’s smooth, white bark, listened to the wind whispering through it’s leaves, and cried. I was home.

After too many decades of “trying” to move to Santa Fe, New Mexico, I finally have the determination and the beginnings of a real plan to buy a house there. Those of you who know me, who have…

Editor of New Choices. Mindfulness and antiracism practitioner before they were cool.

Head Shot by my son Blake Scott, aka Moonlair360 on social media. Notice the cat sneaking into the shot.

Once, I wrote my entire relationship history in one short, non-emotional, factual paragraph. The humorous, I hoped, plan was to text it to a first date to dispense with before the questions were asked. I never actually sent it. I’m also still single.

Here’s me, sans relationship history, longer than a paragraph, and I hope humorous and more interesting. Also in no specific order of occurrence, as that is how my mind works, and my careers have been.

I’ve been writing since I can remember. Haven’t most of us? All kinds. …


Yes, the same sweet, little grandmother who told us not to freeze our twats off

Photo by Johnny McClung on Unsplash

I can still smell the inside of my grandmother’s purse. It smelled of spearmint gum, powder from the Five and Dime store, linen from her handkerchief, and some nostalgic whiff I can’t describe, but that meant Mema. What it didn’t smell of was money.

There was always enough money to buy us 10 cent ice cream cones at the pharmacy after school every day. I’m sure there was a little more, because unlike most grandmothers in that farming community, she worked an actual job. Not that farm work isn’t work. It’s incredibly hard work.

Divorced at age 21, and left…

“There are boys just waiting for kissing, and I aim to kiss me a few” — Ann Margaret

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

I saw the movie “Bye Bye Birdie” and memorized the words to the song, “I’ve Got a Lot of Living to Do” when I was eleven years old. Obviously, at that age, of course I did. Have a lot of living to do.

That’s not all that drew me to the song, though.. I didn’t just want to live, I wanted to live like the song. The catalyst for my desire was Ann Margaret in all her sex kitten glory.

When she…

“Don’t say I can’t go with other boys” — Lesley Gore

Photo by Aral Tasher on Unsplash

This song is my earworm right now. It doesn’t help that Ariana Grande covered it, SAYGRACE and G-Eazy covered it, and Eminem sampled it on his album “Recovery.”

Songs from my youth are popping into my head making me realize why long-term relationship commitment might have been a problem in my life. Well, apart from the lack of long-term I may actually have left at my age.

On the other hand, when my Atlanta lover and I talked about how long his parents had been married, and said he didn’t think he could do that, I reminded him we could…

A story of confusion

Photo by Dainis Graveris on Unsplash

I met a man at a church. He was older than me, a Sunday school teacher with silver hair. I was a 42 year old single mom with a one year old son. He attended my son’s first birthday party, and my dad even liked him.

He told me he’d seen my therapist for awhile. She’d died, and had been my guiding light while I was in therapy. It seemed like fate.

I told him that I wasn’t ready to have sex. My son was still nursing, and my body felt sacred. I told him it wouldn’t be long before…

Not that we didn’t have our issues, or we’d still be married. However…

Photo by Radek Skrzypczak on Unsplash

As I wrote today in my usual snarky way about dating, for the Medium publication P.S. I Love You, I realized something surprising. The satori awareness was probably spurred by the fact that my first ex-husband and I were doing some insightful texting at the same time I was publishing the dating piece.

We’ve come to an understanding, he and I. We were very young, idealistic, and wildly hopeful when we met. We both thought God and faith brought us together and would heal us. We both now own our issues. Neither of us was as open and transparent about…

I am a perennial optimist about love, but enough is enough.

Photo by Dimitriy Frantsev on Unsplash

I’ve been single since my son was six years old. He’s now twenty-seven. That’s longer than I was old the first time I got married. My two and a half marriages lasted a total of fifteen years when added together. When you add in the length of time I dated those guys and my son’s father, that comes to twenty-four years partnered and twenty-eight years truly single.

In spite of how long I’ve been truly single, I swear I’m not set in my ways. That’s a silly phrase that actually means stubborn or high maintenance in my lexicon. In fact…


Doesn’t it know me better than that by now?

Photo by Taan Huyn on Unsplash

iPhone and I have been together longer than I’ve been with any of my romantic partners. Those partners may not have ever known me completely, but dammit, iPhone, I thought you were the smart one.

As I attempted to respond to Hogan Torah, I was typing the word fucking. If you’ve read Hogan, you’ll know he appreciates a good swear word or two. If you haven’t read him, do so immediately. I’ll wait.

If you look at my pic on my “About Me” article, you’ll see someone who looks like a sweet, little lady of an indeterminate age. I hope…

Carol Lennox

Psychotherapist, Hypnotherapist. Leans Left. Mindfulness practitioner before it was cool. LPC, M.Ed.

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