My name is Jennifer Boykin, and my mission is to rebrand the word “crone.” 

Actually, what I MOST want to do is create a community of a gazillion gorgeous and glam mid-life women who can’t wait to become known as “The Crone to Watch!”

Here’s how that began:

About a year ago I ran away from home to find myself.  I already knew where everyone else was. 

My plan was to write my Magnum Opus at the Hampton Inn an hour from my home.  But, after so many years of self-neglect, I was more shut-down than I realized.  And so I did what we do.

I went shopping.

And ate shrimp Caesar at Outback. 

And, THEN, I bought a pack of index cards at the drug store.  Instead of my Magnum Opus, I wrote little bits of myself on those cards.  I ate chocolate, took a nap, and wrote some more.  Two days later, I took my cards and left the hotel. 

I hadn’t found myself yet.  But I did find a way home. 

Over the course of the next year, the bits of flotsam and jetsam that were the “real Jennifer Boykin” began to come together.  And that’s when the idea of Crone-Making came to me.

Plus, I was feeling REALLY, really snarky and resentful about my last visit to the gynecologist’s office.

After the ritual scraping and prodding and such, my doctor handed me an offensive little brochure.  On it, in sepia tones of blue, there was a very old lady with “helmet head” hugging the corner of a building and smiling, but not with her eyes.

And then my doctor welcomed me to menopause.

“Whoa!” I said to myself.  “Not me.  Not me.”

“I’m still having periods.  I have an eight year old, for god’s sake.”

Apparently, though, the clock is ticking on my ovaries.

I felt a new shame as I tucked my “Welcome to Menopause” brochure in my “pocketbook.”  (Hags don’t carry “purses” or “bags.”)  I couldn’t wait to get out of that office – past the gaggle of still-vibrant, and worthy, fecund women.

Safe at home, I opened the offending brochure. 

It was published by the good folks at that well known women’s health association – D.O.U.C.H.E.S., or “Dried-Out Unworthy Crones, Hags, and Episiotomy Survivors.”

Here is what I learned I could look forward to, now that my ovaries had shriveled up into prunes while I was otherwise engaged:

• Soon enough, my vagina would have the viscosity of a bran muffin.
• Not to worry, though.  There are gels and lubricants for that once a year or so I will want sex.
• Not to worry, though.  Old ladies like golf.  Or tennis.  And then, we drink iced tea at the club. Mint and lemon completely optional!  (How fab is that!?!)
• My wardrobe would have to change.  We old gals find that denim shirts rolled up over simple tees and elastic-waist khaki pants are an ideal look.  Simple to put together.  Classic.  And budget-friendly.  Which is important because . . .
• I need to invest in good, sensible, orthopedic shoes. 
• The change in footwear is inspired by safety precautions.  Now that my spine has a distinct curvature, my center of gravity is off.  This is a problem because . . .
• My bones are getting brittle.  And when that curved spine tips me over, I’m likely to break a hip when I fall.
• Not to worry, though.  There have been miraculous innovations in joint replacement. 
• In the meantime, there is Aleve for arthritic pain.

There was one piece of really good news.  According to DOUCHES, my pearls will look great with that denim shirt and elastic-waist pants!

Enough!!!!

I CAN’T BE OLD YET!  I haven’t had MY turn!!!!

And so I ran away from home. 

Because it is my turn.  

Since, according to those experts on mid-life women over at DOUCHES, I’m practically dead now and my vagina no longer works, I might as well get on with it and do some of the things I’ve always wanted to do but was too afraid to try.

And HERE I encountered a REALLY BIG PROBLEM.

I no longer knew what I wanted to do.

It seems that sometime during the years of managing other people’s bodily fluids, I had lost track of myself.  While I was checked out of my own body, apparently someone new had checked in.

And so I spent a whole year introducing myself to myself.

The good news is you don’t have to wait until your vagina is a bran muffin or your ovaries are prunes to take a turn in your own life. 

You can start today. 

For me, that meant launching the mid-life reinvention hub - Life After Tampons - where we help women IMPLEMENT the answer to this question, “What would you do if you knew you could not fail?

We ABSOLUTELY INSIST on enjoying life.  Further, we’re rebranding mid-life as the IDEAL TIME in a woman’s life to live her great adventure.

Here are the five essential points we cover in OUR brochure for the rebranded crone:

1. Who are we?  Well, we’re who we were when we were younger – only better.  
2. We’re clever, irreverent women who, at mid-life, embrace a new vision of possibility for the years ahead.
3. We’re hot (beyond the flashes), we have a sense of humor, and we own our strengths as well as our shortcomings.  WE ARE DONE apologizing for ourselves and the choices we have or haven’t made.
4. We accept that our time here is both limited and unknown. And rather than fearing or avoiding that fact, we embrace our own mortality. We see it as a “hard stop” that holds our feet to the fire and graces us with powerful fear-removing mojo.
5. We get that finitude is the GIFT that extracts what is most precious in life. We’re jazzed about that opportunity, and we’re not WASTING ANOTHER MOMENT postponing joy.

I OWN PINK today by OWNING my body, my age, my possibilities, and my gifts in their FULL AND MAGNIFICENT GLORY.  I Own Pink today by holding space for other women who are ready to create a magical Second Journey for themselves. 

Somebody say “A-Men!”  Or, as one of my friends says, “Ah-(Wo)men!