On the one hand, I love the fact that we are all — to use the terminology of both modfather Paul Weller and comics icon Steve Ditko — Changing Men (and Women, and Non-Binary Folk). There’s something comforting to me about the fact that we’re not tied to one particular definition or even identity if we don’t want to be, and the self-actualization implicit in that reality is also a comfort, in its own way; we get to make our own realities to a certain degree, and the change implicit in that is evidence of a particularly good thing.
On the other, I am more than slightly unnerved about my recent discovery that my bellybutton has, at some point in my life, changed from being an innie to an outtie, and I didn’t even realize when it happened.
Look, I’m all too aware that my body is becoming that of not just any middle aged man, but my fact when he was in his mid-to-late 40s; my stomach is swelling, and I’m not doing anywhere near the right amount of exercise to take care of that. (I will, I promise, just not right now; I have a blog post to finish, after all.) And it’s possible that my increasing width around the midriff is what’s changed the polarity of my bellybutton. Still, there’s something… unexpected about it.
It’s not as if I’ve ever placed too much value on the innie or the outtie as a meaningful thing in any manner; it’s not something that defines you as an introvert or an extrovert, or any similar thing as much as that would be a fun connection. Nonetheless, catching sight of my belly the other day and going, that doesn’t look right was one of those moments where your brain just takes a brief moment to click and your thoughts start to veer off into another direction, entirely unexpectedly. I thought I knew what I looked like; turns out, I didn’t, not entirely.
So: I’m not who I thought I was. Part of me is different, and I’m just sitting here thinking, I’m okay with that, really while being just a little unsettled as well. In the strangest way, that in itself feels somewhat fitting. After all, what is change, if not an inability to stick in one fixed form? It’s ambiguity itself made into action, so perhaps I can have some ambiguity in how I feel about it, as well.




