Hi, this is your bellybutton a/k/a navel, a/k/a umbilicus.
I know I don’t do a lot of important stuff like your liver or your brain. I’m basically just a random knot of flesh that’s somehow weirdly attached to your lower regions. Play around with me and I’ll make you feel like you want to vomit, pee, and have sex at the same time.
I know all about how gross I smell. You would too if you had at least 67 groups of organisms stored in some tiny dank, neglected body part that once served as a feeding tube between you and mom when you were a sub-human collection of cells.
I know you don’t think about me much except during those asinine yoga and Pilates classes you insist on taking. Then it’s all about bringing “your bellybutton to your spine.” Holy Cow, lady! There’s no way in hell that I’m going to reach your backbone. Let’s talk some basic anatomy here. There are all kinds of muscles and organs and squish between me and your spine. And do you know how ridiculous you look trying to make it happen? Squeezing, huffing, puffing, holding in, rib cage this, shoulders that. Like all that tantric breathing and mind-body woo woo is going to defy the laws of physics. I’m in the front of your body and your spine is way in the back. Never the twain shall meet.
And let’s imagine for a minute that you actually got me to reach your spine. You’d either 1) explode into bits of blood and viscera, 2) turn into a two-dimensional Colorform, or 3) get booked as a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Why is that shit-grinned yogini of yours so hung up on this superhuman feat? Why doesn’t she just ask you to levitate or grow a halo?
I’m not against imagining in some alternate universe that it’s possible for me to meet up with your spine. While we’re at it, let’s bring our butt hole to our inner ear and make our left nipple gently land on our right heel. In fact, why not just invent an Innard Twister Game to make us all feel woefully inadequate?
Here’s my take as your body’s do-nothing pseudo organ: Keep me as far away as possible from that lumbar ladder. I want nothing to do with it. Looking for some tips? Get to the beach ASAP. Order up a nice root beer floatie and fries. Relax. Have a beer. Slouch. Elastic waists only. Discard belts. Now, doesn’t that feel better? You might even be OK if I turn into an outie.