Thicker Than Water

     I've always found the phrase "blood is thicker than water" to be a bit macabre and abstract, but lately I think I am understanding it more (or, likely as is the case with my tendency to overanalyze, I understand more about it than there actually is to be understood). So I have decided to take a closer look at this saying. And for those of you with distaste for the natural sciences, I apologize for everything that is to follow.

     First, naturally, I wanted to understand the difference between the thickness of blood and water. Thickness is commonly quantified by viscosity, which is essentially how much resistance a fluid has to flowing. Now, viscosity can vary based on the temperature and will also vary depending on the sample of a variable composition fluid like blood, but for the sake of the metaphor blood is typically considered to be 3-5 times as viscous, or thick, as water.

     So let's start by considering the most basic comparison that this metaphor offers up: the thickness. The increased relative thickness of blood means that it has more of a tendency to stick together than water does. I have to assume that this is the driving force behind the creation and success of this phrase; when we have a closer bond, we say that we "stick together" (though "through thick and thin" is usually appended to the end of this, which doesn't make much sense in a metaphor about thickness vs. thinness, so we'll ignore that part). So comparing a highly viscous fluid (blood is a good choice since families "share the same blood") and a low-viscosity fluid (water is common, universal, and bland, thus accessible) creates a great metaphor to point out the innately tighter bond that family has.

      A higher viscosity not only means more thickness but more resistance due to friction. This means that it takes more effort to pump blood through your veins than it would to pump water through them. And, in the same way, our familial relationships often involve more friction and take more effort than our other relationships. But blood has to be more viscous, otherwise it wouldn't be able to carry oxygen or coagulate. And familial ties have to have that friction, that intense effort at times, because otherwise we'd take them for granted. They make us grow, independently and as a unit. Without that friction, without that effort, we wouldn't be able to support each other when it mattered.

     I mentioned that blood is a fluid of variable composition, meaning that it is a mixture of different substances but not always in the same ratio. Well, what do you suppose makes up the vast majority of blood's composition? Yup, water, at 90%. So water is in fact the most fundamental part of blood, and a combination of small but important particles like proteins and platelets are what make blood the unique life-sustaining liquid that it is. This is slightly ironic, but mostly poetic, because if we extend the metaphor even further in light of this new information we will realize that our familial ties are fundamentally similar to our other relationships with only some small but important differences like upbringing, traditions, trials, shared memories, genetic predispositions, and mutually acquired tastes and tendencies to separate them and make them something far greater.

     Let's now notice that water and blood are the two most vital fluids for human existence. Water is much more utilitarian and abundant when compared with blood. Water is involved in almost every process the human body has, essential and non-essential, and so we are reminded that our tertiary relationships aren't just about comfort but also about sustaining our life and sanity just like water is. (Let's also realize though, that water is easily replaceable, just as these relationships often are.) Blood, while providing some comforts like temperature regulation, is pretty much all about one thing: keeping you alive by providing fresh oxygen and healing open wounds. Ultimately, family isn't about making you comfortable, it's about sustaining your life.

     Let's also realize that blood is not stagnant. We are constantly losing blood, just as we lose when it comes to family. Sometimes those losses come by the drop, little fights that will mend. Sometimes we experience a more drastic blood flow and lose a little more, whether through strain or loss or distance or a moral, social, or religious disagreement- not enough to put us in danger but enough to cause alarm (and possible lightheadedness). Then there are those significant losses where you find yourself looking upon a crimson puddle while clutching a deep wound, and because of death, divorce, or desertion you now find yourself in need of emotional life-support.

     I would contend that the subsequent blood transfusions, those temporary replacements for your own blood in order to survive, are like support groups that temporarily fill the familial void until you can properly fill it yourself. And how do you ultimately fill it yourself? Well, what is blood except water and a few key ingredients? A select portion of your water, or friends, will eventually accumulate the necessary extra ingredients to become just like your blood, or family, performing all of the same functions and possessing the same inseparability.

     Let's take things one step further. Let's compare the relative abundance of both fluids in the human body. Most people know that water accounts for roughly 70-75% of your body's weight. Blood, on the other hand, accounts for only about 8% (and, keep in mind, 90% of that blood is actually water). Our familial bonds are so scarce compared to all of our other bonds, which makes them that much more important.

     My freshman year at Vanderbilt I didn't have any good friends at school until the last month or two when I finally met someone that really seemed to get me. I was intimidated by the amount of friends he had, though; whenever we went anywhere we'd have to stop every 10 feet so that he could catch up with someone I had never even seen before. It wasn't until the last night on campus that he told me that he felt as alone as I did, that he had a sea of acquaintances but no true friends. Given the amount and apparent depth of his connections, I couldn't understand this. Then, the nest semester he left Vanderbilt and I became very active in different organizations to fill a void. A few weeks into the semester I was greeted by tons of people all across campus; I would even occasionally come up in conversations between friends of friends and they'd say, "O, I know Ian; I love him!" in passing, but I still didn't have any true friends. I never knew who I’d be spending my weekends with, I never had anyone to confide in. Without having anybody within 400 miles of me that I planned on staying acquainted with after graduation, I constantly had that nagging sensation of being alone in a room full of people.

     Water water everywhere (and not a drop of blood).

     But we adapt, we build on old relationships and find new ones in order to stabilize our blood supply one way or another. We don’t let petty differences or time apart separate us. Our blood is more resilient than that.

     With all of the enormous changes that I have had with my family and friends lately, I realize the inherent truths (and truths that I have just chosen to derive myself) to this age-old saying more than ever. With 9 time zones now separating me from my only sibling, blood seems thicker than ever. It has to be. Because I don’t just have regular ole water to compare my blood to now, I’ve got the Pacific Ocean.