Over the years, there has been a lot of talk about how being alone is better than being with the wrong person. I agree with that. It is better to be alone than to be with someone who hurts you.
But what concerns me now is something else. In trying to avoid the wrong person, it feels like some people have built an impossible standard. A bar so high that no one could realistically reach it. Not even Justin Hartley.
And yet, I want to enter into evidence the quiet case for companionship.
There is something about marriage, about partnership, that elevates life. Yes, there are the obvious things. A built-in date for anything. Someone to share dinners, errands, small moments. That part shines.
But there is something deeper than looks, occupation, or bank account.
Choosing to walk through life alone, on purpose, does something to the mind. It can turn life inward. It can become, in some ways, like Dostoyevsky’s White Nights. A world where imagination fills the gaps. Where connection is longed for but not quite lived. Where even the ordinary begins to feel distant.
It reminds me of Robert Frost’s Acquainted with the Night:
“I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.”
Companionship, when it is right, is a reciprocal joy. It is not perfection. It is not performance. It is an invitation. One that is given and received without judgment.
If ever I fall
somewhere hard to land
I hope my palm would be met by a friend.
If ever I go,
rather than on my own,
I pray we’ll be arm in arm
than go it alone
(Go it Alone by Martina Griffin)
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Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |
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A novel about love, grief, and what is remembered and misunderstood.
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