My husband and I are best of friends first and foremost. We fight

“My husband and I are best of friends first and foremost. We fight like cats and dogs, but never stay mad for long. I was lucky to find him, he is in every way, my soulmate.” These words of Carnie Wilson, simple in tone yet rich in spirit, speak of one of life’s greatest harmonies — the union of love and friendship. Many speak of passion, of beauty, of the first spark that lights the heart aflame, but Wilson’s words remind us that true companionship is not built upon fleeting desire. It is founded upon friendship, forgiveness, and mutual respect — a bond that endures not because it is without storms, but because it has learned to sail through them.

The ancients often said that love without friendship is like a flame without oil — it burns brightly but dies swiftly. To be best of friends first and foremost means to see one’s partner not merely as a lover, but as a confidant, a fellow traveler of the soul. In friendship there is honesty, laughter, and the freedom to be imperfect. It is in this sacred ground that the roots of soulmates grow — not from fantasy, but from shared understanding. Wilson’s confession that she and her husband “fight like cats and dogs” is not a flaw, but a mark of vitality. For where there is closeness, there will be friction; yet in love tempered by friendship, anger melts quickly into affection, and disagreement becomes another language of intimacy.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius and his wife Faustina the Younger, whose marriage was far from serene. History tells us they quarreled, faced scandal, and endured tragedy. Yet through it all, the Stoic emperor wrote in his Meditations of gratitude for her affection, her patience, and her loyalty. Their bond was not defined by perfection, but by endurance. They quarreled, yes — but they stayed. They faltered, but they grew. Their union was the living echo of Wilson’s words: to fight, to forgive, and to love again — that is the rhythm of a friendship woven with devotion.

The phrase “never stay mad for long” carries the secret wisdom of mature love. For anger, if left to linger, becomes poison; but if released, it becomes renewal. Those who can forgive quickly, who can laugh even after tears, have discovered the alchemy of the heart. They understand that to love deeply is not to avoid conflict, but to master reconciliation. The couple who can fight fiercely and then reach for each other afterward have found something divine — the courage to be both honest and tender, both human and eternal.

To call one’s partner a “soulmate” is not to claim perfection, but to recognize reflection. A soulmate is the mirror through which we learn who we truly are — our flaws, our fears, our capacities for kindness. It is through the presence of such a person that we become better than ourselves. And so, Wilson’s gratitude — “I was lucky to find him” — rings like an ancient prayer of thanksgiving. For in every age, to find one who both challenges and cherishes you is among the rarest blessings under the sun.

Her words also remind us that love is not luck alone, but work. Friendship must be nurtured daily; forgiveness must be practiced like a craft. The couple who lasts does so not because fate smiled upon them, but because they refused to let pride speak louder than love. They learned to yield, to listen, to hold one another even when words fail. In this way, the fight becomes not a sign of weakness, but a proof of passion — the evidence that both still care deeply enough to wrestle for harmony.

So, my children, remember this teaching: seek not only the lover who dazzles your eyes, but the friend who steadies your soul. In the fires of time, beauty fades, tempers flare, and fortune shifts — but friendship, when bound by love, endures. Be quick to forgive, slow to wound, and steadfast in gratitude. And if you are blessed, as Carnie Wilson was, to find one who is both your refuge and your reflection, guard that union as you would guard your own life. For to love a soulmate is to glimpse eternity — not in grand gestures or perfect peace, but in the humble, radiant art of staying.