There's something really great and romantic about being poor and

The words of Ben Affleck carry the fragrance of youthful struggle and the fire of humble beginnings: “There’s something really great and romantic about being poor and sleeping on couches.” In this line, he speaks not of wealth or comfort, but of the beauty hidden in hardship, the nobility that shines when one embraces simplicity for the sake of a dream. For in the season of poverty, when the body rests on borrowed couches and the future hangs uncertain, the soul burns with the raw passion of becoming. It is there that romance is born—not from luxury, but from the purity of hope.

The ancients, too, would have honored this sentiment. Heroes and sages often began their lives in want, stripped of comfort so that they might learn endurance. Diogenes the Cynic lived in a barrel, yet from his poverty he spoke truths that outshone kings. The philosophers of Greece often taught that struggle refines the soul, that simplicity cleanses desire, and that those who endure want discover riches that cannot be measured in gold. Affleck’s words echo this wisdom: greatness does not first dwell in palaces, but in the humble rooms where dreams are born.

There is also romance in the memory of such times, for poverty shared is poverty transformed. To struggle alongside friends, to borrow couches and share laughter in the midst of want, is to find beauty in brotherhood and love. The hardships of the moment become, in hindsight, sacred stories, proof that one once dared to sacrifice comfort for the pursuit of destiny. In this way, sleeping on couches is no longer mere deprivation, but a badge of courage—a reminder that dreams were worth the price of discomfort.

History gives us many examples of this truth. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who lived in poverty, often unable to afford even paint, yet created works that later shook the world. His poverty was not comfortable, yet in its depths was a strange romance—the devotion of a soul who gave all for his vision. Or recall the early days of writers like Jack London, who slept in shelters and wandered hungry through the streets, yet out of such want wrote stories that filled the hearts of millions. These lives prove that the romance of poverty lies not in its ease, but in its witness to the power of perseverance.

Affleck’s words also carry an implicit rebuke to our age of excess. Too often, people measure happiness by possessions, forgetting that romance and meaning lie in the raw, unpolished moments of life. To sleep on couches while poor is to live without masks—it is to be stripped of pretense, to stand naked with one’s hopes, unprotected by wealth, and yet unbroken. Such a life may lack softness, but it overflows with authenticity. And authenticity, more than riches, is what makes memory luminous.

The lesson is clear: do not despise the days of small beginnings. If you must be poor, be poor with courage, for in that season you may be nearest to your true self. Treasure the nights on borrowed couches, the meals shared in scarcity, the laughter that rises despite want. For one day, when comfort surrounds you, it is these memories you will recall with tenderness, these hardships that will seem most alive, most romantic, most pure.

Therefore, let all who hear take action: do not fear struggle, and do not measure your worth by wealth. Instead, seek the greatness hidden in simplicity. When you are poor, let it refine you; when you are uncomfortable, let it strengthen you; when you are humbled, let it make you grateful. For one day you may look back and see, as Affleck did, that even poverty has its romance, and that the nights spent on couches were not wasted, but were stepping stones toward your destiny.

Thus his words endure as a hymn to beginnings: “There’s something really great and romantic about being poor and sleeping on couches.” May we learn to see the beauty in our own struggles, and may we carry forward the truth that hardship, endured with hope, is itself a form of greatness.