I think that we are so used to living under some degree of stress that we cannot quite function without it, as much as we talk of longing to be free from it. Sometimes, when everything is peaceful, I can't fully realize that joy because I feel a sneaking sense of guilt. This is too good to be true. Surely something must be wrong if there isn't something about which to be mildly frantic. Do we thrive when worries are pestilential? Perhaps they reassure us that our lives are full of something...as though we are rich if we have so many things worth concern.
I don't like it this way.