Life is peaceful when there are buffers.
The time between the present moment and your next obligation is a buffer. The money in your bank account that protects you from insolvency is a buffer. Food in the pantry. The space between your neighbor's house and your own.
As I've grown older, I've noticed I want wider buffers. I'm less willing to allow them to shrink to their size ten years ago. Busyness. Brokeness. Empty pantries and tiny apartments.
Part of me misses that wild abandon. But when I sleep at night knowing there's a cushion between me and the world, I smile.