"Drive Reckless." This is the admonishment I receive from my father when I drive any distance. My version is something along the lines of "Don't Crash." Another variation on the theme is "Don't kill yourself"; that one I usually use with the kids. Of course, these are all silly things to say in the literal sense; what is meant is "I trust your choices and I won't try to steer them (even if sometimes I wish I could), but I care what happens to you." It is dangerous to blunt someone's instincts with our anxiety; self-consciousness interferes with our ability to navigate the changing terrain of our environment. The mother mountain goat does not worry her kids up the rocks; their footing in the landscape will not be intuitive, and thus not "safe," if they do not internalize it with unencumbered visceral experience. Try to type, or drive, while thinking about every aspect of the movement - once the left brain engages in the task the whole thing becomes an awkward robot dance (trust me, I have lots of experience with awkward robot dances).
It wouldn't have been as compelling a story if Tolkien had been writing about how nice everything is all the time; I don't find my current situation to involve a cosmic struggle with the forces of evil and the tragedy of power. Still, I imagine you take my point. I value the bourgeois comforts of a glass of bourbon and roaring fire, don't misunderstand me, but when I am experiencing the joy of that pleasure it is a joy of that moment, rather than a need to ensure that all my future moments possess that character. I have found that there is some joy in all moments, whether it is obvious or not, and I would not sacrifice the depth of that realization for anything. I would not have it had I not had the privilege of some genuine challenges.