I used to be a terrible hypochondriac when I was young and a great reader of medical dictionaries. One day I realised that I was not actually frightened of terminal illness but of not getting done the things I wanted to get done.
I myself have started to come to terms with the fact that any fear of or obsession over illness, incapacity and death I might experience is actually just anxiety about doing stuff before the clock's gears grind to a halt. If I've learned anything from unreflective Aussie hyper-travelers, it's that you can stave off unproductive mortality-related hand-wringing by doing as much as possible as often as possible — because you might not have the chance later.
Science is the outcome of being prepared to live without certainty and therefore a mark of maturity. It embraces doubt and loose ends.
Science, and even most evidence-based thinking in general, gets a bad rap from people disinclined to appreciate it. They'll claim that science is hubristic about its absolute possession of the cold, hard facts of the universe, when its appeal in fact lies in its willingness to separate what's known from what isn't, and to know how known these alleged cold, hard facts really are. (Not to mention that they can be overturned with the right demonstration.) If it's hubris you're looking for, talk to those who unwaveringly chalk everything up to deities, Great Magnets and/or "energy."
Life is all about relationships. By all means sit cross-legged on top of a mountain occasionally. But don't do it for very long.
Granted, "The world's nothin' but people" and its ilk are stupid aphorisms, but there is little of interest to be found only within the I. I've been recently thinking out the idea that one of interaction's richest joys is the observation of and attempt to understand minds other one's own. Could it be one of existence's greatest joys?