My brother and my dad lie in graves side by side in the cemetery in Evanston Wyoming. My dad died at the age of 65. My brother, 46. Both had health problems. Both suffered from depression. I know that because I am constantly susceptible to depression myself. The dark times of feeling alone no matter how many people are around me or love me. Sometimes I feel what I do in life is meaningless. Usually the feeling subsides before I get too despondent.
One source of my depression is the desire to try and escape the pressure of life. I tried for years to eradicate, or at least avoid, conflict or confrontation. I even considered that the goal of a life well lived. I searched for a place to live where I felt I was content. I looked for a job where I felt valued without being stressed. I wanted to do my job, travel home and safely envelope myself in my preferred distractions, hidden far enough away that I did have to deal with situations that were negative. But the more I stripped my life of risk, conflict or stress the more meaningless I felt. I ended up more depressed because I lacked purpose.
Stress and conflict are painful parts of existence, but they are necessary parts. Just like too much of them can do harm, too little can hurt as well.