That's still there, that will always be there. You find out stuff on the edges, find out who you can be. In comfort, 'you' becomes sort of a compromise. Not sure I can find the right word.
As we get older some of the best memories are of quiet times with good people. Talk or silence. Sharing with or without words. Sometimes with a great view and a fine meal. Sometimes in a dingy office in Baghdad eating strawberry jam and processed cheese spread on flat bread.
The August Babies party was the same. Good food and a plethora of fine scotch... but I was looking forward all day to listening to stories around the fire. Old stories and new. The things the old timers thought were important and the things that excited the kids. Brand new stories and stories many of us knew by heart. Competing versions of the same stories or commentary by the others who shared a particular cave trip or mountain slide or fire or electrocution. (Not kidding on that list. Explosions, too.)
If ever my confidence starts to slip, I just have to look at my friends. They are extraordinary and, somehow, they seem to think I am worthy to be in their company. No higher compliment exists.