Personal: Autumn Nostalgia and Where that Leads

I had a curious sensation today, and maybe already over the past few days as well.

Autumn Nostalgia.

This leads to a number of things like a secret and bubbling joy at the earlier darkening of the evenings and the slight chill in the air, a closed sense of peace, anticipation of the sodden rainy days and falling autumn leaves, crisp and brittle.
Another thing is the resurgence of interest in Warhammer and its fiction, this is in the main because this was the period of the year that I intensely got stuck in all things Warhammer and Black Library.
Right now though, specifically, I'm looking at The Old World side of things, or at least in what I'm reading. Because the other side of things is that to post some more model pictures on my Warhammer Models page I had to finish up a model that needed some revising.
Now that this went well and I'm enormously pleased with the result (in case you're wondering it's the Word Bearer Daemon Prince's reworked Icon) I'm starting to excitedly eye the Age of Sigmar.

Now, I have but've never read the full collector's set of the (apparently awful) Realmgate Wars and some other collectible stuff (and I never could bring myself to read the End Times series either).
I've checked out some box sets and starter paint sets (and don't they look sweet for someone who's left with only dried up paint pots) for the setting but for now I'm keeping it at that. For one, the lore and background is just a shallow pile of crap and jumping into this for someone as compulsive as me is very dangerous (I'll gobble it all up, you know).
But also because, as the last post intimates, I think too much. I get stuck in my own head and I go over things again and again and then I start to wonder.

And about this specific situation I'm wondering if I'm not regressing into something like when I jumped into Warhammer for the first time.
I can't help but look at these two situations and find that there are similarities. In both of them I'm running away from something (am I now?). Regressing into a state apart from what I was before. Attaining a sense of quiet and clarity but I get the feeling that I'm hiding something from myself, cutting people out and isolating myself and giving myself over to a universe that can offer me an endless escape that is tailored to juvenile power fantasies and which at the same time would enable me to indulge into obsessive compulsive collector's behaviour.

It's appealing but oh so very troubling.
How much do we lie to ourselves every day, and would it be better to just give in to it in order to have and cling on to that sense of peace, however false it might be?
If in the end we all must die, why not just give in to the joy of living and to all the whims and desires, surely that would be more pleasant? Why then do I force this unblinking sterile spotlight into my thoughts? Surely lying to myself would be better. Eyes up, away from the inside. Man doesn't live in unblinking honesty with himself, so why do I think I should? Why do I think that's better?

On the other hand, I am me. I'm doing just as I would, just as I am. This is me.

A self-proclaimed wise person would say something about acceptance and that I'm getting there with this line of reasoning.

That person would deserve a slap.