Why Do We Stop Doing Things We Love?

One night. 7 stories. A Week of Stories

Each of these seven short stories starts with “Why did I stop …”

Have you stopped doing something you loved?

It just happened—gradually.

The drawing, the dancing, the thing that used to light you up.

You didn’t quit.

You just got busy being needed.

Or being reasonable.

But what if you asked yourself now:

What did I stop that I still miss?

And what would happen if I started again—quietly, just for yourself?

🌙 Daily Dose of Fiction - “Why Did I Stop?”

Monday – It started with olives and gin.

Riley and her friends sat on her veranda for a long overdue happy hour. 

None of them could remember the last time they’d all gathered like this, unrushed, no agenda, just the quiet clink of ice and the slow exhale when you finally let yourself sit down.

They’d been meaning to for months.

But something always got in the way: appointments, deadlines, someone’s knee acting up, or someone else’s friend needing help with their garden while they’re away.

Even joy, it seemed, needed to be penciled in these days.

Riley popped an olive in her mouth and said, “Do you ever feel like you’ve… stopped doing things that matter, that make you happy?”

Quiet settled over the group as they each considered Riley’s question.

Quinn broke the silence. “I loved gardening as a child, but can’t say I miss it now. Why do you bring it up, Riley? What’s on your mind?”

Riley shrugged, reaching for the pitcher. “I’ve just been thinking about how full my days are… but not necessarily with things that feed me.”

Val made a face. “Are we talking about soul food or actual food? Because if it’s the second, I’d like to lodge a complaint against my freezer.”

That got a laugh, and the mood lifted again.

But the question stayed, just below the surface.

Not pressing. Not demanding.

Just waiting for someone to come back to it.

🌙 Sometimes a question lingers—not to be answered immediately, but to remind you it’s still there.

Tuesday - Daily Dose of Fiction

All night, they kept circling the same question: Why did I stop?

“I used to sing all the time,” Skylar said, swirling the last of her drink.

“In the car. In the kitchen. on stage, in choirs, even karaoke.

Riley leaned back in her chair. “I’ve never heard you hum. And you’d think you’d hum in the garden. You know - sing to your plants?”

Skylar waved her hand. “When I moved here, I’d sing to the birds.”

Quinn looked up. “Why’d you stop?”

Skylar hesitated. “I was traveling so much, from one archeological site to another. And we were to be silent on the digs. 

“And. I think I told myself it was silly. Or maybe, as I got older, I told myself my voice got thinner,” she says. “But maybe I'm just used to the quiet.”

Riley nudged her. “Sing a little something now.”

Skylar paused. Then, softly—so softly it almost didn’t count—she hummed a line of a song no one recognized.

The table went quiet.

Then Quinn said, “I don’t know what that was, but I’d buy the album.”

They all laughed.

But the air held something else too—just for a second.

🌿 Joy doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes it just waits for you to sing again.

And what’s Quinn going to share tomorrow?

Wednesday - Daily Dose of Fiction

Each of the five friends continue discussing the same question: Why did I stop?

After Skylar shared her love for singing and why she stopped, Quinn took a breath and slowly sipped her drink. She ventured with her story. “I used to photograph everything.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “You mean like birthdays, or…?”

“No. Everything. Light through windows. Reflections in water. People I loved when they weren’t looking. Things I was afraid I’d forget.”

Skylar leaned forward. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Well,” Quinn said, “neither did my ex, apparently. I was told I had no eye. That’s when I stopped.”

No one spoke right away.

Then Val said, “I’d love to see the world through your eyes.”

Quinn smiled, a little surprised. “I still see the shots. I just don’t take them.”

Riley reached across the table and gently tapped Quinn’s glass.

“So take one tomorrow.”

Quinn nodded. “Maybe I will.”

📷 Sometimes the thing you stopped wasn’t the art—it was the permission.

Thursday – Daily Dose of Fiction

Val used to love to dance. It was in her roots and soul.

Val stirred the melting ice in her glass.

“I used to dance in the kitchen,” she said. “Alone. In socks. Sometimes with a spatula.”

Raven grinned. “Of course you did.”

Val smiled. “Then I was so tied up with nursing, and the farm, and my marriage.” She paused, remembering her husband—gone so long now, taken by Covid.

“I just stopped. Didn’t even notice at first.”

“You think joy has an expiration date?” Skylar asked.

“I don’t know. I think I started believing joy had to be earned. Or justified.”

Riley stood suddenly and pressed play on her phone. Some old Motown track came on—too scratchy, too loud.

She looked at Val and raised her eyebrows.

Val rolled her eyes but stood.

And there she was again—barefoot, twirling, laughing. For thirty seconds, maybe less. Everyone joined her because no one should dance alone.

When the song ended, they all sat down, flushed and grinning. “I’m getting too old for that,” said Riley, reaching for a drink.

“I miss that me,” Val said softly.

Reaching over for her hand. “You didn’t miss her,” Riley said. “She’s right here.”

🎶 Sometimes you don’t need a reason to move. Just music—and a friend who presses play.

Friday – Daily Dose of Fiction

Raven swirled the wine in her glass, watching the light catch the rim.

“I still ride,” she said. “Every day.”

Val tilted her head. “But not for fun?”

Raven shook her head. “Not really. I ride to train, to teach, to help kids work through grief or anger or fear. But the canyon rides—the ones I used to take at sunset with no goal? I haven’t done that in years.”

“Why’d you stop?” Quinn asked.

“I think I got too busy being useful.”

She looked out toward the mesa, where the shadows were deepening.

“I miss the sound of hooves on rock. The freedom of no one watching. Just me and the horse and the canyon air.”

Skylar said gently, “Maybe you don’t need to stop riding. Maybe you just need to ride without purpose again.”

Raven didn’t answer. But she smiled.

🐎 It’s easy to give everything to what you love—and forget to keep some for yourself.

Saturday – Daily Dose of Fiction

Riley: Why Did I Stop? Having introduced the question, Riley knew it was her turn to share.

But this wasn’t easy for her.

She disappeared into the house throwing, “I’ll be right back,” over her shoulder and rejoined her friends with a sketchpad tucked under her arm.

She didn’t say anything—just placed it on the table.

Val raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been holding out on us?”

Riley flipped it open. The drawings were loose, not architectural.

Hands holding coffee mugs. A single bird on a telephone wire. A pair of boots at a doorstep.

“I stopped when I started designing full-time,” she said.

“It felt indulgent. Like drawing for myself wasn’t real work.”

She looked down at the sketchpad. “It’s not perfect. But it’s mine.”

They didn’t rush to speak.

No teasing this time.

Just the soft clink of a glass and the weight of something seen.

Skylar turned the page slowly. “These feel real to me.”

“I didn’t even know I missed it,” Riley admitted. “Until I picked up a pencil and my hand just… knew what to do.”

Quinn ran her finger along the edge of one sketch. “You should hang this.”

Riley smiled. “Maybe I will.”

✏️ Sometimes the quietest part of you is still drawing in the background—just waiting to be seen.

Sunday- Daily Dose of Fiction

What If We Didn’t Only Talk About It?

The light shifted as the evening stretched on.

They had shared more this week than they’d planned to.

Not big confessions. Just… truths they hadn’t said out loud in a while.

Or ever.

Skylar sang.

Quinn remembered what it was to frame the world.

Val danced.

Raven looked out at the canyon like it was calling her back.

Riley set her sketchpad on the table, no disclaimers.

There were still bowls on the table, half-finished drinks, one napkin weighted down with a spoon.

Then Quinn said it.

“What if we didn’t only talk about it?”

She didn’t mean tonight.

She meant doing something small that matters.

No one answered right away.

But something shifted. The air felt different.

A possibility had entered the room and quietly taken a seat.

Someone mentioned karaoke night at the café.

Someone else suggested riding the ridge trail at dusk.

Val muttered something about dancing in the garden with a Bluetooth speaker and a wide-brim hat.

They all lingered a little longer that night.

And when they finally left, Riley began to gather the last of the party’s remnants.

She turned off the patio lights. Then turned one back on.

Not for safety.

Not out of habit.

But because something opened that night—in each of them, and maybe especially in her, as a quiet promise,

✨Even if they don’t follow through right away, the possibility is still there.

Watch for my Life’s Threads post on Tuesday.

✋What Holds Us Back—And What Happens When We Start Again?

Be sure to watch for next week’s Daily Doses, “Choosing Desire Over Duty (Without Guilt)” either daily on Substack or here in your inbox on Friday.

See you then!