Hobbies are often a reflection of who we are, offering a glimpse into our passions and interests. But every now and then, we come across people whose hobbies are anything but ordinary. In this collection of short stories, we’ll meet remarkable people whose unique pastimes break the mold and challenge expectations. From surprising skills to unusual pursuits, these true stories show how hobbies can inspire, amaze, and even reshape how we view the world.

My husband became quiet ever since he started his new “hobby.” Every time I asked him about it, he’d only say it was “liberating.” I started noticing red stains on his underwear whenever he returned from the workshop. One day, I followed him.
I entered and froze when I saw him surrounded by 12 others standing in a circle around him. At the count of three, he started running while they hurled tiny bags of paint at him. He sprinted as fast as he could, trying to avoid being hit. Chills ran all over my body—I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then, another “player” took his turn, running as the group chased after him, throwing paint. It was chaotic and surreal, almost like some twisted ritual that belonged in a dream rather than real life. The air was thick with suspense and splashes of color, and I felt like I had stumbled into a secret world I wasn’t meant to see.
When the session ended, I confronted my husband. He explained that it was a new group therapy his therapist had recommended—a mix of physical activity and stress relief.
He admitted it was working for him. He felt lighter and freer after every session, but he had been too embarrassed to tell me, afraid I’d think he was crazy. I smiled and reassured him that I loved him no matter what, even if I did find it a bit bizarre. But, honestly, as strange as it seemed, if it helped him, that was all that mattered.

I build virtual houses in The Sims to post on the gallery. I think I’m up to around 8,000 downloads (which isn’t that much, but… yeah, I post often).
On days off, when no one’s around, I might post five builds in a day. I just find it super relaxing. I like to flesh everything out with little knick-knacks so it looks like real people live there. There’s a quiet thrill in imagining tiny lives inside tiny walls. So yeah, I’m an adult who plays dollhouse. What about it?

I have my friend in the passenger seat hold the steering wheel at the bottom while I drive, so I can dance enthusiastically—flailing my arms around like I’m at a rave—and see how many terrified looks I can get. The adrenaline, the risk, and the shocked stares make it strangely exhilarating.

I watch a lot of extraction videos on YouTube. Everyone knows about pimple extractions, but what about mango worm extractions? Ingrown toenail extractions? Earwax extractions? Rocks being removed from horse hooves? Ingrown hair extractions?
I just enjoy seeing things being taken out of other things. It’s like, “Ah yes, this creature has benefitted. Good has been done here.” There’s a strange satisfaction in it, a secret pleasure I keep close to myself. Not even my husband knows, and I do not plan on telling him.

I create little origami cranes whenever I get the chance. Often, at school, I’ll find a piece of scrap paper, rip it into a square, and fold it into a little intricate crane. Then I’ll put it somewhere and see how long it lasts before someone finds it. A few of my friends know about it, but that’s it.
My goal is to hide these cranes in enough strange places that people start noticing and wondering what’s going on. I’ve managed to hide a few on top of wall-mounted speakers, on top of an overhead projector, and on random chairs. I’ve hidden about six inside the piano (easily retrievable) so that if anyone opens the lid, they’ll see them.
I’ve placed cranes on top of school computers, inside science equipment cabinets, on shelves, and among textbooks. I even managed to sneak one into a teacher’s bag. It’s funny how often people don’t notice them—they’re hidden in plain sight. The thrill of a secret discovered, I realized, was even more satisfying than the folding itself.

Sometimes when I’m bored, I will Google bars and restaurants in other countries, look at their menu, and try to decide what I would get to eat or drink if I was there. It’s a harmless pastime, but there’s a quiet tension in imagining distant lives and tastes I might never experience. It helps me pass the time, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll be able to eat at one of these places.

I design new types of pasta. It’s fun to think of all the elements—shape, ingredients, texture, etc.—and how you can innovate upon them to create something completely new. I’ve always loved sculpture, but this is even better because it’s pasta, and I get to eat it. There’s a strange joy in merging creativity with sustenance.

When I’m on a train, bus, or tube, I find myself imagining what it would be like to be stuck with those people in a post-apocalyptic survival group. Who would be useful? Who would be a hindrance? What would my social standing in the group be? Which women would I try to flirt with?
I find this works best on forms of public transport with multiple stops. It allows me to judge the stations based on who gets on and off. Has the group improved or degraded? There’s an odd thrill in mentally scripting a scenario where strangers’ fates hang in my imagination, as if the real world were just the backdrop for a secret story only I can see.

I used to make catalogs of people. I had some pretty bad social interaction issues, so I used it to keep track of information about them. It was like having a folder in my brain for each person.
It’s subconscious now, but occasionally I’ll bring up something super specific, and people either think it’s sweet or really weird. There’s a little suspense in wondering which reaction I’ll get each time.

I’m a mom nearing 50, and I really enjoy playing Fortnite. Maybe that’s not so weird, but in my social circles, hardly any women play video games—let alone one that’s popular with kids the same age as my own. There’s a thrill in outgunning teenagers and proving that skill has no age limit.

When I’m in a line at a grocery store or somewhere similar, I listen for the cashier’s ’go-to’ phrase. It’s usually something like “Have a nice day,” “Have a good one,” or “Take it easy.” Most cashiers say the same thing to each person, so it’s easy to pick up on.
After my transaction is over, and they’re handing me my receipt, I say their phrase just a moment before they can. It gets really awkward.
“Have a nice day!”
“Have a…you too.”
The suspense of catching them off guard never gets old.

I record myself reading books aloud, like Berenstain Bears chapter books, Choose Your Own Adventure, Goosebumps, and more. I do the voices, edit out mistakes, and sometimes add music or sound effects. Then I listen to those recordings while doing household tasks or, especially, when I can’t sleep. Hearing my own voice reading helps me doze off like you wouldn’t believe. There’s a quiet, almost magical thrill in hearing stories come alive, knowing I created it all by myself.