Whew... "Why?" is a tough question here, like in most contexts...
Brief background: started a camera club in high school, with a good friend (now a brother-in-law!) and a physics teacher; darkroom was an underutilitized closet off the physics classroom. Shot only in black-and-white because we had no budget for developing color (and doing our own developing was the only option). Continued through college and into my early 30s maybe. All of it was with Minolta SLRs. When digital came along, it sort of sucked all the interest out of the pursuit for me. I didn't care for the images I could make with digital cameras for a loooong time, and had never owned one of my own. (Used my wife's, when she wasn't using them; she bought them -- several Nikon Coolpix versions over the years -- for photographing stuff for eBay sales.) When smartphones came along it took me a long time to warm to them as "cameras." But then I latched onto the LG G-series phones, which led me to start looking at hardware specs again... And then, out of the blue, last summer my wife surprised me with a Lumix GX85 (mirrorless) kit.
So that's the hardware odyssey. But the "why?" (for me) is more elusive, and on reflection I think the answer ties into that moment in the record when I lost interest in shooting photos almost altogether -- the motivational pivot at the moment when digital took center stage.
It was pitched as a technological revolution, and it was. But the hallmark of technology, especially of technology-driven art, has always been easy reproducibility. Even when you have no intention of reproducing the image itself, you're reproducing the act... all you've gotta do is hold the shutter button down, and don't release it, and you've suddenly got 400 nearly-but-not-quite-exactly-the-same images of pretty damn near the same moment. In short, it cheapens the moment itself. Before, every moment seemed critical: catch it, or lose it. Now all of a sudden you didn't need any particular moment, because you could have another moment, or another dozen moments, immediately before or after it. And they'd all be not exactly the same, but whoo, boy, they'd be close.
And the volume of images created a follow-up problem: who had the time to select from among them all? In the old days, the joke was that you'd go on vacation, shoot a half-dozen rolls of Kodachrome slide film, and then you'd come home, get 'em all developed, and sit your family and friends down for an evening travelogue...
...and those slide shows were dull as dishwater. The same sort of slack-jawed numbness you could see scattered around the audience back then, after viewing the second or third carousel of slides: I could feel it in my own face after viewing my early digital photo efforts. (It didn't help, really, that my first look at those multiple nearly-identical pictures necessarily had to be on a screen only a couple inches across. That really made them indistinguishable from one another!)
So back to the "Why?," which for me is now more precisely, "Why, again?"
Partly, it's a matter of self-discipline bringing about its own rewards: forcing myself, over and over, to take no more than maybe 3 or 4 photos of a given subject -- ideally, no more than ONE. For me, that has proved to be the thing without which photography loses all interest: a requirement that each moment be treated -- honored -- as its own, and not one of a succession of non-discrete moments.