When I was a child, I both loved and hated growing up in a small Midwest town. 

I loved playing outside with the neighborhood kids, biking to the gas station for candy and pop, swimming at the local lake, and skating at the outdoor rink. However, I didn’t care for the boredom, lack of allowance, rainy summer days, and bitterly cold winters. 

There are some things about my childhood that are entirely lovely, and there are a few negative memories, but it was mostly a nondescript existence typical of most kids in the 1990s. 

While I grew up in Minnesota, my son lives in a quiet cul-de-sac in the Pacific Northwest, 1800 miles from my childhood home. There aren’t any kids his age on our street, he’s not interested in biking to the store for treats, there is no local lake to swim in, and it doesn’t get cold enough for an outdoor ice rink.

But what does he have that I didn’t? 

Sushi. 

Sushi on conveyor belts, sushi in fancy restaurants, sushi on a mock bullet train, sushi in grocery stores, sushi we make in our kitchen. I didn’t even try sushi until I was in my 20s—meanwhile my kid has been eating it since he was in diapers. 

Is the sushi we eat authentic? I have no idea, and I don’t really care. It tastes good. 

My son also has experiences I never deemed possible: Coding and robotics club meetings, an affinity for boba tea and Starbucks refreshers, friends with slightly profitable YouTube channels, ferry rides across the Puget Sound, a world of knowledge and entertainment and misinformation at his fingertips (as long as his phone is charged). 

Beyond the superficial things, my son has something I never did: Stepparents and stepsiblings. On the flipside, he doesn’t get to experience growing up with siblings every day with two married parents at the helm. 

Each of our experiences is delightful in its own way: Sometimes lovely, sometimes disappointing, most times unexciting. 

How does this connect to Hayes Street Candle Company? 

With the candles themselves, it doesn’t. We had electricity and potpourri (it was the nineties so envision the small Rival Crock on the counter, the duck-with-a-bow décor, the forest green and oak colors—you get it). 

Hayes Street, though, is the name of the street I grew up on. It’s all the nostalgia and privilege of growing up in the same house for the first 18 years of my life (and again for 8 months when I dropped out of college). Hayes Street is how I became me, how I got where I’m at, and where I’m going. It was formative. 

A huge part of me is a willingness to jump in and try something new, to learn a new hobby, to turn it into a business, to create an opportunity for me to do better for myself and my family. Throw in a dash of suspected ADHD, and you’ve got Hayes Street Candle Company. 

Welcome to my neighborhood.