The more I thought about it, the more I realized this isn't really a conversation about handmade products at all. It's a conversation about value, and more specifically, what happens when we lose sight of how things are made.

We live in a world where almost anything can be delivered to our doorstep within days, sometimes even hours. We can compare hundreds of products, read reviews from complete strangers, and make a purchase without ever speaking to another human being. While there's no denying the convenience of that, I sometimes wonder if it's also created a distance between us and the things we consume.

Most of us never see the process anymore.

We see the candle on the shelf, but not the months spent developing the scent. We enjoy a loaf of bread without thinking about the baker who arrived before sunrise. We admire a handmade mug without considering the years it took someone to develop the skill and confidence to create it.

The finished product is visible. The process behind it often isn't.

Perhaps part of the disconnect comes from the fact that we've spent decades surrounded by products designed to be manufactured as efficiently and inexpensively as possible. When something is produced by the thousands—or millions—the economics change dramatically. Ingredients are purchased at scale, packaging is ordered by the truckload, and production is optimized for efficiency at every stage.

There is nothing inherently wrong with that. In many ways, it's what makes products accessible to more people.

But it also shapes our expectations.

Over time, we begin to view those prices as normal and, in the process, lose sight of what things actually cost when they're created differently. A factory producing 100,000 candles will always operate differently than a small studio producing a few hundred. A multinational company purchasing ingredients by the tonne will always have advantages that a small maker simply doesn't.

The funny thing is that we don't tend to think this way about experiences.

Most of us don't question spending money on dinner with friends, a concert we've been looking forward to, a weekend away, or a fancy latte on an ordinary Tuesday morning. We understand that the value of those experiences isn't tied to how long they last. A beautiful meal is gone in an hour, a concert ends when the lights come up, and a vacation eventually becomes a memory. Their temporary nature doesn't diminish their value; if anything, it's part of what makes them meaningful.

Perhaps the same is true of many of the products we choose to bring into our homes.

The funny thing is, I rarely spend much time thinking about the products themselves.

I don't wake up thinking about soap.

I think about paddling across calm water before the wind picks up. I think about the scent of cedar and fir after a rainfall. I think about fresh lavender drying in the studio each summer and long walks on the beach with my family. I think about the places that stay with you long after you've left them and the way scent has an incredible ability to transport us back there in an instant.

Those experiences become inspiration. That inspiration becomes a scent. Eventually, that scent becomes a candle, a soap, or a bottle sitting in someone's home.

What happens after that is my favourite part.

The candle is lit while someone enjoys a quiet cup of coffee before the rest of the house wakes up. The soap becomes part of a morning routine. A familiar scent drifts through a home on a rainy afternoon and reminds someone of a favourite trip, a special place, or a season of life they'd almost forgotten.

Our offerings aren't designed to last forever, and that's entirely the point. A candle will eventually burn down, a bar of soap will slowly disappear with use, and a bottle of bubble bath will one day run empty. They're meant to. Their value isn't found in how long they last, but in the experience they create while they're here.

Maybe that's why that original post stayed with me for so long. In a world that seems increasingly focused on speed, convenience, and getting more for less, many of us are quietly searching for something different. We're searching for connection—to places, to people, and to experiences that help us feel a little more grounded in our everyday lives.

And perhaps that's where value has been all along.