I always loved to draw.

As a kid, doodles everywhere. As a teen, doodles of dicks on my notebooks that blended into beautiful vines and flower arrangements. Art.

When I first saw the movie ‘Superbad’ I was like, “it me!!”

When I was maybe nine years old, my parents and I lived in a small apartment behind Walmart in Stoughton, WI — my hometown.

I have memories there of catching caterpillars and putting them into ice cream buckets with holes poked on top thinking I was going to release a swarm of Monarchs, only to just have murdered eleven caterpillars. Oops. Guess the holes needed to be bigger?

I have memories there of the first time I scraped my knee falling on gravel on my bike, and tried to doctor myself with gauze that happened to NOT be non-stick. Mom had to soak me in the tub for a whole day to try to detach the gauze from my scabbed knee… oops again?

But there was this one time I was doodling. I had made a chart with all the types of dogs I could recall from my grandma’s animal hospital days — the classics — A German Shepherd, Rottweiler, St. Bernard… I had maybe thirty-something dog breeds I’d drawn up from memory.

My dad was always a great artist too. I went to dad and said “What am I missing?” and he goes “I got one.”

He starts doodling. Hands me the notebook back.

It was a wiener dog. But instead of drawing the dog he drew a hot dog. Bun, toppings and all.

LOL I was pissed. “Dad you ruined my dog chart!!”

I stormed off crying — total loser energy — I busted out the white-out and covered up his monstrosity. This was supposed to be REAL ART.

But then a thought hit me. That’s my DAD. And that WAS actually hilarious.

I pulled my metaphorical sad puppy tail out from between my legs, went out into the living room, and asked my dad to redraw the hotdog. Over the white out. Admitted he was funny. Apologized for being an asshole.

I still have that chart of dogs. The wiener dog is my favorite one.

Moments like these come to you when you witness your parents stop being the big strong heroes they once were.

I was just home in Wisconsin with the family. My dad isn’t what he once was. In fact, he’s very sick. But just as I had to change my tune as a kid with that drawing, sometimes roles switch.

Sometimes you trade being someone’s kid for getting shit done for them.

And sometimes, dad trades his hero cape in for blankets.

The Hustle

I think we can all live in a bubble where we believe everyone we love will always be here.

We know anything can happen. We know tragedy strikes, people get sick — but, like, not our people, right?

It’s part naivety and part survival skill. Even for ourselves. We mostly assume nothing bad will happen.

Well… maybe not these days… I digress.

There's this thing that happens when your parents stop being invincible.

You realize you've been operating under this childlike assumption that they'll always be there. Always be the strong ones. Always be the ones fixing things, handling logistics, making the hard calls.

And then one day, without warning, you start having to make those calls too.

I was shocked walking in the door of my parents house Sunday and seeing my dad. I’m just being honest here. It had only been a few weeks since my last visit.

I barely recognized him. I didn’t let on my shock. Not in front of him. No way.

And I'm watching my mom navigate this with the kind of strength I didn't know she had. Watching my grandma make meals my dad can actually eat.

The women. The matriarchy. It’s on us now.

There were two things that hit me while being home. First, I’m not missing any day that I possibly can being physically there for him. In person. And also "I'm going to build something big enough to take care of all of you.”

This lit a fire under my ass that I didn't know I had even more of. Every major goal for 2026 I've been working toward — it's not just about me anymore. It's about making sure my family never has to worry. About making sure my dad can retire Hansen Exteriors. About giving my mom breathing room. About buying my grams her dream tiny home (which you can actually buy on Amazon now — ugh, Bezos, give it a rest).

It’s about showing up the way they showed up for me and then some.

I've always been driven. But this is different. This is urgent.

Not someday. Now.

The hustle just got a lot more personal.

The Chill

There's a fine balance I'm trying to hold:

Stay positive. Believe in healing. Trust that my dad is still here and will be here to see all the dreams and work come to fruition and see the fruits of that labor. We have so much left to do together. So many moments I want him to be a part of.

But also... prepare my heart.

I can't control the outcome. It’s in God’s hands, the doctor’s choices, my father’s actions. It’s in a million little fleeting decisions that I don’t get to be a part of.

I can only control how I show up for it.

Part of showing up is being honest with myself about the road ahead — whatever that road looks like — and being prepared for anything while grasping onto faith like those ropes we could never climb in gym class.

Everyone’s watching. Just… make it a few inches so you don’t look like a wimp!

My heart has been through a lot. I know what loss feels like. I know that none of us are strangers to it.

So I'm doing this weird dance of hope and pragmatism. Believing in the best while bracing for the worst. Staying present while also quietly preparing.

It's exhausting. But it's necessary.

Because if I only prepare for the good outcome and the bad one happens, I'll shatter. And if I only prepare for the bad outcome, I'll miss the good moments happening right now.

So I'm choosing both. I'm choosing to laugh at the hot dog drawing memory while also acknowledging that someday, that chart might be one of the memories pulled from storage and framed on my wall.

I'm choosing to believe he'll pull through while also making sure I tell him everything I need to say. Now. Not later. To make him laugh any chance I can so I can see the light return behind his eyes.

My dad is still here. I want that "here" to be a LOT longer. I need it to be.

But if it's not, I want to make sure I showed up fully. Loved fully. Laughed with him as much as possible. Was there for everything. Zero regrets.

So here's to more time. More bad jokes. More doodles.

I'm not done with him yet.

NO SHOWS This Weekend

If you were here for my very first newsletter coming up on a year ago, I’m headed back to Charlotte, NC!

This is a Galentine’s celebration and charity event, hosted by my friend Carla V. Carla and I become close through Matthew, my best friend who passed in December of 2024.

In fact, I met so many amazing women through him, and we are ALL going to support this event. It will be a Matthew’s besties reunion. I’ll also be one of the first guests on her new podcast “Rewiring with Carla V.” which I’ll share once out.

Carla’s Galentine’s Celebration is a night of community and connection, all in support of widows through a charity called Watch Love Grow. It’s a space for women to come together and be reminded that community matters, especially in seasons that feel heavy. She was aiming to double her attendance with 300+ women this year, and she sold out the event a few weeks ago.

If you’d like to support by sending flowers to a widow on Valentine’s Day, click the Watch Love Grow link above ❤️

I love being friends with people who are putting good into the world.

Love you all and cheers to the hustle + chill. We fight for our heroes.

xx NPH

PS — I didn’t love the sponsors offered this week, so they were declined. Always trust I’ll only put forward something I’m happy to back. 🙂