The journey of a golfer, a dreamer, and the quiet strength of a mother’s belief.

As the chill of winter melts into the early breezes of spring, golf season begins to stir again. It’s a feeling you don’t forget — that crisp air, the squeak of spikes on dew-covered grass, the hopeful buzz of tournament season just around the bend.

This issue of MYLO Mag is personal for me. It features a story close to my heart — the journey of my son, Trevor, and his love for the game of golf. Watching him grow into it, through all its triumphs and heartbreaks, I came to see just how much this sport mirrors life.

I think back to those high school spring tournaments — the wind whipping through our jackets, walking alongside fairways that stretched far and wide. I remember the sound of missed putts, the thrill of an impossible shot made real, the heartbreak of a ball lost to the water or the trees, and the calm of watching your child square up to the ball — blocking out every distraction, trusting the swing.

Golf, like life, is a practice in resilience. It’s learning to work with the lie you're given — whether in a bunker, under a low-hanging branch, or on the edge of something unknown. It’s about tuning out the noise — the doubt, the wind, the expectations — and believing in yourself enough to take the swing anyway.

With The Masters around the corner and golf season blooming here in the Midwest, it feels fitting to reflect on what this game gives us: a chance to connect with nature, with others, and most importantly, with ourselves. Whether you’re walking nine holes with a friend on a small-town course or chasing dreams on a big stage, golf will meet you wherever you are.

It’s a sport that holds your youth and your elder years with equal grace. A game that teaches mindset, presence, patience — and reminds us that miracles often lie just beyond the next swing.

Here’s to a new season — to fresh fairways, bold shots, quiet joys, and the long game ahead.

With heart,
Angie H.

Trevor in Rio at the 2016 Olympics watching the final round.

The Long Game: Grit, Grace, and the Golfer Still Becoming

The year was 2015 when Trevor Svec — my son, my old soul with a sharp wit and a smooth swing — told me he was switching his major to Professional Golf Management at UNL, it wasn’t just a change in degree. It was a declaration. A subtle but powerful step toward a future that had been calling him quietly for years.

PGM is a unique path — only 17 colleges in the country offer it. It blends golf with business, hospitality, horticulture, leadership, and marketing. It’s for those who don’t just play the game, but live it. Trevor was ready.

He didn't start there, though. Like many young adults, he entered college unsure, choosing finance and attending CSU Pueblo in Colorado. He gave it a chance, as he always does, even when his gut whispered otherwise. I remember the car ride out west, that quiet tension, the inner knowing that this probably wasn't it. But he gave it a semester — because he’s loyal, and hopeful, and responsible — before charting a new course back home, back to Nebraska, and into a program that made his heart light up.

Trevor has always been that kind of person — loyal to the journey, even when it winds.

The Foundation of a Kid with Clubs and Curiosity

He grew up with golf clubs in his hands — and so much more. He was the kind of kid who thrived in every environment we placed him in, not because it was easy, but because he learned early how to adjust. Life offered him the gift of adaptability, and he received it fully.

He was a 4-H kid with his cousins, from showing hogs and sheep to baking muffins and cookies and creating posters or artwork for fair competitions. He sat on tractors with Uncle Johnnie, swam with our summer nanny Lindy Bartels, and shadowed his big sister Cola like a loyal sidekick. Cola adored him, and he admired her with his whole heart. They didn’t bicker — their age gap and gentle spirits gave them a bond rooted in shared joy, not rivalry. He was the little brother who knew everyone in her world — tagging along, learning to be socially nimble before he could even ride a bike.

That social gift never left him. Trevor could talk to anyone — a 7-year-old cousin, a cranky neighbor, or a 77-year-old stranger at the golf course. He sees people. He listens with intention. He’s the one who locks eyes when you're speaking, who laughs with his whole body, who notices the tiny things about people — and stores them away like treasures. That kind of emotional intelligence doesn’t get taught in a classroom. It’s just Trevor.

Through Every Move, a Core of Calm Confidence

Trevor’s early school years were a patchwork of places and pivots. Kindergarten in Hooper, first grade in Uehling, second grade back in Hooper, third at Skyline in Elkhorn, then Fire Ridge, then Elkhorn Ridge Middle School. When we moved north of Dodge Street, he wasn’t allowed to stay at the shiny new Elkhorn South for high school — instead, he would’ve had to go to Elkhorn High. It didn’t feel right. And he knew it.

So, true to form, he took initiative. Told me he was going to shadow some students at Archbishop Bergan in Fremont. And that’s what he did. No drama, just decision. No fuss, just focus. That was Trevor’s nature then, and it still is — quiet discernment, then action.

At Bergan, he wore the green and gold with pride. Ran cross country through fields and farmlands. Played basketball in packed gyms. Found his rhythm as a leader on the golf team, mastering the nuance of the game while developing a love for strategy and mental toughness. His senior year, he decided to try football — broke his arm in practice before he could ever take the field. Disappointment, yes. But more importantly: a lesson in resilience. In team spirit. In the value of showing up even when you’re sidelined.

The Mind of a Million Ideas & a Hidden Treasure Revealed

Trevor’s mind is electric. Even as a little boy, he soaked up information like a sponge. Sports stats, player bios, game histories, rosters — he studied them like scripture, even before the internet made it easy. He could memorize entire comedy bits, imitate famous voices, and leave us crying with laughter at the dinner table.

He’s naturally curious. Deeply funny. Futuristic in his thinking. The kind of guy who could talk to a college coach one minute and do a flawless stand-up impersonation of Will Ferrell the next. His humor isn't just for entertainment — it’s how he reads people, builds bridges, and brings light.

He has friendships from every childhood experience. He’s supportive of his friends and any success or joys that come their way. He’d be there for you in a bind, but, would also tell you his truth, theories or ideas about the world and the future. He wears his spirit on his sleeves and you’ll know the real man inside him, because that’s all he will ever give you. His true authentic self. He really is a “Treasure” which happened to become his nickname within our family. Even “Treazh” for short. It happened right in front of our friend’s house back in those elementary days. As Dawn Zumbrennen and I chatted on their front patio while our boys, JJ and Trevor were out playing in the yard, she went to say his name and misspoke, calling him Treasure. And after a long laugh, she said, “Well, you really are a Treasure.” And it stuck. At least within our little network. I don’t think he minds - I feel he’s owned it long enough that he might actually see the truth - he is a treasure.

Trevor, Angie, Shelly & JJ hitting the links in the West O Chamber Golf Outing 2019.

The Game That Gives Back

Trevor once came home after a high school match and started talking to me about the complexity of the game of golf. It went something like this:

“Golf is one of the hardest games there is. The weather, the wind, the shadows, the length of the grass, the way the ball lies, the course conditions, the distances, the club choices — all of it matters. But none of it matters at all if you don’t have the mindset. It’s just you and the ball. If you take it too seriously, you’ll never love it. But if you embrace the challenge, the game will give you everything. It just wants you to play it.”

That’s the beauty of golf — and the beauty of life, too. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about learning who you are when no one else is responsible for the outcome. When it’s just you, your choices, your breath, and your mindset.

That’s what Trevor sees in golf — and that’s what I see in him.

The Degree, the Dream, and the Detour

College wasn’t easy. PGM is no walk in the park — the internships, the pressure to perform, the business acumen required. There were moments when he wanted to quit. We had the conversations — about money, about pride, about what it means to finish something. And he did. He leaned on us, on faith, and on his own grit to complete his degree and step into the golf world with a fire in his chest.

From experiences at Omaha Country Club, Predara Country Club in Parker, Colorado, Shadow Ridge Country Club in Omaha, he gained momentum. At Indian Trails in Beemer, Nebraska, he learned the golf business from the ground up — bar service, tournaments, fittings, catering, lessons, merchandise, leagues. Everything. It was intimate, imperfect, and profoundly educational. From there, he landed at Happy Hollow in Omaha, doing junior golf lessons and again, earning rave reviews not just for his skill, but for his ability to connect. People trusted him. Kids loved him. Members respected him. That’s who he is.

But, life isn’t always perfectly fairwayed. Golf, as a career, is a grind — and not always financially sustainable. Especially for a young, single guy trying to get ahead. So Trevor pivoted. Tried a few roles. Eventually found himself — of all places — selling corrugated boxes. Not glamorous, but steady. And again, he poured himself into the work, showing up with integrity and humor and ambition. That’s the thing: Trevor doesn’t just do jobs. He inhabits them. Fully.

The youngster playing for Fremont Bergan - studying a putt.

Still Swinging Toward Something Bigger

At 29, his 30s on the horizon, I believe Trevor’s golf story is still in the early chapters. He plays when ever he gets the chance. Substitutes in leagues. Gets picked up for team scrambles. Giving a private lesson if he can fit it in. And if you’re around him long enough, you’ll catch him — swinging an invisible club while talking to you about dinner plans. It's in his bones.

One day, I know I’ll be standing at the edge of a green somewhere, watching him walk up the fairway with a caddy at his side and a gallery behind him — calm, focused, and fully himself. And I’ll smile — not surprised, but certain. Because I’ve always known.

Golf is his gift. His mind is wired for greatness. His personality — a rare mix of brilliance and warmth — is made for connection. And his story? Still unfolding.

A Note to the Parents of Golfers

If you’re raising a golfer, here's my advice: be quiet. Be supportive. Be present. But don’t hover. This is a sport of silence and space. I once sighed — just sighed! — after a missed putt and got the death glare from my son across the green. Ha! He heard it. They always do. Just let them play. Your love will be felt long after the tournament ends. And remember this: it’s never too late to realize a dream. But, that’s up to you.

As I approach my 60th Birthday, I have been reflecting. And it is a beautiful way to view your past from a different lens - without judgement - just reflection. I hope I have instilled in my children that dreams are meant to go with you for a lifetime. I have big dreams I am still working towards - that is truly what makes life so delicious. Well that, and the occasional spicey margarita, but, pursuing something…..like when I watch my yellow lab, Cash, running voraciously after the frisbee I’ve launched in the backyard on repeat and with utter joy - that’s where you discover some grand things. The pursuit, the wind in your hair, the push for something beyond your self and letting all the doubt drip out with every ounce of sweat you put in is where magic happens. As I watch Trevor in his movements forward in life, I see so much that is yet to be discovered. His talents are vast. The possibilities are, as they say, endless. And if he puts all those things together and truly BELIEVES - there’s nothing that can stop him. Perhaps this was an open letter to my son. What are you waiting for? Never fear the failure - whether it is in love and relationships, careers, passions or anything else that keeps you pondering in the darkness of night thoughts. It is the curiosity and discovery of all the greatness that comes when you find yourself deep in a bunker, hidden behind trees in the rough, staring down what looks to be an impossible putt and you just pursue it, there’s going to be remarkable things on the other side of every one of those shots. Especially the ones you miss.

The Talk Birdie To Me Issue