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If you’ve ever played White Elephant, you know exactly how quickly things can get competitive. Someone “steals” the one gift worth having, alliances form between spouses, and poor Cousin Sarah ends up stuck with the singing fish for the third year in a row. It’s all in good fun — mostly. Now imagine that same energy, except the “prizes” are Dad’s classic car, Mom’s jewelry, or the beach house your parents bought decades ago. No rules. No turns. No laughing afterward. And unli

The holiday season brings families together around food, laughter, and long-held traditions. Here in Hawaiʻi, those gatherings often come with even deeper moments of connection — time with grandparents, aunties, uncles, and keiki that reminds us just how precious family truly is. But even with this closeness, many ʻohana avoid the conversations that matter most: What will happen when you’re gone? Who will care for the people you love? How will your legacy be carried forward?

When you finally decide to put an estate plan in place, it’s natural to feel both excited and relieved. You’re taking a powerful step to protect your ʻohana, organize your affairs, and ensure your wishes are carried out if something happens to you. But what if your spouse doesn’t share that same enthusiasm? Maybe they roll their eyes, insist you don’t need it, or agree to meet with an attorney only to shut it down once they’re there. It can be frustrating, discouraging, or ev