As my wife and I travel, we seem to “Go! Go! Go!” to explore and experience all we can. As a result, by accident, we found a new tradition in our travels that we’ve really come to love: Finishing at a beach.

Ending our three-week trip through Asia, we finished with the adventure with a three-night stay in Bali. It was beautiful temperatures and we got a nice, toasty sunburn before heading home.

After spending two weeks in India, Nepal and Bhutan, my wife and I stopped for a few nights in the United Arab Emirates. It was fantastic to spend a full day at the beach making every effort to avoid another sunburn for the trip home. (It didn’t work; I still got burned.)

As we plan our next two-week adventure for later this year, we’re exploring beaches in South America that we can wrap up our trip at.

Hopefully this time I really do avoid sunburn!

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Aside from my wife, my friend Mitch is my best friend. At my wedding last year, he was my best man, and this weekend, I had the honor of being his best man.

Mitch has always complained that he doesn’t have a blog post devoted to him. With as many things as I write about, surely I could find time to write about him.

So that being said, today’s blog entry is about Mitch Nakhshin.

He and I met back in college. We met through a mutual friend, but we didn’t actually start hanging out until after graduation. One of the things that struck me early on with Mitch was his ability to whip up a good time. He does know how to bring the party.

For example, one night I was having a few people over to play poker and Mitch showed up early with a case of beer. As we waited for others to arrive, one by one the texts and phone calls came in from my people not being able to make it. It ended up being only Mitch and I, so he called a few friends and we went back to his apartment. I don’t think I’ve seen that many guys come together on such short notice, without the promise of women. We all played cards late into the evening, and I learned early on that Mitch wasn’t just any other guy.

As time would march on, Mitch and I would both get crazy jobs with weird hours. It wasn’t unusual for us to do things like road trip to the Makers Mark distillery in Kentucky for a few days, or more simply, grab lunch on a random weekday. Many of those lunches would end up lasting late into the evening. Each time, however, Mitch and I would make new friends or, at least, walk away with some great stories.

Along the way I met my wife. Her and I hit it off great from the beginning, but she knew that I’d leave on a cold winter’s night if Mitch called. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Somewhere in here, on the rare occasion that I’d walk into the bar with somebody other than Mitch, there was a resounding “Hey! … where’s Mitch!?” Even if I was going to the pub with my parents, people wanted to know where Mitch was and how he was doing.

That’s the kind of guy Mitch is. His quality of character is extraordinary.

So I had some concerns about Mitch finding a girlfriend. It wasn’t that I thought he’d be single the rest of his life, but I was more concerned about him finding the right girl.

Along comes Danielle.

My wife and Danielle knew each other from grad school, and after a few times of seeing each other at various sporting events, backyard BBQs or whatever else, something clicked inside the two of them and they started dating. Again, in the back of my mind, I just wanted to make sure Mitch found the right girl. A girl who understands he falls asleep within a second of hitting the bed and then you can’t move him. A girl who understands that hockey holds a very special place in Mitch’s heart. A girl who understands that  he is terrified of other people’s bare feet. A girl who could keep up with him.

So one night, on a Saturday early in their relationship, a bunch of us go out to get some drinks, and we end up getting hammered. Mitch. Danielle. Myself. My wife. The bartenders. Whoever else. (Our cab driver probably got drunk just from our breath.) The next morning I woke up in severe pain. My wife and I both hurt so badly. I called Mitch to see how he was doing.

I could barely hear him it was so loud in the background.

Turns out, he and Danielle were sharing a bucket of beers at a bar watching the Patriots game (Danielle is from New England). I wasn’t sure I had a pulse, and here he was, with Danielle, right back at it.

When I hung up, my wife asked how Mitch was. I turned to her and said, “He’ll be just fine.” It was then I realized Mitch found a girl who could not only keep up, but probably give him a run for his money.

Mitch’s now-wife is a saint. He’s a quirky little fellow, but he’s also a lot of fun. Mitch and Danielle make a fantastic match and support and love each other in so many ways. I love them both and am I’m truly, truly happy for them.

Here’s to a long lifetime of love and happiness, hockey, and buckets of beer together.

Cheers, Mitch. You finally got a blog post about you.

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