Have Shoes, Will Travel
I have been doing a lot of walking. More walking than I’ve ever done in my life. More walking than I thought possible.
Sean Dietrich
A Walk in Birmingham, Alabama
I awoke early and went for a walk with my dog. The sun wasn’t up, I let my eyes adjust to the darkness of Birmingham.
Help, My Family is Stressing Me Out
I have here a letter from 19-year-old Erin, who lives in Bristol, Virginia.
“Dear Sean,” she begins, “I want to be happy, but I’m not…
“My family is stressing me out, big-time. Especially my mom.
The Elephant and the Ants
Once upon a time there were three little ants. The ants had an unusual home. They lived atop an elephant. Long ago the ants’ mother had reasoned that an elephant would be a wise place to lay eggs to keep them from danger.
A Guy Named Patrick
You’re 16. One day, you’re hanging out, shooting the bull with friends, when a horde of thugs comes through your village, setting fire to houses, pillaging, and doing unspeakable things to townswomen. Now what?
The Storm Saturday Night
It was a big storm. The television showed weather updates. The radar looked like red-and-yellow vomit.
“Find shelter!” the weather guy kept saying. “There’s a tornado on the ground in Calera!”
Ye Olde Flip Phone
This is my fourth week with a flip phone. My “unintelligent” cellular phone is manufactured by Nokia, and the phone’s primary selling feature is that it sucks.
Oh My Dog
“Dear Sean,” the letter began, “there’s a dog in my neighborhood who was lost and followed me home.
I Would Walk 500 Miles
In a few weeks my wife and I will be walking 500 miles unless we die before we finish. We will be walking the Camino de Santiago, a medieval religious pathway across Spain. We will be on foot. With backpacks. And we shall not be called “hikers,” but in the ancient Spanish tongue: “Locos Americanos con mochilas.”
Letter From a Humble American
Husbands and sons. Carpenters and clergymen. Some rich, some poor. Some carrying the nicest firelocks money could buy. Some wielding nothing more than a pitchfork. I was playing my fife for them.
A Man Named Paul
Paul William Bryant was born in the late summer of 1913 in a Cleveland County, Arkansas, backwater. His hometown of Moro Bottom wasn’t even a town, technically. Only seven families lived there.
When You Wish Upon a Star
I saw a shooting star. A big one. I was exiting Walmart. Pushing my buggy. It was dusk. The sky was pink. I looked into a cloudless sky and there it was.
The Life and Times of Dothan Mardi Gras
Today, I am Grand Marshal of the Dothan Mardi Gras parade. Truthfully, I don’t know what a grand marshal’s official duties entail, but apparently you are required to hold beer wherever you go.
A Few Good Men—And Women, of Course
“A lot of people might think the world is falling apart,” he wrote to me. “But they’re wrong. I’ve been on the other side. There’s lots of good people out there.”
The Fine Art of Flying
It’s a mess, that’s what it is. When you land in Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Third World International Airport, you’re walking into a battle zone.
El Camino de Santiago and Me
The math teacher and I went for a five-hour walk through town while wearing huge backpacks and yet we are not Marines. We are just middle-aged married people.
Me Braiding Hair
I shouldn’t be braiding hair. But there I was. Giving it my best shot. We were in a hotel lobby. The 19-year-old sat with her back facing me. Her violent red hair in my hands.
A Day at the Aquarium
You never know how truly short life is until a 19-year-old girl, who is preceptive and sweet, and of exceptional intellect, a girl who made the university president’s list, stares at you sincerely, with warmth in her eyes, and with all her heart, calls you an “old person.”
The Dirty Word
Suicide is a dirty word. Try using it in mixed company. Try using “suicide” at a dinner party. You wouldn’t. Because suicide is not something people talk about.