Ashley E. Miller

I’ve been everywhere, man

Crossed the deserts bare, man

Of travel I’ve had my share, man

I’ve been everywhere –

Johnny Cash played in my ears, as I watched the North Arab Desert roll by through dusty windows. I looked to my yoga mat, securely tucked under my left arm. Flies swarmed around my exposed ankles as patches of sweat accumulated under the elastic band of my tattered sports bra. “And if you look to your left, you’ll see the camp’s dining facility… I’ve been informed the AC unit is out of order but not to worry… sun’s almost down,” shouted the tour guide who sat shotgun on the massive autobus as we rode from Jerusalem to our current destination, Petra.

I’m not one to complain, but the conclusion of our four-hour journey – complete with two unhappy toddlers, and endlessly winding, dirt roads – could not have come sooner. My gaze sternly fixated on the approaching campsite as an anxious discomfort permeated my body.

My neighboring seatmate awoke from her Ambien-induced nap. She tapped my shoulder. “What a beautiful drive… Flew by, didn’t it?”

I nodded, with an artificial grin, “Absolutely.”

The tail-end of my weathered yoga mat poked my elbow as the bus driver hit (yet, another) pothole… “We’re almost there Ash… Just breathe.” As always, my mat offered unwavering support, in the best of times and the worst. Wherever I go, she takes priority in the suitcase… if my mat could sing, she’d be harmonizing alongside Mr. Cash.