I am pecking out this dispatch from the middle of the Sonoran Desert under the watchful eye of the giant saguaro outside my casita. Saguaros can take up to 75 years to grow a side arm; the one who stands guard over me as I slumber is probably   close to 100 years old. This afternoon, I ate his cousin - the prickly pear cactus. Not the entire cactus - just a little nibble of a  pad and a smidge of a blossom. I'm amazed by how much sustenance this harsh desert landscape offers ... the prickly pear, yes, but also hundreds of other edible plants, including our friend blue agave, which, when fermented and distilled, yields tequila. While I'm in Arizona to learn how to be a better strategic thinker, planner, and communicator, I found our group's afternoon desert walk to be as (if not more) informative than our morning session. Did you know that you have to wait 12 years after you plant blue agave before you can harvest its heart to make a batch of tequila? That's four times longer than you have to wait for asparagus! It has been said that "tequila" comes from the Nahuatl word that means something like work, duty, job, or task. With that in mind, I feel it is my duty to consume a drop or two each evening when we eggheads gather in the main lodge for happy hour. Trust me, people, I'm earning the privilege. Today, I mastered the "swoosh and star" technique for envisioning my organization's desired future state, and I lassoed a hay bale. Tomorrow, we'll continue our deep dive into the world of strategy maps, and I'll pen some cattle while atop a horse. I'm making a special request for Cutaway, a gelding formally owned by ... (wait for it) ... Lindsay Wagner. I'm hoping Cutaway has bionic penning capabilities so that I can saddle up and dismount in record time ... and then make my way back to the bar for another glass of agave juice.