The Michelin Man - Nature’s Teaching

Today on the trail, I paused to connect with the “Michelin Man” saguaro—bold, beautiful, and unmistakably himself. I could hear people in the distance, but I couldn’t see anyone, and it reminded me that presence doesn’t require perfect quiet. It asks for steadiness.

As I walked, I kept returning to one simple practice: noticing the terrain beneath my feet. How the ground shifts. What feels supportive. What feels uncomfortable. What changes the way I breathe or move. It’s a powerful way to come back into the body without needing to explain anything or give it meaning.

Along the way I passed the teddy bear cactus—cute from afar, but definitely not something you want to touch. Its little “babies” can cling to your shoe like desert porcupines, and it becomes a lesson in discernment: respond with care, use the right tools, and don’t rush your way through what needs attention.

I also noticed how this park holds both new growth and release. Some saguaros are reaching upward, forming new arms and blooms. Others are slowly returning to the earth. And it felt like a mirror—because we’re often growing in one area of life while letting go of old structures in another.

Sometimes an old thought or fear resurfaces and feels bigger than before, not because we’re failing, but because we’ve changed. It’s no longer living in the old environment where it once made sense. It’s echoing in new ground, asking to be witnessed, understood, and released with compassion.

And maybe that’s what the trail always offers: a way to return to the body, return to truth, and remember that presence is not a performance—it’s a relationship. One step at a time.