The Free Lunch

Field Note: How Good Things Travel

Jun 04, 2026

The invitation arrived with the distinct, faint aroma of a trap.

There were twenty-four of us. A tidy number suggesting someone had calculated the exact volume of optimism required to fill a back room. We were a mismatched collection of souls, connected by nothing more than the temporary circumstance of geography and a vague hope that someone was about to hand us something for nothing.

The venue was a windowless “conference room,” but they brought out the heavy artillery early: steak, seafood, and sweet tea served in heavy, sweating glasses that never seemed to hit bottom. There were unlimited sodas, making us feel like minor royalty, and a cake with icing thick enough to patch a driveway.

For forty-five minutes, it was the closest thing to a free lunch the modern world allows. I sat there chewing my sirloin, thinking human nature had finally taken a turn for the generous.

Then the plates were cleared.

Our host, a man whose smile possessed the high-gloss finish of a newly waxed Buick, sauntered toward an eight-foot folding table. He approached it with the gravity of a statesman ascending the steps of the Capitol. It was at that precise moment that the collective stomach of the twenty-four guests dropped. The steak suddenly felt quite heavy. We had been brought here under false pretences, victims of the oldest ambush known to civilised man: the ground-floor opportunity.

For the next hour, we were treated to a vision of a new world where we would all become fabulously wealthy by selling one another miraculous potions. It was a beautiful, dizzying pyramid of pure hope, and we were being invited to stand at the bottom and hold it skyward.

Now, I bear no malice toward the multi-level marketing industry.

Heaven knows, I’ve been there.

Somewhere in a garage, there is probably still a box of specialised cleaning cloths quietly waiting for its moment.

But I come to you now holding my hat in my hands, carrying the sheepish wisdom that comes from buying the steak and swallowing the hook.

Because the truth is, most of the good things in my life arrived through recommendation.

A friend pressing a book into my hands.

Someone inviting me to a church.

A mentor introducing me to an idea.

A quiet voice saying, “I think you’d like this.”

Which brings me to the irony.

For just over a year now, A Shepherd’s Field Notes has been growing quietly. More than a thousand of you read these notes, and that still surprises me in the best possible way.

I’ve never really asked you to spread the word. But as James writes, "You have not because you ask not.”

So today, I’m asking.

If something here has encouraged you, challenged you, made you laugh, or simply kept you company for a few minutes over a cup of coffee, would you consider passing it on?

A friend.

A colleague.

A fellow traveller walking a long road.

Someone who might appreciate a quieter voice in their inbox.

As a small thank you, I’ve set aside a few extras for readers who do:

Bring 3 friends, and I’ll send you a bonus Field Note that won’t appear in the regular feed.
Bring 5, and I'll send a curated list of some of my favourite Field Notes.
Bring 25, and you’ll get access to something I haven’t announced yet.
The project.

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