The Long Point corridor has quietly become one of the more interesting stretches of food in the city. Houston's largest Koreatown runs through here, and the Vietnamese presence is deep enough that you could spend a year eating pho in Spring Branch without repeating yourself. None of that is new. What's new is that the rest of the city is starting to catch up to what has been on Long Point for three decades. As Houston keeps expanding west and north, Spring Branch is increasingly in the conversation alongside the Heights, Montrose, and Rice Village as a neighborhood where people actually want to go eat.

Below is my current rotation. Some of these spots have been around for ages and some just opened, and these are the ones that resonate most with me right now. They're also the ones I'm proud to represent the neighborhood with when someone's in town.

Korea Garden

• Cuisine: Korean BBQ
• Best for: Big group dinners, anniversary nights, showing an out-of-towner what Spring Branch has been doing for thirty years
• Address: 9501 Long Point Rd, Houston, TX 77055
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

Long Point and Blalock. I can remember this place being packed in the early '90s when my family went to the old Spring Branch Community Church down the street.

Three decades later, it's still the Korean BBQ night I go out of my way for. Chris Shepherd recently featured Korea Garden on his Eat Like a Local show, which felt like a long-overdue acknowledgment of what this place has been doing since the '80s as one of the original Korean BBQ spots in the city.

Nothing on the menu is flashier than what you'd find at other serious Korean restaurants, but everything is consistently very good, and they're generous with the banchan and the lettuce.

Go early on a weekend or be prepared to wait. I always get the galbi, usually the bulgogi, sometimes the dwaeji gui, and the spicy samgyupsal is underrated. We build bites at the table with lettuce and sides, which is the whole point.

Pho Luc Lac

• Cuisine: Vietnamese
• Best for: A quick lunch, a cold-day pho craving, any night you want real food without the scene
• Address: 9457 Kempwood Dr, Houston, TX 77080
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

My down-the-street pick, and the place I keep coming back to after trying probably ten Vietnamese spots in Spring Branch.

The broth is one of the best I can find, and it doesn't go too salty, which is where most pho in the neighborhood loses me. This is a hole in the wall in the true sense. If you know, you know. I'm usually one of the few white people in the room when I'm there, which I generally take as a good sign about a place. They have bánh bột lọc on the menu and I haven't seen it done well anywhere else.

My regular order is the spring rolls and a P1 basic beef pho.

Las Tortas Perronas

• Cuisine: Mexican, tortas
• Best for: A hangry lunch, a takeout run, a taste of what the neighborhood used to be
• Address: 1837 Bingle Rd, Suite A, Houston, TX 77055
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

The sign out front says "I love tortas." The shop sits in a strip center on Bingle and has held down that block as the neighborhood has churned around it. Tortas originated in Mexico City in the late 1800s, when street vendors started stuffing baguette-style bolillo and telera bread with the fillings that had been going into tacos, and they're still one of the most distinctive street foods in Mexico.

Spring Branch was a deeply Hispanic neighborhood through the '90s and early 2000s, with a wave of Central American immigration reshaping whole pockets of it, and a lot of that character has been sanded down by the last decade of gentrification and new construction. Places like this are where you can still taste what the neighborhood used to be.

My regular is the Ingrata, which is jamón, chorizo, queso amarillo, and quesillo. I'll venture around the menu sometimes, although honestly I mostly get it when I'm hangry, because a whole one is a real commitment and I'll need a nap after finishing it.

Chavez Mexican Cafe

• Address: 2557 Gessner Rd, Suite E, Houston, TX 77080
• Cuisine: Tex-Mex
• Best for: A family dinner, a weeknight with friends, a round of margaritas that will sneak up on you
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

The number one spot you'll find my family. We're there a couple of times a month, easy. It's not the most premium Tex-Mex in Houston, but the bang-for-buck is hard to beat, and the owner is a Pappasito's alum, which shows up in the food.

Chavez Mexican Cafe has been around more than a decade and got popular enough on weekends that they had to expand into the lease next door. I'm on a first-name basis with a few of the waiters at this point, and the service is genuinely great every time we walk in.

The green salsa reminds me of what Ninfa's used to do back in the day, which is about the highest compliment I know how to give a Tex-Mex place.

The margaritas are dangerous, which is both the warning and the recommendation.

Feges BBQ

• Address: 8217 Long Point Rd, Houston, TX 77055
• Cuisine: Texas BBQ with a chef-driven edge
• Best for: Weeknight family dinners (kids eat free on Wednesdays), a serious BBQ fix, impressing a visitor
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

I was excited when Feges opened in Spring Branch because the owners lived on Kempwood for a while and still live in the general area.

It's elevated BBQ, and the sides lean near-gourmet compared to most places, which is unusual for Texas BBQ and part of what sets them apart. What surprises me is how often I end up ordering the non-traditional stuff here.

The Feges bowl is in my regular rotation, and the peanut butter wings and Thai wings are both excellent. Brussels sprouts are probably my favorite side, with the Money Cat potatoes a close second. Patrick has bought a few cuts of beef from us at our farmers market, and we'd love to source them regularly, but they do too much volume for a small ranch.

This place is extremely kid-friendly, and we're there often on Wednesday nights for kids-eat-free.

Murray's Pizza & Wine

• Address: 9655 Katy Fwy, Suite 3110, Houston, TX 77024 (Memorial City)
• Cuisine: Pizza, small plates, natural wine
• Best for: Date night, a church group that needs a patio, a frozen negroni on a hot day
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

The newest addition to the list, and the one we've been to most often this year.

From the owners of Leaf & Grain next door, it's their first venture into full-service dining, and they nailed it. Talking to the GM, the owner has been deeply involved in the dough process, at least for the first stretch after opening, and you can taste it. Multi-day fermentation, Texas-milled flour, toppings that don't try to do too much. The small menu is small on purpose. The pizza and appetizers rival most of the really good spots in the area, but what makes Murray's the move is the combination of a solid bar program with some original cocktail ideas, and a real green space outside. The frozen negroni is really great on a hot day.

When the weather is good, this is about as ideal a patio restaurant as you can get. We've been five times and four of those we've sat outside. Our church group has ended up there more than a few times for the same reason.

Cambrian Coffee

• Address: 9461 Hammerly Blvd E, Houston, TX 77055
• Cuisine: Coffee, British pastries, sausage rolls
• Best for: Morning pour over, a quiet work session, meeting someone for coffee when you actually want good coffee
• Google Maps: Click here for the link

Brian and Gemma opened Cambrian a few years back, and it was the first time Spring Branch had a legitimate homegrown coffee shop that felt like it belonged here. There's a wild T-rex on the wall and fossils scattered around, which traces back to Gemma's geology background. She's Welsh, which explains the British pastries and the sausage roll collaborations with other local restaurants. They run a Seraphim brewer and have dialed in the drip program with single-origin coffee they rotate regularly. I'm typically a flat white guy, although a well-made pour over will get me every time. Brian tries to remember customers by name, and that kind of thing matters in a city that doesn't always reward it.

A couple years back, a stolen car in a police chase jumped the curb on Hammerly and went through the front of the building. Nobody was hurt because the shop was closed at the time, and the community rallied fast. A GoFundMe from a regular customer pulled in more than seventeen thousand dollars in days. While they rebuilt, Brian and Gemma got creative with cold-brew-to-go and a few other workarounds to keep serving regulars. That kind of mutual loyalty is how you know a place actually belongs to its neighborhood. I don't know another coffee shop like it in the area.

Final Thoughts

That's the rotation as it stands. I'd put any of them in front of a visitor without a second thought, and there are plenty I didn't include.

Here's a Google List of all my recommendation.

The neighborhood has gotten genuinely good to eat in, and the longer I live here the more convinced I am that the rest of the city is going to catch on.

Thanks for reading!

For most of my life, the answer was simple and unconsidered: phone, wallet, keys. That was the default. It was what everyone carried, and so it was what I carried. There was no philosophy behind it, no intention. It was accidental formation at its most basic, the kind that happens when you simply absorb the habits of your environment without ever stopping to ask why.

A few years ago, something shifted. I started managing apartments. Multi-family properties. And I discovered, somewhat embarrassingly, that I was not a capable man in the practical sense. There were basic things I could not do. A valve inside a toilet. A washer hose chewed through by a mouse. A lock that needed changing. Tasks that should take twenty minutes and cost almost nothing were instead costing me hundreds of dollars and a quiet sense of inadequacy. I had to call someone for problems I should have been able to solve myself.

That realization was more uncomfortable than I expected. It was not just a financial frustration. It was something deeper.

The Tools We Carry Are a Confession of What We Believe

There is a version of modern life that is entirely outsourced. Someone mows the lawn. Someone changes the locks. Someone fixes the pipe. None of that is inherently wrong. I still pay people for plenty of things, and I will continue to. But there is an important distinction between choosing to delegate something because you have discerned it is the wisest use of your time, and delegating it because you simply do not know how to do it yourself and have never thought to learn.

The first is wisdom. The second is dependency masquerading as convenience.

Morgan Snyder, in his book Becoming a King, frames this in a way that stayed with me. There is something spiritually meaningful about a man who can make things, fix things, face a problem with his hands and his tools and do something about it. It is not about machismo. It is about wholeness. Capability. The refusal to be passive when the world asks something of you.

That framing feels more urgent now than it did when I first encountered it. For most of my career, the work I took pride in was cognitive — analysis, decisions, strategy, the things that happened at a desk or in a meeting room. That kind of work still matters. But with AI accelerating the way it is, the desk work we have long prided ourselves on is increasingly something a machine can do. As the digital world becomes more commoditized, something interesting happens to the physical one. Work done with hands becomes rarer, and what becomes rarer becomes more valued — not because it is inherently superior, but because people recognize the care and thoughtfulness that went into it. You can feel the difference between something made by a person who knew what they were doing and something that was simply produced. That distinction is going to matter more, not less, as the decades unfold. The man who can actually do things with his hands may have more of an edge than the man who is simply good at thinking about them.

There is something worth noticing about what impresses a child. Not a title. Not a salary. Not a corner office. A kid watches someone frame a wall, fix a pipe, or back a trailer into a tight spot and is completely captivated. There's a reason every five-year-old at some point wants to be a garbage man — they're watching someone operate heavy machinery and do something real in the world. That instinct is not naive. I think it's correct.

Somewhere in the transition to adulthood, a lot of us quietly revised that judgment. We started sorting work by perceived brain power, and physical skill got moved down the list. The trades got treated as a fallback rather than a calling. That was a mistake — and the last few years have made it increasingly obvious. The electrician, the plumber, the mechanic — these aren't consolation professions. They are people who can do things that actually need to be done, and no algorithm is coming for their jobs.

That framing changed the way I think about what I carry.

Why I Carry a Knife Every Day

In Texas, carrying a knife doesn't require much explanation. There's a cultural thread that runs even through the cities here — most Texans carry some sense of rural identity whether they earned it or not, and a knife fits comfortably inside that self-image. But talk to someone with no connection to that tradition, or spend time with people from places like the U.K. where carrying a knife is actually illegal, and the reaction shifts. Suddenly the tool feels unnecessary. Excessive. In a city where there is always someone you can call, most people never develop the instinct to carry one. That reaction is itself telling — because the instinct to outsource every problem is exactly what I'm pushing back against.

My answer is a Leatherman Skeletool CX. It has a blade, pliers, wire cutters, and a screwdriver, clips to my pocket, and stays there every day unless I'm boarding a plane or walking into a stadium. The CX designation matters — it means the blade is 154CM stainless steel rather than the 420HC on the standard Skeletool. That's not a small distinction. 154CM holds an edge significantly longer, handles harder use without giving up, and in Houston's humidity the corrosion resistance earns its keep. The blade geometry is a drop point with a partial flat grind: practical, not theatrical. Four inches closed, five ounces, every tool deploys one-handed. The design philosophy is subtraction — pliers, blade, bit driver, wire cutters, bottle opener, nothing else. It carries like a knife and works like a multitool without making excuses for either.

Mine is the Salmon and Blue colorway — pink and blue. My daughters picked it out on Father's Day after I lost my previous one. They wanted that color specifically. I didn't argue. Now every time I clip it to my pocket I'm carrying a small reminder of them, which turns out to be a better reason to carry a knife than most people have.

What I have come to believe is that carrying it is an act of intention. Every morning when I clip it to my pocket I'm making a small declaration about who I'm trying to become — the kind of person who can look at a problem and handle it. Who doesn't need to pull out his phone and call a service company every time something requires a solution. There are also practical realities. I open Amazon boxes. I cut ropes. I fix small things that come apart at the apartments. I lend it to people standing there wishing they had something sharp. It is genuinely useful ten times a week in ways that are entirely ordinary and entirely unglamorous. But the unglamorous utility is the point. The knife is not a statement. It is infrastructure.

The Phone Is a Tool. I Treat It Like One.

I want to be honest about something: the phone is the hardest thing on this list to be intentional about. Not because I don't know what I want from it, but because it was designed by some of the most sophisticated engineers in the world specifically to make intentionality difficult.

So I stopped trying to out-discipline the thing and started redesigning the environment instead.

The first move was social media. I've deleted it from my phone — not permanently deactivated, not making a statement — just removed from the device I carry all day. Instagram and X get reinstalled once a week to check in, then come back off. Part of what's driving that discipline is a longer realization: over the last decade, I've been far more consumer than creator. I've scrolled more than I've built. I've absorbed more than I've contributed. That's starting to shift, and keeping social media off my phone most of the week is part of how I'm protecting the time and attention that creation actually requires. The apps aren't there to reach for, so I don't reach for them. And nothing meaningful was happening in the gaps anyway.

The second move was the home screen. I rebuilt it around large shortcuts to the things I actually use: communication, navigation, notes, my property management software. It looks more like a dashboard than a consumer product. That's intentional. If you pick up my phone expecting to browse, there isn't much to browse. The friction is the point.

The third move was notifications. I went through every app and asked one question: does this need my attention in real time, or am I just letting it interrupt me out of habit? Almost everything got turned off. What's left is a short list of things that genuinely warrant the interruption.

The fourth move was geofencing. Certain apps and features turn off automatically depending on where I am — at home, at the ranch, in a meeting. The phone does less in the places where I want to be most present. I didn't get more disciplined. I changed the rules of the environment.

The phone is still the most powerful tool I carry. I'm not pretending otherwise. But a tool should serve the work. The moment it starts shaping the work — shaping the man — it's no longer serving you. It's using you.

The Rest of What I Carry

Wuben G5 Flashlight. Not because I distrust my phone's flashlight — I just don't want to crawl under a sink with a $1,000 device. The G5 is roughly the size of a box of matches and fits in the change pocket of my jeans, which tells you everything about why I carry it. It puts out 400 lumens with a 180° rotating head and an adjustable clip, so I can angle it wherever I need it and clip it to my shirt hands-free. It charges via USB-C, has a locking switch so it doesn't accidentally fire in my pocket, and the magnetic base sticks to any metal surface. It also has an RGB mode, which I use exactly never, but my kids think is the greatest thing they've ever seen.

Apple AirPods Pro. I don't know how I functioned without these. Calls without holding my phone. Podcasts and audiobooks without fumbling for earbuds. Noise cancellation when I need to block out a job site or a loud restaurant and actually think. They track with Find My, which has saved me more than once. Frictionless access to audio means I actually use the time well instead of defaulting to silence or distraction.

Ridge Wallet — Kintsugi Collection. I carry the Ridge with a money band rather than a money clip — it holds more cards without the bulk, which matters when you're running multiple businesses and the Apple Wallet app can't differentiate between the same card type across different entities. The one I have is from Ridge's Kintsugi capsule collection. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold — the idea being that the break is part of the object's history, not something to hide. Ridge took that concept and laser-engraved it onto 6061-T6 aluminum with gold oil-filled designs, eight unique patterns distributed randomly. You don't choose which pattern you get. That felt right to me. Inside is a slim Find My card that charges wirelessly and only needs power every few months. I haven't lost my wallet since I started using it, which tells you everything about whether it earns its place.

Citizen Zenshin. My everyday watch right now is a Citizen Zenshin 60 —The watch is driven by a mechanical 8322 automatic movement with a 60-hour power reserve, featuring an integrated titanium bracelet and a green fume dial. Because of the titanium construction, it possesses a kind of weightless utility that allows the piece to effectively disappear on the wrist. The green is a nod to my Baylor background. It's not an expensive watch, but it's a well-made one, and every watch I own has a story attached to it. That's the criteria. Not price. Not status. Story.

RingConn. This is my health wearable — similar to an Oura ring but without the monthly subscription fees. It tracks sleep, heart rate, and recovery quietly in the background. No screen. No notifications. No vibrations on my finger demanding attention. It collects data and gives me access to it when I choose to look. I wrote about this at length when I stopped wearing an Apple Watch, but the short version is that passive infrastructure is always better than active interruption. The RingConn is exactly that.

Willpower is unreliable. The environment is not. Every item on this list exists to make the right choice the easier one.

Capability Is a Form of Presence

When I can fix something myself, I am more present. I am not waiting for someone else to solve the problem. I am not helpless in the middle of it. I am there, engaged, doing the thing that needs to be done. That presence — meeting a moment with capability rather than anxiety — is something I want to cultivate.

I want my children to grow up watching a father who can do things. Not because of pride, but because capability is a gift you give to the people who are watching you. And the people most likely to be watching you are the ones who love you most.

Formation Is Happening Either Way

I do not carry a knife because I am trying to be interesting. I carry it because it reminds me, every single day, that I want to be someone who shows up — who can do something, who does not wait for someone else to handle the hard moments. It is a small object. But the intention behind it is not small at all.

Formation is happening either way. I would rather be the one who chooses it.

Formation rarely announces itself. It doesn’t arrive as a clear choice or a conscious decision. Most of the time, it happens quietly through repetition, convenience, and habit. We adopt tools because they’re useful, and only later realize they’ve been shaping us in the background. Over time, what began as a convenience starts to feel like a default, and what feels like a default often goes unquestioned. The smartwatch didn’t create this dynamic for me, but it made it visible.

The first cost I noticed was interruption

The primary issue was the constant noise. I found myself in meetings where I was physically present but mentally elsewhere, pulled away by a vibration on my wrist. According to the American Psychological Association, a significant percentage of adults now describe themselves as “constant checkers,” a habit associated with higher stress and reduced ability to stay focused. What stood out to me was that the distraction didn’t require action. Even without looking at the screen, the interruption created cognitive load and quietly pulled my attention away from the people in front of me.

Even if you don’t look at the screen, that notification creates a cognitive load. It pulls your attention away from the people in front of you. I run several businesses, and being mentally present with my team and my family is too important to give up for the sake of an alert.

What surprised me most was that distraction didn’t require participation. Even when I ignored the notification, my attention still shifted. A small part of my mind broke away from the moment, wondering what it was, whether it mattered, whether it needed a response. Those moments accumulated. By the end of the day, I wasn’t exhausted from the effort. I was exhausted from fragmentation. Fragmentation makes it harder to do meaningful work and harder to be fully present with people. It creates days that feel busy but thin.

Over time, I realized the problem wasn’t simply that my attention was being interrupted. It was that my attention was being claimed. Notifications arrive with a sense of urgency, but urgency is not the same as importance. Many things ask for attention. Far fewer deserve it. When everything presents itself as equally urgent, discernment becomes difficult, and presence becomes rare.

Data vs. Noise

My move away from a smart watch was not a move away from health data. About three years ago, I had some detailed blood work done that served as a wake-up call. My cholesterol and blood sugar were out of alignment, and seeing those numbers clearly forced a level of honesty I couldn’t ignore. By tracking my metrics, I was able to make real changes and lose about forty pounds. The data mattered. It moved me from vague concern to concrete action and helped me take responsibility for my health.

I value data because it allows me to be proactive rather than reactive. Used well, information creates clarity and supports intentional decisions. What I eventually realized, though, was that the issue wasn’t tracking itself. It was interruption. The smartwatch didn’t simply present information; it placed it in a context that constantly demanded response. Many of the notifications on my wrist weren’t neutral signals. They were the product of systems designed by large companies, algorithms, and teams of data scientists whose job is to capture attention, drive engagement, and ultimately sell or market something. That attention economy, when strapped directly to my body, trained me to respond to urgency that often had little to do with what was actually important.

Over time, that environment shaped my behavior. Some alerts came with an artificial sense of urgency. Others created a low-grade anxiety, a persistent feeling that something might need my attention even when it didn’t. I found myself reacting more than choosing. The benefit flowed largely to the systems sending the notifications, not to the life I was trying to live. Removing the smartwatch didn’t eliminate data, but it did remove that constant pressure. Without the steady demand to check, my attention began to settle. I became better able to distinguish between what was merely asking for urgency and what genuinely deserved it.

That realization didn’t stop at my wrist. It led me to delete social media from my phone and remove other apps that existed primarily to pull my attention in ways that weren’t life-giving or necessary for my work. Many of the distractions I was responding to weren’t meaningful; they were simply effective. Making those changes made my phone noticeably more boring, but that boredom felt healthy. It returned my phone to its proper place as a tool rather than a device forming me in ways I hadn’t chosen. Attention shapes character, and I want the patterns of my life to move me toward being more patient, present, and Christlike, not more reactive and scattered.

I should be clear, though, that this isn’t a story of perfection. I still get distracted. I still lose focus. That’s part of living in the culture we’re all swimming in, one designed to monetize attention and normalize fragmentation. The goal was never to eliminate distraction entirely, but to stop cooperating with it unnecessarily. This has been less about mastering my attention and more about choosing an environment that makes faithfulness easier, even when I fall short.

Passive Infrastructure

To solve this, I switched to a smart ring. I use a RingConn because it functions as passive infrastructure. It collects health data quietly, without demanding attention. It does its job in the background and gives me access to the information when I choose to review it.

It stays around my hand for five days and charges in thirty minutes. It is a tool that works in the background. It allows me to collect the same high-quality data as a smartwatch without the constant pings that fragment my attention.

What I wanted from technology was not more capability, but less intrusion. I wanted tools that could support my life without constantly inserting themselves into it. The best technology, I’ve found, is often the kind that does its work quietly and then gets out of the way.

Intentional Formation

Technology excels at efficiency. It is great for sending a quick text or automating a task. But technology is far weaker at producing meaning. If we are passive about the devices we carry, we allow them to form our habits for us. Stepping away from a smartwatch was a way of being more intentional about what I allow to shape my mind, my time, and my attention.

As Andy Crouch says:

“Technology is not just a tool; it is a force that shapes our habits, our relationships, and our sense of what matters.”

That choice also clarified something else for me. If some technology works best when it fades into the background, other things matter precisely because they remain visible. Not everything we carry should optimize us. Some things should remind us who we are and where we’ve been.

Markers of Seasons

Now, instead of a screen on my wrist, I wear analog watches. To me, these are markers of seasons and milestones. I have a Seiko handed down from my grandfather that still works fifty years later. I have a vintage Omega Seamaster that I bought when I started a new job ten years ago.

Physical objects anchor memory in a way digital ones rarely do. An app update erases history; a worn watch accumulates it. When I look at the Seiko my grandfather gave me, I’m reminded not just of him, but of time itself: time passed, time given, time carried forward. These watches mark seasons of my life not because they tracked them, but because they were present for them.

Each piece has a story. They don’t interrupt me. They don’t vibrate. They simply exist as crafted items that remind me of where I’ve been and the milestones I’ve achieved.

Conclusion

Choosing to remove the smartwatch was about reclaiming my focus. I wanted to ensure that the things I expose myself to on a daily basis (whether technology, media, or habits) are things that I have chosen intentionally.

Efficiency is helpful, but meaning is what matters. By removing the constant interruptions, I am able to be more present in my work and more connected to the people around me.

Over time, I’ve come to believe that most questions about focus are really questions about environment. We talk about discipline and self-control, but we rarely examine the systems we’ve surrounded ourselves with. Changing the environment doesn’t remove responsibility. It makes responsibility more realistic.

Formation is happening either way. I would rather be the one who chooses it.

We’re real ranchers who take care of our land and raise animals the right way, without GMOs or antibiotics, on nearly 1,000 acres of native grassland.

Keep reading to discover why our customers choose Circle J for their premium beef and how we deliver farm-fresh quality straight to your door.

Why Choose Us

Since 2008, my family and I have been putting in the real work, taking care of our land and raising animals the right way. We’re not some big company with a fancy label and fine print. What you see is what you get.

• Raised right: We only source from our own herd or trusted partner ranches that raise animals ethically, without GMOs or antibiotics, and with full access to pasture.
• Easy to order: Buying from our ranch is simple and flexible. Pick out what you want, when you want it, or subscribe to save a little extra and keep your freezer stocked.

Our Story

Our Circle J Ranch is a nearly 1,000 acre ranch located near Hempstead, TX. In 2008, my family, the Voncannons, purchased the Circle J Ranch. The land now known as the Circle J has had cattle fed on native grasses and natural spring creeks that have run through the property for over a century.

Since we purchased the ranch in 2008, we’ve been creating a cow operation focused on breeding cattle with the best genetics. We’ve nearly tripled the land that makes up the Circle J and have significantly expanded our cow operation in both size and quality. It’s been incredible to watch our dream grow.

Our approach to the ranch reflects the same intentional investment philosophy I apply to all my ventures. I share more about this in Beyond the Money Chase.

Product Options

• Subscriptions Convenient delivery options to keep your freezer stocked with our best cuts.
• Grass-fed Beef Premium grass-fed cuts that deliver exceptional flavor and quality from our pastures.
• Akaushi Wagyu Beef Luxury beef experience with incredible marbling and tenderness that we’re proud to offer.

Other products:

• Bones & Organs Nutrient-rich options for broths and traditional cooking that many customers love.
• Bulk Beef Shares Stock your freezer with convenient cow shares that save you money and guarantee quality.
• Dry Aged Ground Beef Enhanced flavor through traditional dry aging techniques we’ve perfected over the years.
• Jerky, Sausage and Sticks Ready-to-eat options perfect for snacking and convenience, made right here on the ranch.
• Roasts Perfect cuts for family dinners and special occasions from our finest cattle.
• Ribs and Brisket Premium cuts ideal for barbecue and slow cooking that’ll make your mouth water.
• Steaks Classic cuts for grilling and pan-searing that showcase the quality of our beef.
• Other Cuts Specialty options for adventurous home cooks who want to try something new.

Visit our website to read more about each product.

Sample Pricing

Here’s what you can expect from some of our popular cuts:

• Grass-fed Bavette Steak (Sirloin Flap): $20.00 /lb. (Avg. 3 lb.)
• Grass-fed Bone-in Ribeye Steak: $30.00 /lb. (Avg. 1 lb.)
• Grass-fed Boneless New York Strip Steak: $28.00 /lb. (Avg. 1.6 lb.)

Testimonials

Here’s what our customers say:

“We bought from Circle J when we lived near a farmers market they’d be at nearby. Now that we are further out, we ordered a cow share from them. We loved their meat we’d buy from the farmers market and are so excited about our cow share knowing all about Circle J we do! Highly recommend!” – Victoria Fisher

“I use Circle J for all of our beef at home. We love having a local ranch supply our meat. Pricing is very reasonable compared to the grocery store and you know exactly where the beef is coming from. Customer support is amazing. The team is responsive and helpful. We order 1/8 cow every year and we love it. Give them a try!” – Trey Misuraca

“Amazing meats and great prices for the quality you get! The beef tongue was the most tender I have ever had and half the price.” – Carrie Stowell

Conclusion

Circle J Meat represents everything my family believes in about Texas ranching.

My family has been perfecting our craft since 2008, tripling our land and expanding our operation while maintaining the highest standards.

With flexible ordering options and competitive pricing, there’s never been a better time to experience what real Texas craft beef tastes like.

Ready to taste the difference that comes from our pasture-raised, ethically sourced beef? Visit our website by clicking here.

Thanks for reading! You can follow me on X, LinkedIn, or Patron View for more updates.

This morning, I spoke at an event for real estate professionals about artificial intelligence—just one of many technological shifts transforming our workplaces and lives in profound ways.

Screen Time vs. Soul Time

One thing I discuss frequently with my mastermind groups is our complex relationship with technology.

When our phones feel like extra hands and our laptops become our constant companions, it’s time to examine what we’re actually consuming.

Are we feeding our minds with content that nourishes the soul, or just chasing illusions of perfection that keep us longing for something more?

As a Christian, I think deeply about what we set our eyes upon and how it shapes us.

The psychology is clear: what we consume influences our contentment. When we spend endless hours scrolling through carefully curated highlights of others’ lives, we lose sight of the blessings in our own.

The comparison game can send us spiraling when really, we should be counting our blessings and finding contentment in what we have.

The Physical vs. Digital Divide

Something I’ve been reading about recently is whether we’re losing touch with our physical spaces and physicality with the world.

Most of us spend our days at computers, probably at desks, waging digital battles instead of physical ones.

If you grew up in any level of middle class or above in a big city like Houston, chances are you couldn’t fix your refrigerator or change your oil if your life depended on it. I’m raising my hand here too.

There’s something deeply satisfying about working with your hands that all those email victories can’t replace. When you build or fix something tangible, there’s an immediate sense of accomplishment.

But after a long day of responding to emails, you might find yourself wondering, “What did I actually do today?”

Those digital wins just don’t provide the same satisfaction as creating something physical.

AI and the Search for Meaning

With AI advancing at unprecedented speeds, we need to think beyond just business efficiency.

While I’m a big proponent of embracing change and using these tools (I regularly speak on AI applications), there are massive societal implications coming our way.

The economists debate retraining programs or universal basic income, but I’m more concerned with the human side.

What will give people dignity and worth in an increasingly automated world?

When your AI is handling your spreadsheets, your emails, and even your creative work, what will restore your soul?

Where will you find your unique contribution to the world?

These aren’t just philosophical musings; they’re the existential questions we’ll all face as traditional work gets automated away.

This question of what shapes us extends beyond work. I explore how I've approached technology choices in my own life in Why I Don't Wear an Apple Watch.

Raising Children in the Digital Age

After reading Jonathan Haidt’s eye-opening book “Anxious Generation,” I’ve become even more intentional about how my family navigates technology.

With two young daughters and another child on the way, I view my role not just as a parent, but as someone who disciples them in both faith and humanity.

Haidt points out something profound: my generation growing up in the 90s and 2000s was probably overprotected in the physical world, but underprotected in the digital realm.

Today’s parents need to flip that script.

Despite what constant news coverage might suggest, physical crime rates in America are actually at their lowest in decades.

Yet, people are more fearful than ever of physical dangers, while often remaining oblivious to digital ones.

The challenge for parents today is finding that balance—giving kids physical freedom while providing appropriate digital boundaries.

Community as an Antidote

One way we’ve countered digital isolation is by creating physical gathering spaces.

Through our event space, we host regular meetups and build community connections. These face-to-face interactions provide something screens simply can’t replicate—genuine human connection.

I’ve found that connecting people is one of the most fulfilling aspects of my work, beyond both my real estate investments and direct-to-consumer beef company.

There’s something deeply satisfying about creating spaces where people can gather, share ideas, and build relationships that transcend digital interaction.

Intellectual Speculation vs. Functional Knowledge

I recently heard something from John Tyson, a preacher at Church of the City of New York, that resonated deeply:

“There’s a lot of intellectual speculation, but the world thrives on functional knowledge.”

We’re swimming in theories and concepts, with everyone becoming pseudo-experts through their favorite podcasts.

But when it comes to actually putting knowledge into practice—especially spiritual knowledge—that’s where things often fall short.

People today are incredibly intelligent, but may lack practical wisdom, particularly in spiritual matters.

The challenge isn’t just knowing more; it’s applying what we know in meaningful ways that impact our daily lives and relationships.

Conclusion

As we navigate these technological waves, the key is keeping our perspective grounded in what matters most. It’s about using digital tools without being used by them.

It’s finding that sweet spot between ambition and contentment, building something meaningful while appreciating what we already have.

And sometimes, it means putting the phone down, gathering with friends in physical spaces, working with our hands, and remembering that our worth isn’t determined by our digital output but by something far more lasting and profound.

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It requires intention, mentorship, and a clear understanding of your financial goals—all within a framework of values that keeps you grounded.

Start With Why

First off, you have to start off by thinking about why you want to invest and what type of real estate appeals to you.

I find that a lot of people jump in because they think it’s a great way to make money, whereas in reality, it’s a great way to make a certain kind of money.

If you’re looking to make salary-level money right away with a small investment, that’s not the right approach.

Instead, ask yourself: Am I tired of trading time for money?

Looking at my entire financial picture, can I buy one rental property that produces exactly $300-400 in net income after expenses?

Maybe that can cover a couple of my normal bills. As you add more properties, you replace more of the need for time-based employment, sales, or entrepreneurship.

Eventually, you reach a point where your passive income—income that’s not tied to your time—meets or exceeds your bills.

That opens up a lot of freedom for your family and your future.

Find Real Mentors

The second thing I always recommend is finding someone who’s actually done it.

There are plenty of so-called experts out there preaching about real estate, but most of them are just noise.

I’ve seen people who’ve bought and sold just one asset and suddenly think they can teach others.

If you’re going to consider being an educator, you really need to have well beyond the 10,000 hours to teach well.

I’m part of a small group in Houston called Lifestyles Unlimited. They’ve got someone who’s attached to it, but I almost call him an “anti-guru.”

People who have developed resources and have a long-standing role in the community or industry tend to be great people to lean on.

We’ve got almost a mastermind of about 30-40 apartment owners that we’re part of. Currently, I have a text group with about 25 guys who collectively manage probably 30,000 units.

They’re constantly texting throughout the day, sharing insights and advice. Having that resource and meeting those people is invaluable.

Capital Requirements and First Steps

You’ve got to have a little bit of capital.

You could do something like wholesaling to build capital, but I typically recommend people have some money before they start.

When I first started, my wife and I bought our first rental before we bought our first house.

We made a deliberate choice to take exactly $20,000 and buy a rental before even buying our own home because we wanted to produce passive income.

That decision set us on a path toward financial independence. We started by researching and attending different events locally in Houston and around Texas, learning as much as we could.

Then we set specific goals. Our initial target was to generate $5,000-6,000 in passive income—money we didn’t have to trade our time for.

That would cover a large portion of our bills. Over time, that number grew as we expanded our portfolio.

A Christian Perspective on Wealth Building

As a Christian, I believe there’s more to real estate investing than just accumulating properties. It’s about stewardship and using resources wisely.

When investors put their retirement dollars behind my business ventures, I feel a deep responsibility to manage those funds with integrity.

I often see fellow entrepreneurs, including in real estate, caught in the constant pursuit of more.

There has to be a point where you ask: Are my family’s needs met? Are we living comfortably?

Having perspective on what you’ve already achieved is crucial.

Many people lack both clarity and contentment because of comparison on social media. They become distressed when they should feel grateful.

This perspective shift isn’t just good business—it aligns with deeper values of gratitude and contentment that inform my approach to wealth building.

I've written more about navigating technology, faith, and finding meaning in our digital age in Balancing Technology, Faith, and Fulfillment.

Conclusion

The journey into real estate should be purposeful.

It’s not about making quick money; it’s about creating sustainable wealth that gives you the freedom to live according to your values and priorities.

By focusing on passive income rather than just property acquisition, you create a foundation for true financial independence.

You want the kind that allows you to spend time with family, contribute to your community through events and meetups (as we do in our event space), and live a life that’s about more than just the money chase.

Thanks for reading! You can follow me on X, LinkedIn, or Patron View for more updates.