MegaFishbein is a collection of lessons, life-hacks, and lifestyle: A journey of a creative hell-bent on perfecting his process.
Pathologically curious and never satisfied with the "norms".
All by Aiden Fishbein
It began by accident. I was walking to a Portland Timbers match, looking for something light to pass the time at halftime. Fifteen minutes to read, that was the goal. I slipped into Powell’s on the way, scanning spines the way you might scan a grocery shelf when you’re hungry but not sure what for. I walked out with Walking in the Woods, the English version of a Japanese text about Shinrin-yoku — forest bathing.
In 2023, Ruby Thelot wrote an essay called How to Develop Taste. It’s good. The kind of essay that makes me jealous, makes me feel like I’ve been circling around an idea for years but someone else went ahead and nailed it down in clean type. He wrote about how to develop taste: touch things, listen, say yes, archive, love. And I kept nodding along, thinking, yes, yes, yes…
And also…damn, damn, damn.
Ruby wrote the instruction manual. What follows is my confession.
But here’s the truth — passive systems are never passive.
They’re replicators, not replacers.
Every time I experiment with new tools, AI systems, or organizational changes at BRAEID, I realize: I’m not stepping away from the business. I’m extending myself. I’m magnifying my reach. And now, as I prepare to hire a client project manager — someone who, ideally, works fluently alongside AI tools and can manage accounts, follow-ups, deliverables, and billing — I’m confronting the deepest layer of the passive system myth.
The question isn’t “Can they do the work?”
The real question is: Can they extend me?
Over the years, I’ve noticed something curious: though I self-identify as a pathological productivity obsessive, my best decisions never seem to come from a spreadsheet. They emerge from somewhere else—a way of seeing, building, and evaluating that I rarely take the time to articulate.
So today, I’m writing down what I’ve never said aloud: the implicit code I live by.
"If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together."
This African proverb encapsulates a paradox every entrepreneur eventually confronts: the allure of solopreneurship versus the power of partnership and teamwork. Each path has distinct advantages, and choosing between them requires self-awareness, clarity of purpose, and honest reflection on personal goals and temperament.
As a creative entrepreneur, I've experienced both sides of this paradox intimately. Flying solo, I've moved quickly, pivoting without meetings, debates, or compromise. My calendar has been entirely mine, allowing rapid experimentation and swift decision-making. The solopreneurship route is undeniably appealing when you crave autonomy, speed, and the flexibility to constantly reinvent yourself.
In a bustling world where multitasking is often misconstrued as productivity, and our daily deluge of tasks perpetually threatens to drown and derail us, the need for a novel approach to managing our days is more pressing than ever. Inspired by the distinct and intuitive behaviors of animals, this blog post explores a unique method of structuring task lists. By compartmentalizing tasks into categories represented by animals, we can not only bring a sense of order to our chaotic days but also align our work habits with the natural world's wisdom.
I got married last week in Puerto Rico. I also just got off a seven-day honeymoon cruise sailing around the Lesser Antilles.
But a week before all this, I was informed that my cush two-day per week position at a creative agency was being phased out. It was actually more like a heartfelt request to come back full-time, or else move on, which was equal parts flattering and frustrating. One thing it wasn’t was confusing. As soon as the ultimatum was thrown down, I knew my decision: I was outta there.
In the ever-evolving landscape of creative agencies, a paradox presents itself as both a challenge and a beacon: how does one cultivate a culture of autonomy, a veritable garden of free-thinking ideas, while anchoring this freedom in the structured bedrock necessary for growth?
As an early 30s creative, I find myself struggling to balance my creative impulses with the practical demands of daily life. I am a musician, artist, writer, and designer, and I know that creativity requires space, time, and mental energy. But I also know that the creative process can be unpredictable and frustrating, leaving me feeling drained and disillusioned.
Let's face it, not all art is created equal. Sometimes you walk into a gallery and see a painting that looks like a toddler got into the finger paints, or a sculpture that resembles a pile of garbage. And yet, art snobs will tell you that you have to appreciate every style, no matter how hideous it may be. Well, fear not my fellow art haters, because there is a philosophy that can help you tolerate even the ugliest of art styles. It's called tolerance, and it's a magical little tool that can make you look like a cultured art lover without having to actually enjoy the art.
