the student who became the master

Yesterday, I found out that Ben Bader passed away.

He was 24.

I've been sitting with this all morning, calling friends in his circle to check in, all of us trying to figure out how to put words to it.

Ben started following me around when I began posting YouTube videos years ago. He was one of those early believers - the ones who show up in your DMs to support.

He joined Maxi when I launched my first personal development tool. Then he joined my mentorship program when I first launched that.

I remember Ben pretty well.

He was quiet in the group calls as I recall. I hosted an event in LA once, and Ben came. I don't even remember speaking to him that much in person. But when we exchanged written words over DMs or slack, he was was loud. His words had weight. They had intention and showed you straight to his soul.

And that's partly what's inspiring me to write this today.

Ben went on to build a couple very successful ventures.

One was a crypto NFT project.

But his main work, his life's work, was in writing.

He was a copywriter by trade. But really, he was a writer. A real one.

Ben wrote to his email list every single day. And if you go read his tweets or watch his TikToks, you'll see it, this young man had a strong, potent message.

Part of that message was about letting loose your intuitive flow of ideas without letting your analytical mind go back and reedit and rehash them. About trusting your first instinct. About honoring the creative impulse as it comes through you.

He practiced what he preached.

I was thinking about it and really, the most powerful messages in human history were passed down through the written word.

The Bible. The Quran. The Sutras. Teachings that have shaped civilizations for thousands of years. We never had video. We never had podcasts. For millennia, all we had was the word.

And somehow, that was enough to transform hearts, build empires, and carry truth across generations.

The scriptures even say: "In the beginning was the Word."

Not the video. Not the reel. Not the podcast episode.

The Word.

And when you look at Ben's tweets, his emails, his content - you can feel it. There was something flowing through him. The Spirit of God speaking through the written word. That's what made his writing different. That's what made it alive.

I think we underestimate the value of writing in this era of content overload.

We chase views and engagement and virality.

But the written word is often where the writer’s intention transmutes transformational energy, where souls connect, and where truth lands and stays.

Ben understood that and mastered it. And it's inspiring me to put more time and effort into it.

Ben died far too young. Some are saying it was a sauna accident. A freak thing. The kind of tragedy that doesn't make sense because it shouldn't happen to someone so full of life.

He leaves behind a girlfriend of two years who, from everything I've heard, was incredible. She must be absolutely devastated. I can't even imagine.

And he leaves behind a massive community of friends - in Miami, around the world - who are all sharing the most beautiful things about him on Twitter. If you search his name, you'll just see love. Story after story. Memory after memory.

Ben was funny. This guy had a great sense of humor. He was brilliant with words. Apparently he was athletic, could hoop crazy and was super healthy too. He had it all going.

I met him once in person at a club in Vegas.

He was at a different table, and as he was leaving, he sent a bottle of 1942 over to our table. I posted it on Instagram and tagged him. It was such a thoughtful gesture - like his way of paying respect because he'd been following me for so long.

Later, he messaged me and said he couldn't really take full credit for it because the bottle came from a shared table. He didn't even want to take credit for something he partially paid for.

That's the kind of person he was. Humble. Genuinely good. Well-raised. Pure soul.

The last thing I want to say about Ben - and this is what really got me - was the outpouring of love from his students.

I need to preface this: the course world has a bad name. And for good reason. There are a lot of people in this space who take money and don't deliver. Who overpromise and underdeliver. Who care more about the course money than their people.

But Ben wasn't one of them. Clearly.

Ben had a course called the Artisan Lab, and he clearly impacted a lot of lives.

I saw a story from a guy who has a 4-month-old daughter. A year ago, he was making $2,000 a month and couldn't pay his bills to support his daughter. He reached out to Ben about an email Ben had sent, and ended up joining the Artisan Lab.

This guy went from struggling to provide for his infant daughter to making 30 times what he was making every single month - with Ben's guidance and mentorship.

That’s the fruits of love and skill outpouring from Ben to change lives.

And it just goes to show: someone like Ben, who genuinely cared, who put love and skill into his craft, who showed up for his students - he left a legacy.

I was talking to another close friend of mine this morning, Sam Matheson. Sam was way closer to Ben than I was. He spent real time with him. And we were both reflecting on this idea of the student passing the master.

I'm four years older than Ben. He grew up at 15, 16 years old watching my content.

If I go back through my DMs with him, I can see the evolution. It started with him asking me advice about college, about life, about navigating his twenties. He was supporting me back then - buying hoodies from my clothing brand on his mom's credit card.

But somewhere along the way, it flipped.

I started asking him for advice. About email strategies. About TikTok. About building audience with the new algo. And he was so open with it. Generous. He shared. No ego.

The student became the master.

I'm talking with my team right now about something Ben inspired in me:

I'm going to start emailing every day for at least the next 90 days.

Ben did that. He showed up for his people daily. He shared his thoughts, his ideas, his creative flow - without overthinking it, without waiting for it to be perfect.

And I want to honor him by doing the same.

So we're working on a way to make that happen. You can look forward to those emails. Hopefully they touch you. Hopefully they inspire you the way Ben has inspired me.

Rest in peace, Ben Bader.

Thank you for believing in me when I was just starting out. Thank you for your words. Thank you for your generosity. Thank you for the example you set.

You left this world too soon, but you left it better than you found it.

And that's all any of us can hope for.

Peace and blessings.

I'll see you tomorrow.

— Arlin

P.S. If Ben impacted your life in any way - if you were one of his students, one of his friends, or even just someone who followed his work - I'd love to hear about it. Send me an email. I read every single one.