This space is for the latchkey kids, the 80s and 90s nostalgia junkies, and anyone who prefers deep-dive essays over scrolling through a blur of soulless social media posts. If you've been wondering where the real stories went, you just found them

I’m Brent. Think of me as a grown-up Kevin Arnold in The Wonder Years or Gordie Lachance in Stand by Me; walking you through past details with insights from the future. The key difference being these are works of non-fiction and there is no ensemble cast to support my efforts.

Before we embark on our journey through the analog universe, let’s unpack the name of our vessel. Xessentialism isn’t just a cool-sounding word mash-up; though it does sound pretty awesome. Xessentialism brings together two distinct ideas: the “X” as in Generation X, and “Essentialism” in its true philosophical sense. That is: focusing on the traits, lessons, and principles that are fundamental, inherent, and essential to how a person or thing navigates the world.

My generation was among the last to experience childhood entirely offline. We believed being grounded was a sentence worse than death. We conducted store runs for our parents that involved paper lists and physical currency. The sheer lack of choices available forced us to compromise and accept results. We learned patience by enduring the natural slowness of things, e.g. waiting for a DJ on the radio to shut up so you could hit “record” on a cassette tape or sending off for prizes that required use of the Post Office. We learned autonomy by being set free to roam on our bikes without a set schedule to return, although the streetlights were usually a good indicator that it was time to start heading closer to homebase.

I recently published my essay collection, Xessentialism: Analog Lessons for a Digital World, as an e-book. But that ebook was never meant to be a singular, static book on someone’s digital bookshelf. It’s meant to spark an ongoing conversation. A conversation about autonomy, resourcefulness, human compromise, and how to extract wisdom from an analog past to survive a high-speed digital world.

Why This Substack Exists

Most social media is built for rapid visual hits and split-second attention spans; particularly the visual ones. Personally, whether I swipe up, down, left, or right on my feed, I usually wind up feeling like I’m clicking through glorified Viewmaster reels; except with a lower chance of being educated or mesmerized in the process.

Conciseness is an author’s ally. Being longwinded only helps with blowing out birthday candles. With that said, some narratives do require a little more oxygen to reach their full potential. That in a nutshell: is the why .

This Substack is a space to step out of these feeds and reclaim a little analog focus. Here’s what you can expect in your inbox:

• Director’s Cut Book Excerpts: Expanded takes on core chapters from Xessentialism, paired with modern reflections on tech and culture.

• Unreleased Essays & Outtakes: Stories, nostalgia, and neighborhood dynamics that didn’t make the initial manuscript cut.

• Analog Observations: Commentary on navigating modern life, from tap-to-pay and digital clutter to screen time, through the lens of 80s and 90s street smarts.

• Release & Print Updates: Behind-the-scenes progress as we prepare the expanded physical print edition for release.

How to Join the Conversation

One of the key premises I operate on is that no generation is better than the next; each one simply does the best with the world given to them. So, whether you’re a fellow Gen Xer who remembers the weight of a scratch paper list and a twenty-dollar bill during a store errand, a nostalgia enthusiast, or just a reader looking for honest prose, I’m glad you’re here.

If this sounds like your kind of frequency, hit the Subscribe button below to get every new essay sent directly to your inbox. No algorithms required.

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And if you remember your very first phone number or your worst store run as a kid, drop a line in the comments. Let’s talk.

Welcome to Xessentialism.

— Brent E. Simeon Sr.