Space for Serendipity: How to Find Belonging in Third Places
- Shelby Barillas
- Apr 30
- 23 min read
"AHHLOOOO!"
That's how my abue (grandmother) greets me during our weekly FaceTime chats. I've always found her Spanglish sweet and endearing. “¿Como estas mija, todo esta bien? How are you doing, honey, is everything okay?" she asks. She's always been a bit of a worrier, no matter how often I reassure her that things are fine. That's grandmothers for you, but I love her for it; it's how she shows she cares.
We've always been close. My mom and I moved into her house when I was four, and I lived there my whole life until nine months ago when I uprooted everything and moved across the country. It was tough for everyone around me, but I know it hit her the hardest.
"¿Qué haces? What have you been up to?" she asks me every time.
Over these past nine months in Massachusetts, I've started to build a new rhythm: settling into a shared routine with my boyfriend after three years of long-distance, learning to see Boston through the lens of home, committing to a gym schedule that's boosted my health (go figure), and picking up a job at Paper Souce. It might not be the dream role, but it helps pay the bills while I figure out the whole freelancing thing. I've poured my time—and money I don't have—into passion projects I hope will pay off one day. I made my first friend here at a coffee shop, and we now co-work regularly. I've also survived my first true winter and witnessed real snowfall! Yes, I'm aware that's a very Californian thing to say. Every New Englander insists it "wasn't a bad winter," but I beg to differ.
Even with all that progress, I still don't feel entirely settled. Maybe it's just that it takes time, and I haven't lived here long enough. Maybe I'm still figuring out where I belong.
Friends and family back in California frequently ask me, "So, do you like it there? What's it like? Do you miss home? Do you like it more than California?" I usually giggle because, honestly, I used to ask myself the same things. As a born-and-raised Californian, I couldn't imagine life outside our warm, paradise-like state. I know their questions are their polite way of asking, "What the fuck is over there – are you bored yet?"
The truth? Yes, I miss California. And yes, I also like living in Massachusetts. It's very different, but different doesn't mean bad. The East Coast and West Coast offer such distinct experiences, and I've come to love both in their unique ways.
California is chill and laid-back, yet everyone seems to be in a perpetual rush. We're spoiled with great weather, vibrant diversity, and access to stunning beaches, mountains, and deserts, all in one state! Don't get me started on the food. From taco trucks to fine dining, the variety is unmatched. Not to mention the fun! Disneyland, local fairs, beach bonfires, and endless entertainment.
Massachusetts, on the other hand, is cozy and deeply historical. People here can be more direct and a little colder (literally and figuratively), but there's charm in the grit. My town is peaceful, Boston is vibrant, and I've found beauty in the changing seasons. I've fallen in love with the foliage, the seafood (lobster rolls and clam chowder have changed my life), and the quaint New England coastlines. The city is incredibly walkable, but the T has your back if your feet get tired.
I won't say one coast is better because they're too different to compare. Truthfully, I'll always be a Californian at heart, making belonging elsewhere feel incongruous.
One of the hardest struggles of being a long-distance daughter is the fear of missing out on cherished moments and shared memories. There are parts of me still attached to the city I once lived in, and when I first moved, I ached for it in ways I never expected. I never realized I'd miss moments like waiting with my best friend in the long drive-through line at In-N-Out or the sounds of the elotero man honking his bicycle horn to let you know he's coming your way. I didn't expect to miss my last-minute runs to Northgate Market for a fresh pack of tortillas so my abuela could make her signature taquitos de papa. I miss hearing banda music blasting from someone's truck as I drive down Bristol Street. Even fruit doesn't taste the same here. I think of the long summer days when I'd lie out in the warm, soft sand, eating crunchy watermelon and sweet mango with Tajin sprinkled while listening to the waves crash and wind blow in my hair.
Here, people speaking Spanish seems like a rare occurrence. Hearing it jolts me with joy and brings immense comfort. It reminds me of my regularly scheduled visits with my grandma over tamales and champurrado, where we would gossip, giggle, and exchange soft smiles. Finding Mexican snacks and ingredients is harder to come by, but when I do spot them, I light up and instantly grab them to bring a piece of home into my new home.
I miss California every day, but I'm slowly learning that home can stretch. Home isn't always where you're from. It can also be where you find connection and belonging.
Since moving, I've been fortunate to find bits of belonging in unexpected places. My partners' friends and family welcomed me with warmth, but beyond that, I've begun seeking community more intentionally. As someone who works remotely some days, I've found that the boundaries between "home" and "work" blur easily. That blur turns into fatigue and has left me wondering: where do we go when we're not at home or work, and why does it matter?
What Are Third Spaces?
Before delving deeper into my personal experiences, it is important to define what "third spaces" (also referred to as "third places") actually are. Sociologist Ray Oldenburg popularized the term in his 1989 book The Great Good Place, describing third places as informal public spaces where people gather, socialize, and build community. Unlike the "first place" (home) or the "second place" (work), third places offer neutral ground, welcoming low-pressure environments that foster connection and conversation without the formalities or expectations associated with daily responsibilities.
Common examples of third places include coffee shops, parks, libraries, bookstores, gyms, places of worship, and even shopping malls. According to Oldenburg, they are "public places on neutral ground where people can gather and interact," typically hosting "the regular, voluntary, informal, and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work" (The Great Good Place).
The University of Chicago's English Language Institute expands on this idea in their article, Third Places: What Are They and Why Are They Important to American Culture?, emphasizing that these spaces "allow people to put aside their concerns and simply enjoy the company and conversation around them." In other words, third places nurture a sense of community and belonging, without the pressure to spend money or fulfill a specific role
Why Third Spaces Matter & The Science
"Life without community has produced, for many, a lifestyle consisting mainly of a home-to-work-and-back-again shuttle. Social well-being and psychological health depend upon community," writes Ray Oldenburg in his 1997 newspaper article Our Vanishing Third Places. This quote feels more relevant than ever as we continue to navigate the lingering effects of COVID-19, the complexities of reintegrating into society post-pandemic, and an increasingly polarized political climate.
A 2022 study found that only 39% of adults in the United States felt connected to others. More recent survey responses indicate that approximately half of U.S. adults report experiencing loneliness, with young adults aged 18–25 among the most affected (Office of the U.S. Surgeon General 9). Harvard's Graduate School of Education echoes this in their research brief, Loneliness in America, reporting that "a startling 61% of young people aged 18–25 and 51% of mothers with young children reported these miserable degrees of loneliness." Loneliness and social isolation are increasingly being recognized as major public health concerns. Some studies now consider them more harmful than smoking (which affects 12.5% of adults), diabetes (14.7%), or even obesity (41.9%).
Despite such high prevalence, "less than 20% of individuals who often or always feel lonely or isolated recognize it as a major problem" (Office of the U.S. Surgeon General 9). These statistics are just the tip of the iceberg, and multiple reports predict that the loneliness epidemic will continue to deepen each year. I'm not a medical expert, but even I can recognize this epidemic as a serious societal issue. Although I have only included a handful of sources here, I highly encourage you to explore the research further and delve deeper into the scope of this growing crisis.
If it isn't apparent by now, social connection is essential to our well-being and happiness, and third spaces offer a vital environment where these connections can thrive. As human beings, we're wired to seek out belonging and community. It is an innate part of our nature to seek out relationships and security. In the article How Social Connection Supports Longevity, Stanford researcher Carly Smith explains, "The feel-good sensations that arise from spending time with friends and family are real rewards in regards to the neuroscience behind them. Positive connections are processed by corticostriatal circuits, which make up the brain pathways that keep people motivated to receive rewards and reach goals." In other words, social interactions and affirmations don't just feel good; they activate our brain's reward systems. They fuel us with dopamine, often called the "happiness hormone," and help us feel fulfilled.
Julianne Holt-Lunstad's widely cited meta-analysis Social Relationships and Mortality Risk found that "people with stronger social relationships had a 50% increased likelihood of survival than those with weaker relationships." That's a staggering statistic, emphasizing the fundamental importance of connection to our physical and emotional well-being.
So, if relationships are this powerful, where do we cultivate them?
While home and work occupy most of our time, they are not always conducive to the casual, spontaneous, and inclusive interactions that truly nourish connection. That's where third spaces, such as parks, cafes, libraries, or community centers, come in. These places aren't about productivity or obligation; they serve as the physical and social environments where connection can naturally occur. They're the social glue that binds neighborhoods and the environments that quietly nurture resilience and a sense of belonging.
Beyond connection, third spaces are also a fertile ground for creativity and spontaneous inspiration. While diving into my research rabbit hole, I came across a quote from Steve Jobs that stuck with me: "Creativity comes from spontaneous meetings, from random discussions. You run into someone, you ask what they're doing, you say 'wow' and soon you're cooking up all sorts of ideas." After hearing this quote, I couldn't agree more. Some of my most creative sparks and imaginative moments have come from offhand conversations or simply being surrounded by others in an inspiring atmosphere.
Take coffee shops, my go-to third space, and unofficial serotonin stop. The casual, unstructured ambient environment energizes me in ways that working from home or a traditional office just can't (and it's not just the caffeine). I think differently and more freely. I approach projects with fresh perspectives and feel more connected to the world, even if I'm not engaged in deep conversation with anyone.
This feeling reminds me of a phenomenon often discussed in ADHD circles: "body doubling." According to the Attention Deficit Disorder Association, "Body doubling is effective because it helps create a strong sense of accountability. That extra bit of pressure from being watched can go a long way toward holding you responsible" (The ADHD Body Double: A Unique Tool For Getting Things Done). Simply being around others who are focused boosts my motivation, productivity, and, ultimately, creativity.
One of my most serendipitous examples of third space magic happened when I made my first "grown-up" friend on my own – at a coffee shop, of course. Dan, a photographer, and I happened to be working near each other when we noticed we were both intensely focused on creative projects. Naturally, we struck up casual conversation, which has led to an ongoing creative friendship. We now meet regularly to share ideas, offer feedback, and support one another's growth. It was spontaneous, unplanned, and a perfect case of unexpected opportunities that third spaces can spark.
Oldenburg captures this energy perfectly in The Great Good Place. He writes, "The character of a third place is determined most of all by its regular clientele and is marked by a playful mood, which contrasts with people's more serious involvement in other spheres... the third place is remarkably similar to a good home in the psychological comfort and support that it extends... They are the heart of a community's social vitality, the grassroots of democracy." In short, third spaces are crucial for individual well-being, civic life, and democracy itself.
Even spending time in a third space, without talking, organizing, or engaging in any performative activity, can be a political act. I recently listened to a podcast episode from A Tender Riot on Spotify, where the hosts reflected on third spaces in their Chicago community. Their guest, Mandy Medley of Pilsen Community Books, described how the bookstore has evolved into a central hub for activist activity and community gathering. While I haven't participated in many explicit activist spaces, I witnessed similar dynamics on my college campus before graduating. Places like the library, the arboretum, grassy quads, and various common room areas became informal third spaces, where students gathered for protests, prayer circles, club events, or simply shared ideas and presence.
Regardless of your personal politics, third spaces are integral in shaping our voices, choices, and capacity for action. In a time when so much feels isolating, polarizing, and often hostile, these spaces can offer hope, especially when we feel powerless or insignificant. Whether we use them for personal fulfillment or collective mobilization, third spaces can give us room to reflect, resist, and imagine better futures together.
Third Spaces Before & Now
The nature of third spaces has always been influenced by context. Geography, period, socioeconomic status, and urban design all affect the appearance of these spaces and the individuals they serve. Before the rise of digital technology, social interactions were centered around town staples like the YMCA, barbershops, salons, bookstores, churches, and diners. These spaces were rooted in routine and locality, often offering low-cost or free experiences, and fostered a strong sense of community through regular in-person engagement.
While many of these places still exist today, they no longer possess the same energy they once did. Their accessibility, atmosphere, and social ease, which they once offered, seem to be fading. I stumbled upon this image while leisurely scrolling through Pinterest; it's vibrant and full of life, with people chatting and simply being. It reminded me of stories my grandpa used to tell me about going to the barbershop or the nearby corner store. It wasn't just about getting a haircut or grabbing a quick drink; it was a place to hang out, catch up with friends, talk sports, and feel like a part of something.
Compare that to my recent salon visit. I had to book the appointment three weeks in advance, with the only available slot on a random Wednesday afternoon. Once the day finally arrived, I walked into the salon to find it beautifully designed. Modern, sleek, and Instagram-worthy, complete with floral walls for aesthetic photo backgrounds and black leather chairs, but the vibe felt sterile. Since I've just moved, I don't have a go-to stylist yet, and conversations with whoever I'm paired with often feel like forced small talk. The other stylists weren't chatting much, either. Aside from the hum of the hairdryers and trickling water from the sinks, the space was surprisingly quiet. And expensive. In hindsight, the "your beauty is from within!" neon cursive sign should've foreshadowed the price I'd pay. What I thought would be a basic haircut had cost me $60 before tip, and that didn't include a wash or style.
Maybe I'm being dramatic; maybe it was just an off day, but it made me wonder what happened to these once-vibrant spaces' organic social nature.
In 2025, public third spaces are not only dwindling in number but also becoming increasingly difficult to access. As the Urban Institute notes in How Third Places Contribute to Thriving Communities, "Public third places are important for facilitating social connection in cities, but a lack of sustainable funding, modernization, and upkeep threatens their existence" (Sissman and Zuckerman, 2024). Where these spaces are built and who can afford to access them raises serious questions of equity, especially in the realm of urban planning.
An example that comes to mind is the Orange County Museum of Art in Costa Mesa (OCMA). I LOVED visiting this museum for its open-air design, cozy cafe, dynamic architecture, and interesting contemporary exhibits; it made for the perfect solo date day. But even as I appreciated the space, I couldn't help but notice how inaccessible it feels to many. Parking nearby isn't free and can rack up quickly if you plan to stay for a few hours. Public Transit is technically an option but means planning your entire visit around strict schedules. The museum itself is tucked behind office buildings and the Segerstrom Performing Arts Center, making it surprisingly difficult to locate. Admission is free, which is commendable, but grabbing a drink and snack from the cafe can be pricey, and nearby dining options aren't much better, considering the mall across the street, South Coast Plaza, is known for its luxury retailers and upscale restaurants.
I'm not criticizing OCMA itself; I genuinely value what it offers, but its location and surroundings raise a valuable question: Who is this third space really designed for?
Today, many third spaces are defined by two key factors: location and the "cost of entry." I believe there is a genuine desire to revive and reconnect with third spaces, especially in the wake of the pandemic and prolonged periods of isolation. But they lose their magic if these third spaces are hard to reach, too expensive, or poorly designed. As Sissman and Zuckerman point out, "Where third places are and who has access can contribute to increasing inequality in urban areas, where health, education, and other amenities are already less accessible for people who are socioeconomically disadvantaged. Rural areas often have fewer third places, depriving residents of access to important social and economic opportunities."
Even something seemingly simple, such as a public park, can become exclusionary based on its design. If you can only reach the park by car, it immediately limits who can use it. Once you're there, factors such as seating and restroom quality can significantly impact your experience. Benches with divider armrests, often added to discourage sleeping, send a subtle but clear message: this space is not for loitering. Inadequate or unclean restrooms deter visitors from returning. These small and often overlooked design choices contribute to what is known as "hostile architecture," structures and elements that prioritize control over creating a sense of community.
This type of design disproportionately affects people experiencing homelessness and those with disabilities. While the homelessness crisis warrants its own deeper conversation, it's worth noting that many public policies, like anti-loitering and trespassing laws, often end up criminalizing presence in third spaces, especially for marginalized groups. As Shuqui Gao (2023) highlights in Green Space Justice Amid COVID-19, "The elderly, non-college-educated people, poor people, and blacks are less likely to visit public parks frequently, while unemployed people appear to be the opposite." I'm not an urban planning or policy expert, but these patterns are worth paying attention to as we imagine designing and engaging in third spaces moving forward.
As we get older, many third places come with a hidden price tag, otherwise known as the "cost to entry." Let's go back to the coffee shop example. These spaces are arguably the most popular and seemingly accessible third place. Whether you're flying solo or meeting up with friends and family, there's an unspoken expectation you'll buy something. While it's not a huge expense (though my guilty conscience says otherwise), it's still a silent requirement for participation.
As I've transitioned into adulthood, I've realized how rare it is to spend time in a third space without spending money. Restaurants, malls, coffee shops, and bars all come with a price tag, and my wallet feels the sting every time I try to indulge in a self-care day. More often than not, I choose to stay home primarily due to financial necessity. The "enjoying my rent" trend on TikTok, which Gen Z has embraced, makes perfect sense and resonates powerfully with this experience. In this economy, every penny truly counts.
That's not to say that free third spaces don't exist; libraries, bookstores, and dog parks are great examples, but access to them is becoming increasingly difficult to find. Without intentional investment, they may also fade away.
Social Platforms as a Digital Third Space
As of 2025, approximately 5.24 billion people worldwide use social media regularly, accounting for about 65% of the global population (Singh). In the United States alone, approximately 73% of the population, or around 253 million people, are active users. Surprisingly, YouTube and Facebook still hold the top spots among American adults, with Instagram, Pinterest, and TikTok close behind (Pew Research Center).
Each platform operates as its own kind of digital third space, with unique community dynamics and cultural norms. Facebook, for instance, has become a go-to for an older demographic. It's a digital gathering space where moms, dads, and even grandparents stay connected with distant relatives, share life updates, and repost inspirational quotes, often paired with glittery backgrounds and gentle piano music (if you know, you know). On the other hand, TikTok thrives on short-form, fast-paced, and often absurdly creative content, heavily shaped by Gen Z's humor, aesthetics, and ever-evolving subcultures, like #GymTok, #BookTok, #CleanTok, and many others.
Reddit offers another entirely different kind of digital third place, one built on anonymity and deep niche engagement. Users often feel more comfortable expressing themselves without revealing their real identities. Subreddits like r/AmItheAsshole (AITA) are infamous for their brutally honest takes, anonymous storytelling, and surprisingly thoughtful discussions. I'll admit, I've had my fair share of late-night rabbit holes reading through strangers' drama, and don't even get me started on the cake decorating videos with the story being narrated in the background. While Reddit shares TikTok's community-driven nature, its tone tends to be more introspective, informational and discussion-oriented.
One of the most powerful aspects of digital third spaces is their decentralized, borderless nature. They enable people to connect across borders and time zones, facilitating spontaneous conversations and community building that might never exist offline. The power of these platforms becomes evident when communities mobilize around a shared cause, interest, or goal.
In the summer of 2020, TikTok users, many teenagers, organized and coordinated a protest against Donald Trump's Tulsa rally by reserving tickets en masse and intentionally not attending. The result? A half-empty arena and a viral moment that directly challenged the administration's narrative of "overwhelming support."
Another standout moment in early 2021 was when Reddit users made headlines with the surge in GameStop stock. The subreddit r/WallStreetBets coordinated a grassroots movement in which everyday investors purchased GameStop shares to drive prices higher, disrupting hedge funds that had bet against the stock. What began as a niche investing thread quickly evolved into a collective effort and a significant economic event. These incidents demonstrated that digital third spaces are not just places for memes and micro-trends; they can have real-world consequences.
Digital platforms today serve as hubs for humor, activism, education, solidarity, and connection. They often meet us where physical third spaces can no longer, especially during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when many of us turned to Zoom, Instagram, Discord, and others to fill the social void left by closed schools, workplaces, and public spaces. These places helped ease our feelings of isolation and offered a sense of community during an otherwise disconnected time.
This brings up an essential question: Can digital spaces ever truly replace physical ones? While social platforms offer connection, they often come with their own set of limitations. They can be isolating, performative, or algorithmically divisive. Likes, filters, and curated personas and feeds can make online interactions feel more like a performance than a genuine presence. You can chat for hours via DM but still feel lonely when logging off. Despite their accessibility, digital spaces lack the grounding qualities that traditional third places provide, such as eye contact, spontaneous laughter, shared meals, and other shared physical experiences. While these platforms facilitate connections, they can never fully replace in-person third places' spontaneity or physical warmth.
As we continue to live in a digitally driven world, the real challenge lies not in choosing between physical and digital spaces, but in learning how to integrate both meaningfully. Rather than seeing one as a replacement for another, we can explore how both coexist and complement each other. How we navigate this balance is a personal choice, one that depends on our needs, values, and desire for connection, both on and off-screen.
Local Lens: Kaleidoscope Mission Viejo
The inspiration behind this post came from reading a recent Los Angeles Times article that shed a harsh light on the Kaleidoscope in Mission Viejo, an outdoor mall where I manage social media and design graphics. While I respect the journalist's right to report, I couldn't help but feel that the piece overlooked an essential aspect of the location: its heart.
The article, accompanied by an Instagram post summarizing its key points, sparked a wave of criticism in the comment section. Commenters labeled the mall as a "disaster" or a "dead zone," calling it outdated and irrelevant. While the critique may seem justified on the surface, especially to those viewing it from a distance, it overlooks the mall's ongoing efforts happening behind the scenes and, more importantly, the community the space continues to nurture.
One comment in particular stood out to me: "The Kaleidoscope is a sacred third space." I couldn't have said it better, and I say that not just because I work there, but as someone who has witnessed connections, memories, and moments unfold in its courtyards and storefronts.
What many may not realize is that Kaleidoscope is home to an incredible array of small businesses – places whose survival depends on community support and local foot traffic. From the sizzling flavors at Hana's Korean BBQ to the warm hospitality of Patrona's Mexican Restaurant, and from the cozy scents of 1982 Candle Co. to the curated racks of Miel's Women's Clothing, the mall offers a vibrant mix of flavor, character, and charm. It's where families come to share a meal, friends gather for laser tag battles or rounds of virtual gold, and creative spirits and cutesy couples paint ceramics at Color Me Mine before catching a movie at Regal Cinemas. This is just a glimpse of what's offered there; you'll have to explore the mall yourself to feel the energy.
Beyond its storefronts, Kaleidoscope isn't just about businesses; it's about the experiences it cultivates. Every month, the mall hosts the "Good Vibe Market," where local makers and artists showcase and sell their handcrafted goods while families can enjoy free crafts, face painting, and live music. Instagram-worthy photo ops and other seasonal decor keep things fun and fresh. Weekly game nights bring people together over casual rounds of ping-pong or cornhole. Live music nights set the tone on select evenings, and free dance classes offer opportunities to unwind and get moving. Monthly art gallery openings celebrate the work of local creatives, showcasing upcoming artists and their stunning creations. Seasonal events are always happening, with our most recent being the Easter Garden Party, which transformed the space into something magical.
Of course, no space is without its challenges. Like many third places across the country, Kaleidoscope is adapting to changing social habits and economic pressures. Dragging it down with sweeping criticism, especially without engaging with the people working to keep the space alive, only accelerates the decline of these essential community hubs.
Instead of writing off public spaces like Kaleidoscope, let's ask, "How can we help revitalize and reimagine them to better reflect the evolving needs of our communities?" Whether it's attending local events or town hall meetings, buying a gift to support small businesses, or simply showing up with intention, we can help breathe life back into the third places that matter most.
Reclaiming Connection & Cultivating Your Own Third Space
Whether you're an extrovert or introvert (or something in between), there's a third space out there waiting for you! In a world defined by routines, screens, and the constant buzz of hyperproductivity, it is easy to lose sight of the simple joy of being present. There's tremendous power in sitting down, choosing presence over pace, and being intentional about the spaces we inhabit
Third places are essential, especially for creatives. Our creativity thrives in areas where unexpected interactions can blossom, where inspiration can spark from a stray comment, an overheard story, or shared silence. These in-between spaces are where inspiration can often seep through.
Lately, I've made a habit of going on weekly solo coffee shop outings – my little ritual of reflection and small joy. However, I've also been seeking community in less obvious places: craft circles, dog parks, and even conversations that start with nothing more than a shared glance or a curious question. Back in California, I frequented a dog park in Costa Mesa where the same group of women gathered every week, iced teas in hand, chatting from their fold-out chairs while their dogs tumbled through the grass like old friends.
On another afternoon visit, a man mistook my pup for his own (understandable, they looked like twins), and what began as a laugh over the mix-up turned into a full hour of conversation on a bench in the sun. We talked about our dogs, of course, but also about life in general. He shared a piece of advice that I still carry with me, and that moment, simple, organic, and honest, reminded me how easily connection can unfold when we make space for it.
Not every interaction will change your life, and yes, talking to strangers can feel awkward. It's so tempting to retreat into our phones the moment discomfort creeps in. But lately, I've been trying to embrace that discomfort. I'm not saying you should go up to someone and ask about the meaning of the universe (please don't; that might be a little too bold). But what if, instead of doom-scrolling, you brought a sketchbook to the cafe? What if you journaled while sitting on a park bench? What if someone commented on your doodle or asked about your book? Instead of shrinking away, what if you leaned in?
You never know what kind of conversation, connection, or insight could follow.
If you're unsure where to start finding your own third space, try looking beyond the traditional. I've shared ideas on building community in earlier posts, but here are a few more places to explore:
Potential Third Spaces:
Local cafes or coffee shops
Libraries and bookstores
Dog parks or community gardens
Creative meetups (knitting circles, art nights, zine swaps)
Community centers or rec halls
Group fitness or classes (yoga, dance, Zumba, training, pickleball, etc.)
Art galleries or museum drop-ins
Farmer's markets or flea markets
Co-working spaces
Places of worship or spiritual centers
Workshops or continuing education classes (learning new skills is so cool!)
Open mic nights or poetry readings
Board game meetup groups or tabletop game shops
Pop-up events and local maker markets
Parks with public seating and walking paths
Cultural centers and nonprofit hubs
The goal isn't to "network" or force deep conversations; it's to be present. Some of the best moments happen when we least expect them. Maybe you'll meet a new friend, maybe you'll be inspired, or maybe you'll just enjoy the peace of existing in a space where people gather.
The invitation here is simple: find the places that make you feel grounded, curious, and connected, and then show up!
Final Thoughts
I'm still at the beginning of my journey to find a new community in the state I now call home. I don't have all the answers, and I'm certainly not an expert on third spaces, but I felt deeply compelled to share what I've observed, felt, and discovered along the way.
In an era when much of our connection feels curated or confined to screens, I've realized how vital it is to seek out spaces that allow us to be fully ourselves, unfiltered, present, and open to the unknown.
If this post encourages even one person to step outside their comfort zone or notice the potential for connection in a place they might have overlooked, then it has done what I hoped it would. That connection may start with a brief conversation at the dog park. Maybe it's sparked by a doodle in a cafe or a late-night comment thread that blossoms into something real. However, wherever it takes shape, third spaces, in all their forms, remind us that we're not alone.
So may your inspiration spark.
May your creativity flourish.
May you find a community—offline, online, or somewhere in between—with which to grow.
What might it look like if we all started showing up with more intention? And what kind of world could we create if we began treating our shared spaces, whether digital or physical, as a foundation for connection?
“Cuidate mijita, te extraño, te quiero. No te olvides que siempre tienes una casa. Take care, honey; I miss you, I love you. Don't forget you always have a home," my abue ends with as she does with every FaceTime call. Gently reminding me that no matter where life leads, home isn't just a place; it's a feeling we carry no matter where we go.
Citations & Resources Mentioned
@whoisscimilly. Enjoying My Rent. TikTok, 27 July 2024, https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjR5axFk/.
The Body Double: A Unique Tool for Getting Things Done. Attention Deficit Disorder Association, https://add.org/the-body-double/.
Burrowes, Kimberly. “How Third Places Contribute to Thriving Communities.” Urban Institute, 23 July 2024, https://www.urban.org/urban-wire/how-third-places-contribute-thriving-communities.
Flemming, Jack. "Inside the Mystery of O.C.'s Ghost Town Mall: 'Why Does It Feel Like I'm Trespassing?'" Los Angeles Times, 25 Mar. 2025, https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2025-03-25/kaleidoscope-mall-mission-viejo-orange-county.
Franck, Thomas. “GameStop Mania Explained: How the Reddit Retail Trading Crowd Ran Over Wall Street Pros.” CNBC, 27 Jan. 2021, https://www.cnbc.com/2021/01/27/gamestop-mania-explained-how-the-reddit-retail-trading-crowd-ran-over-wall-street-pros.html.
Gao, Shuqi, et al. “Green Space Justice amid COVID-19: Unequal Access to Public Green Space across American Neighborhoods.” Frontiers in Public Health, vol. 11, 1055720, 2 Feb. 2023, https://doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2023.1055720.
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Lorenz, Taylor, Kellen Browning, and Sheera Frenkel. “TikTok Teens and K-Pop Stans Say They Sank Trump Rally.” The New York Times, 21 June 2020, https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/21/style/tiktok-trump-rally-tulsa.html.
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