Where Did All the Third Spaces Go?

This week, Yurani Cubillos–Healing Bells' fabulous Artist, Visual Storyteller & Organic Social Media Partner–shares profound thoughts about belonging, connection, and third spaces. Finding spaces for belonging and connection are deeply connected to empathy and compassion. It's through connecting with one another as humans in our full humanity that we access our feelings of empathy and actions of compassion. By collaborating, we build the support and solidarity to continue the actions of compassion.

Ayub, Cynthia, Yurani, Justice, and Greg smiling in front of Yurani's art. Photo: Zizi Fjordan

Every time I want to gather with friends, it feels like I have to buy something first–a coffee, a drink, a ticket. Connection has become expensive. In this economy, where loneliness feels like another silent epidemic, I can’t help but wonder: where did all the third spaces go? 

The places where we could just be, no purchase, no performance, no pressure.

There used to be places that invited us in without asking for anything in return. Parks where people played dominoes, community centers that stayed open late, library corners that turned into storytelling circles.

Somewhere along the way, our commons disappeared, replaced by spaces that serve consumers, not communities.

And yet, what we’re starving for isn’t another latte or event. It’s belonging. It’s the ability to show up with no agenda, to sit next to someone and feel part of something larger than ourselves.

What Are Third Spaces?

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined the term third place to describe the spaces that exist between home (our first place) and work (our second). They’re the everyday meeting grounds, parks, libraries, plazas, community centers, front porches, hair salons, barbershops, and cafés, where people can gather, talk, rest, and connect outside of their roles or routines.

Cynthia, Zizi, Justice, Greg, and Levi gathered in a moment of quiet creativity at Mairel’s Bookshop. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

Friends of Yurani making a collective collage at Mairel’s Bookshop. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

Third spaces are where community breathes.

They’re where we exchange ideas, share food, trade advice, and build relationships that aren’t based on transactions. These spaces remind us that belonging isn’t something we earn; it’s something we practice.

Somewhere along the way, the idea of gathering was replaced with consuming. We were told that nightlife and noise could stand in for connection, that we could buy our way into belonging. But I’ve learned that the most meaningful moments don’t happen under flashing lights, they happen in the quiet corners, the soft pauses, the non-curated moments between people who choose to show up for one another.

Lately, those spaces feel harder to find. Even the ones that used to be free: parks, public squares, libraries, are often underfunded, policed, or quietly privatized. And for many of us, that loss isn’t just physical; it’s emotional.

Even our public spaces often aren’t built for gathering. Many parks have little shade or seating, and during hot summer days, being outside feels more exhausting than nourishing. The parks that are well-kept usually belong to gated communities or private developments, not the people who need them most.

I live by the beach, and while I know many people find peace and joy there, I’ve learned it’s not my third space. I’m not a beach girl; the sand, the noise, and the constant buzz of vendors and tourists can feel overstimulating. It’s a reminder that not every “public” space is accessible to every body or every temperament. It reminds me that even in places meant for everyone, not all of us feel at ease.

Photo of the monthly Community Gathering Space, where Yurani Cubillos reconnects in the virtual circle led by Dr. Hayley Haywood. Photo: Dr. Hayley Haywood

Yet I’ve realized that people like me are still finding ways to recreate them. I attend a monthly online gathering called Community Gathering Space, held by Dr. Hayley Haywood, "a sacred virtual space where women and femmes of color come together in search of soulfillment." Even through a screen, it feels like a soft landing, a place where our stories and spirits meet, where rest and reflection are honored.

A quiet corner shaped by creativity and rest, a soft reminder to pause and admire. Photo: Yurani Cubillos

Closer to home, my local bookstore, Mairel’s Bookstore, has become another kind of refuge. Sean, the owner and a dear friend, has turned it into a sanctuary of creativity, rest, and connection. It’s one of the few places I can enter without feeling like I have to buy my belonging, where conversation flows as freely as the coffee, and community blooms between the bookshelves.

And sometimes, the third space is simply my living room. I gather friends around snacks and collages, or we just sit together on the couch: no structure, no agenda, just being. Those small, quiet moments remind me that third spaces don’t have to be grand or public. They can be born out of intention, care, and the courage to invite others in.

Maybe third spaces were never meant to disappear; maybe they’ve just been waiting for us to reimagine them. What if we began to see connection as a collective responsibility instead of a luxury?

We can’t afford to keep waiting for someone else to build these places for us. They start with small gestures: an open invitation, a shared meal, a conversation that lingers. In a world that profits from our isolation, building spaces of belonging is a radical act of care.

So this is my invitation, to you, to me, to all of us:

Let’s gather differently. 

Let’s return to each other. 

Let’s make room for the kind of togetherness that doesn’t cost a thing.

“The development of an informal public life depends on people finding and enjoying one another outside the cash nexus.”

― Ray Oldenburg

Bookmark illustration designed by Yurani. Photo inside of Mairel's Bookshop: Yurani Cubillos

FAQs

What are third spaces?

Third spaces are the places that live between home and work. They are parks, libraries, community centers, plazas, bookshops, and living rooms where we gather without needing to buy our belonging. These spaces hold the quiet rituals of being human together. They are where community breathes and where belonging becomes something we practice, not something we purchase.

Where did all the third spaces go?

Many of the places that once welcomed us with open doors have slowly disappeared. Some have become privatized, underfunded, or shaped for consumers instead of communities. Gathering has been replaced by consuming, and connection feels expensive in an economy where loneliness grows quietly. Yet third spaces have not vanished. They are being reimagined in small circles, virtual sanctuaries, local bookstores, and living rooms where presence becomes the center of our belonging.

Why do third spaces matter for belonging and connection?

Third spaces nourish the parts of us that long for care, rest, and togetherness. They invite us to show up without performance or pressure. In these spaces, empathy becomes possible, compassion becomes action, and solidarity becomes a shared practice. They help us remember that belonging is a human need, not a transaction.

What challenges are people facing when trying to find free community spaces?

Many public spaces that once offered ease and openness now feel inaccessible. Some parks lack shade or seating, libraries operate with limited resources, and beaches or squares can feel overstimulating or commercialized. Even when a space is technically “public,” not every body or temperament feels welcome there. This emotional loss mirrors the physical one, leaving many searching for places that embrace them.

How are people recreating third spaces today?

People are turning toward intentional gatherings and community led spaces. Virtual circles like Community Gathering Space create room for rest and soulful connection. Local sanctuaries like Mairel’s Bookstore offer refuge without demanding a purchase. Living rooms become places of softness where friends gather with no agenda. These reimagined spaces grow from care, invitation, and the courage to return to one another.