The Dagmar Perspective

In an era of digital connection where a person online can have thousands of friends/followers, it’s somewhat ironic that loneliness has become a defining feature of modern life. Despite living in densely populated cities with millions of people, many adults struggle to feel connected. But what if the problem isn’t that people don’t want community, but that we’ve accidentally removed the environments that once helped it grow?

Enter the concept of the third space.

Sociologists define third spaces as the social environments that exist between the first place (home) and the second place (work). These include coffee shops, parks, libraries, churches, and community centers; locations where people gather informally and relationships are formed organically over time.

Third spaces are often overlooked in conversations about mental health, but they play a crucial role in combating social isolation. A 2023 NPR report summarized new guidance from the U.S. Surgeon General, who declared loneliness a public health crisis in the United States. Among the many contributing factors? The disappearance of communal social infrastructure; primarily, spaces where people can interact without pressure or a set purpose. 

Third spaces aren’t just about physical location, they’re about function. They allow for:

• Repeatable interactions (seeing the same faces regularly)
• Shared interest or neutral ground (a reason to be there)
• Unstructured time together (talking, bonding, and just existing together)

These three factors are foundational to forming connections and combating loneliness. College campuses are a great example; they’re practically built around third spaces. Dorm lounges, student unions, dining halls, even libraries all provide low-stakes opportunities to bump into people and form bonds through proximity. But in adult life, that infrastructure disappears and often, nothing replaces it.

In many cities, third spaces still technically exist, but they’re increasingly constrained.

• Libraries are quiet zones and rarely promoted as a location to socialize. 
• Parks often lack sufficient seating and shelter, and many require a permit or reservation to host a gathering.
• Coffee shops have become a place for people exclusively on their laptops and socializing feels out of place unless you’re already part of a existing group.
• Restaurants and bars are cost-prohibitive for regular gatherings and have an implied (or explicit) time restriction on how long you can be there.

Even community centers, which should be natural third spaces, are often fragmented by age group, life stage, or activity type. There are plenty of offerings for moms/toddlers, teens, or seniors, but far fewer options for adults looking to connect outside of parenthood, dating, or career networking.

What’s left is a hodge podge of spaces that aren’t quite equipped to foster the kind of casual community that used to emerge more naturally. And that absence takes a toll.

The decline of third spaces intersects directly with the rise in adult loneliness. Without neutral, low-pressure places to “just be” around other people, relationships are forced into more formalized contexts, planned events, structured meetups, or digital platforms (see my post reviewing some of these friendship platforms). None of these recreate the ability of being able to show up somewhere unprompted, run into familiar faces, and slowly form bonds with others over time.

When I think about how rural communities address the need for third spaces, I often think of my grandpa who lived in rural Minnesota. In his small town, the local gas station became the daily gathering spot for several retired farmers. Each morning, the staff would set out a folding table and a few chairs in the back of the store, and my grandpa and his friends would sit for hours over a $1.50 cup of coffee, talking about crops, weather, family, and local politics. There were no time limits, no expectations, no agendas; just routine and connection. The gas station never marketed itself as a meeting spot, but by being welcoming, it became one. They likely made no more than $12 a day from the group, but they were never driven by profit, just a desire to build community. It’s a reminder that third spaces don’t have to be fancy or formal to be impactful; they just have to exist. 

And people are clearly searching for third spaces. In threads like this one on Reddit, users in urban areas (like San Francisco) frequently ask where they can find “hangout spots” that don’t require spending money, having a group, or fitting a certain demographic. It is extremely apparent that the need for community and the spaces to hold them are desperately wanted, but lacking in availability. 

So how do we address this? There’s no one answer, but perhaps it starts with reimagining the places we already have. What if libraries were not just a place to rent books, but functioned more like a college student unions? What if parks increased the number of tables and shade coverings, and made the spaces available without needing a reservation? What if businesses held space for people to gather without the expectation to purchase anything? What if cities built facilities with no other purpose than for people to gather?

We tend to think of loneliness as an issue that should be solved individually. But like all epidemics, its roots are systemic. The absence of third spaces is not a result of people not wanting community, it’s a flaw in city planning. And if cities want to support mental wellbeing, foster social connections, and build true communities for their residents, they need to prioritize investing in infrastructure that allows relationships and connections to form.

Dagmar