The Third Place

Going to a coffee shop, which I have never been to, is a favorite activity of mine when I take a few days off work. I curate new shops by doing a general search on Yelp or scrolling Instagram reels, and what is marvelous about coffee shops — and about living in Los Angeles — is that they are plentiful. I wonder how they all manage to stay open. I am not sure if I go for the coffee or for the experience, or maybe a little bit of both. What is even more intriguing is that shops now make space for dogs. Growing up, the idea of taking the family dog along was not even a thought, but now a pet-friendly environment is a plus for most businesses. I haven't gotten to the point of taking my own dog to the coffee shop, though.

The newness of it all — the smells, the people, the work going on — is intriguing to me. I wonder what keeps me coming back, and I wonder where it came from. I didn't even start drinking coffee until college.

Maybe it's what sociologists call the "third place." That's Ray Oldenburg's term for the spaces that aren't home and aren't work — the neutral ground where people gather, talk, and build community. The coffee shop is supposed to be one of them.

But here's what's interesting. On my days off, I don't go to coffee shops for any of that. I go to read. To journal. Sometimes to write. I'm not there for the community. I'm there, quietly, to work.

So is the coffee shop my third place? Or have I just found a warmer, softer version of my second place?

Where is your "third place" — and when you go there, are you actually resting, or have you quietly turned it into another room where you work?