The Missing Space
Our small space, our big space, and the space that is disappearing.
I’m writing to you from my small space. It’s a comfortable armchair by a bright little window, and smells of freshly ground coffee. I can look down at a little stack of books near my feet, or across the room at my yoga mat. (Strategically overlooking the dishes that need washing.) These are my small spaces.
Then there is my big world space. My world news apps are all organized together on my phone, ranging from the serious to the thoughtful to the entertaining. Links to the writers and journalists that I follow and the podcasts that I enjoy are at my fingertips. My stack of books might be in my small space, but they are really part of my big world space, taking me to other places and histories and lives.
But what I’m thinking about today is the space between. Archeologists call it the “third space”. Sociologists call it our “village”. It’s our daily neighbors and our weekly book clubs and our monthly committee meetings. It’s the restaurant that we frequent with our friend. (Not the one that delivers food to our small space.) It’s the bus that we sit in every Saturday morning, chatting a bit with that nice old lady. (Not the car in which we drive ourselves the other mornings.) It’s the weekly yoga class where we place our mat in that warm spot near the window. (Not the exercise app we use the other days.)
Opportunities for small spaces and big spaces are growing exponentially: delivery, take out, streaming, social media… But it all comes at a cost. Our third spaces are disappearing in America.
When we were kids, our third space was where we learned our shared humanity. It’s in this space where we played with the very kids that we sometimes disagreed with. It’s here where we were willing to play our least favorite game because it’s what our most favorite people were doing. It was in this space where we messed up and apologized and learned to move on (a bit more humble than before).
As adults, third space is where we hang out with the very neighbors and family that we sometimes disagree with. It’s where we learn a new activity because that’s what our favorite people want to do. In this space, we have to put ourselves out there for the inevitable mess-up and apology and hopeful acceptance (a bit more humble than before). It’s where we experience our shared differences and our shared humanity.
Our current big world space has become loud and overwhelming. This makes us crave our small space where we can do what we want and think what we want and tune it all out. Yes, our small space is the perfect place to recharge. We can use it to meditate and pray and take walks in nature, away from the crazy. But we can’t thrive unless we have a balance of spaces. Too much big space and small space - and not enough third space - is making Americans lonely.
Yoga speaks of interconnectedness. That you don’t find yourself by separating from the village, but by finding your space within it. We need to play with the same people we disagree with. We need people to mess up and apologize and then accept them back.
We need each other.
Until next time,
Laura
