I’m writing to you from my small space. A comfortable armchair by a bright little window smells like fresh ground coffee. You can look down at a small stack of books near your feet, or across the room on a yoga mat. (I strategically overlook the dishes that require laundry.) These are my small spaces.
Then there is my big world space. All of my World News apps are organized together on my phone, ranging from serious to thoughtful to funny. Links to authors and journalists I follow and podcasts I enjoy are at my fingertips. My stack of books may be in my small spaces, but they are really part of my big world space and take me elsewhere, history and life.
But what I’m thinking about today is the space between them. Archaeologists call it “third space.” Sociologists call it our “village.” It is our daily neighbour, weekly book club, monthly committee meetings. It’s restaurants that we often come out with friends. (It’s not something that brings food to our small space.) It’s the bus that sits every Saturday morning and chats a bit with that lovely old lady. (Not a car driving itself on other mornings.) It is a weekly yoga class to place the mat in a warm place near the window. (It’s not the exercise app we use other days.)
Small and large space opportunities are growing exponentially: distribution, takeout, streaming, social media, and more. But it all costs money. Our third space is disappearing in America.
When we were children, our third space was where we learned about our shared humanity. It is in this area that we played with the kids we sometimes opposed. It’s here that we were willing to play games that we didn’t like the least, because it was something our favorite was doing. It was in this area that we learned to ruin it and apologize and move on (a little more humble than before).
As adults, the third space is where we hang out with our very neighbors and family, which we sometimes oppose. It is a place where we learn new activities. That’s what our people we love want to do. In this field, one must place oneself for inevitable confusion, apologies, and hopeful acceptance (a little more humble than before). That’s where we experience shared differences and our shared humanity.
Our current world space has become loud and overwhelming. This makes us long for a small space where we can do what we want, think about what we want, and adjust it all. Yes, our small space is a great place to recharge. We can use it to meditate, pray and walk in nature, away from the insanity. However, unless there is a balance of space, it cannot flourish. There’s too much space and too little space, and the third space is missing – making Americans lonely.
Yoga talks about interconnectedness. You do not find yourself by finding space within it, not by leaving the village. We need to play with the same people we don’t agree with. We need people to ruin it and apologize, then accept them.
We need each other.
Until next time,
Roller
