The Third Place

Last month, someone in my community Facebook group asked why Christmas carolers weren’t going around singing from house to house, anymore.

To be fair, I’ve lived here all of my life, and have had a caroler at my door never, but I get the sentiment, it was the holidays, and we all love a Hallmark movie moment during the holidays. 

I know the go-to response to these complaints now a days is lazy youth, and their cracked out avocado-guzzling heathenism and disrespect for tradition. 

But like, why the hell would anyone of any generation want to Christmas carol in 2023?

We both know the moment I step my little (knockoff) Ugg boot onto your porch you’ll be some blasting raccoon-eyed Ring camera footage of me to the whole town facebook group, accusing me of staking out the place like the Wet Bandits. 

I see people light pitchforks over cars that turn around in their driveways, and you’re confused why I’m not pa rum pum pum pum’ing you right now?

I really want us all to be concerned. Not about the gaggle of menacing teens in your driveway holding sheet music, but about how absolutely disconnected and insufferable we’ve become. 

I spend an excessive amount of time wishing my kids could have been teens in the 90’s. Or at least my romanticized, nostalgic idea of what the 90’s were at the time. 

No social media drama, no phones glued to our hands, riding your bike everywhere, weekends spent at the mall, nights at the skating rink, and all the MTV and Jonathon Taylor Thomas you could shake a stick at. Life was good. Fashion was better. 

But when I think about the real differences between my childhood and theirs, what I’m realizing is that I had a life full of community, and they do not. 

I blame the loss of the “Third Place.”

If you’ve never heard of this before, the concept of “third place” comes from Ray Oldenburg’s book, The Great Good Place, and the general idea is that people have three places: home, work, and then a third place they go to gather and socialize. It’s the place that truly makes and ties you to a community. 

Humans need that third place, and I don’t think we’ll survive not having it. 

Maybe it was bowling leagues, bunko nights, parks, barber shops, churches, community centers, or even just meeting up after work at the bar or stopping by for a drink on someone’s front porch. I mean, are we even building front porches on houses, anymore? 

Goodbye Central Perk. Goodbye Luke’s Diner. Norm? Never met him. 

The result is that we are lonely, we’re depressed, and we don’t feel safe anymore, because we don’t have neighbors, just people who live near us that we don’t know, don’t trust, and don’t feel connected to.

We live in a town of strangers we follow on Facebook for their drama.  This is why we don’t Christmas carol. 

From 2nd grade to 6th grade I went to girl scout camp for two weeks every summer, I didn’t see or hear from my parents for a literal fortnight, zero contact. Now I have a panic attack if my dog sitter doesn’t send me videos at least twice a day. 

I trust no one, I’m an anxious mess. We’re changed beings, folks. 

But hey, great news, we’re losing the intangible connective tissue, too.

Like the shared pop culture experiences we’ve sacrificed to streaming services. Now we just binge stuff on our own schedule, on one of the 900 rando platforms we’re subscribed to. I’m, like, 5 years late to Suits, apparently? (It’s good, but I’m only watching for Luis at this point, sorry Meghan) 

We aren’t racing home to watch big season finales or famous sporting events together like we used to. There are no water cooler Lost recaps or American Idol vote breakdowns. Remember the Friends finale? Huge deal. Now, I can’t even name one single show on NBC outside of Saturday Night Live.

I mean, does the thought of watching commercials makes me want to stab myself in the face, yes, but I remember watching Donna finally lose her virginity to David by candlelight, from the comfort of my college dorm with 5 girls piled on my bed, drinking cheap sparkling wine, crying happy tears because she waited so long, and it was finally happening for our girl. Core memory, worth the commercials. 

We’re also losing our local news institutions. Radio programs switching over to syndicated shows out of bigger cities. I have no idea who the hosts are, or any of the places they reference, because they aren’t my community’s places or my community’s people. 

Local newspapers have shuttered entirely. My mom has boxes of newspaper clippings in her attic from my childhood. Honor roll lists, sports photos, social events, engagement announcements. It was such a big deal to see yourself in print, especially as a kid.

Local prom famous. This was basically my family’s Christmas card in 1998, they were that proud. 

Not to mention it’s those local news entities that hosted Christmas toy drives, trunk-or-treats, emceed parades, and ran silly local contests for concert tickets. These are the fun community moments I remember about my town. 

You mean I can drop off an unwrapped toy at the mall and meet a locally famous radio DJ who takes my request to play Six Pence None the Richer every hour? Yes, absolutely, I am on my way.

And not to be dramatic, because I know we all love us some remote work, but we’re losing our second place- our shared work place- as well. 

So that means we’re down to one place. We are a one place people.

I just don’t think our lives were meant to be this small and insular. 

Is there a word for both loving and hating the things that are destroying us? Like, I don’t want to put pants on and go to an office, or order pizza on the phone with my voice, but I do want to chat with my neighbors every time I see them outside, and I like skipping the self check-out so someone else can ask me how my day is going and bag my groceries. 

I want whatever that balance is.