My Third Space

Sociologists have defined a new kind of space increasingly inhabited by people whose work involves the manipulation of symbols rather than of materials. It is a place away from home with all its distractions, and from the office with all its demands. It is a place where a person can feel physically and emotionally comfortable, separate from but not isolated from the world around him -- an environment in which one can work happily and productively. They call it a "third space."

My third space, where I go when I need to get out of the house and have no interest in going to the office, has varied over time. Much of my last book was written in the food court of a small shopping mall about four blocks from the apartment where we lived. Today, when I'm in the city, I like to spend a little productive time here, about half a mile from where I currently reside.

It goes like this.

"She Who Shall Not Be Named" and her girlfriends go walking as a group nearly every morning. Their destinations vary, but the walk usually involves a stop at a coffee shop or one woman's home where they sit and chat and drink coffee.

A few years ago several husbands of the walking women started getting together occasionally. Eventually they started meeting twice a week at a coffee shop where the women never go -- sort of a "boys club" atmosphere. Over the years the group has grown to include a number of accomplished, even distinguished, individuals from a variety of professions. When I am in town on the appropriate days I join the group. The conversation is good -- interesting, often stimulating, and always fun. Lately my schedule has kept me from the meetings but I still go to the coffee shop on my own because I find it to be an ideal "third place" -- a nice place to start the day.

I usually like to get there early, before they are really open for sit-down business. There is a constant stream of young men and women darting in for a take-out cuppa on the way to work downtown. I hardly even notice them. Soon the place will be filled with the breakfast crowd, but for now it is almost empty except for me and a couple of other scribblers [at least one of whom is a fairly famous novelist] who, like me, find it a pleasant place to get a start on the day's output.

The only problem with coming in that early is that often the young people who work there have cranked the music up and are listening to the kind of stuff that young'uns enjoy these days. No problem -- that's what Bose headphones and an I-pod are for. Soon the owner emerges from his office, adjusts the sound level, and changes the music selection to light jazz or something equally unobtrusive. I don't pay much attention, my headphones stay on -- I always seem to work best listening to Mozart. So there I sit, cocooned with my coffee, free from distractions, happily reading or writing away.

Eventually the place begins to fill up with twenty- or thirty- somethings meeting for breakfast. They'll be wanting the table soon. So, I pack up my things and head on home, my head buzzing with ideas, carrying a scribbled outline or marked up xerox of an article that will keep me busy for the next few hours. On some rare occasions I will have actually produced a couple of pages of usable prose.

Such is life in the big [well..., medium-sized] city.