A Third Space to Find Each Other

We need a place --a space to be together; to find each other; to do some life with now!

(Gwen took this lovely picture over the weekend while having dinner with friends. The light…the rose… the mountain…the third space…well, you’ll need to keep reading to find out what I mean here by Third Space….)

Sociologist and environmental planners have reminded us that people need a space to share their life.  It is a needed space to gather, share meals, enjoy conversation and connect on personal levels. Starbucks has capitalized on this need and realization with tremendous success. Their coffee shops have become a sort of third space where people come to work, come to meet, come to relax and come to get a refreshment. Now, other coffee crafters not only make coffee but they make space. It’s a space to not be alone; a space of possibilities—a space to be with others rather than being alone.

We are told that there are three primary spaces human beings need to thrive:  There is the space of home—the space where we share our life with our family, relatives and close friends.  There is the space defined by our work.  It is in this space that we spend most of our adult lives.  Our offices, cubicles and factories become this important space where we give of our talents, gifts, passions and desires to help, make, heal, teach, sell and provide services.

But a third space is needed if we are to live out community, to connect, share, meet in safe settings and invest our lives—not just our trades in one another. We are told that “In community building, the third place (or third space) is the social surroundings separate from the two usual social environments of home ("first place") and the workplace ("second place"). Examples of third places would be environments such as cafes, clubs or parks.” Third spaces are where we meet to connect; meet to be with one another; meet to listen, become curious about something and find other voices speaking into the chaos of life.

In recent years, I have found poetry to be a “third” space— a space and place to open up dialogue with our own bewildered hearts. Here in this space of words, short lines and stanzas we find a light that casts its beams onto our paths showing us the way forward, through and onward. 

Poetry is not red or blue—meaning arguing about politics. Poetry is not black or white meaning exchanging the heated rhethoric of race or certainty. Good poems are third spaces where we go to find words, insight and inspiration from voices—old and new.  This “third space” is a way of not talking about what might polarize and isolate us. The poems we use will be bridges to bring us together, help us sit on the same level with each other and there will be water for parched souls. The third space of a good poem brings us together; restores our humanity and nourishes our inner lives. Perhaps, this is the very reason our Scriptures are so filled with the poems of the Psalms, Proverbs and early Christian hymns found in the Bible It is a safe way to do what Mary Oliver wrote about when she said,

“The heart has many dungeons! Bring the Light! Bring the Light.”

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With this in mind, I want to share with you about a new opportunity that I am inviting each of you to consider. I am envisioning a third space with you—a specific time we can gather together using Zoom and form a space of curiosity to examine a poem or two each week.

I’m calling this a 3C Group: Caring, Community and Cohort.

I’m inviting poets like David Gate, Wes Vander Lugt, Dr. Ben Sammons, Lucy Clark and others to join us to our third space in our time to guide us. Here, for 90 minutes each month we will form a circle to listen, share and explore one or two poems each month. I know. I know… I know that Zoom is not what we want…but I have found zoom a sort of third space that can actually work. We’ll try to make it painless and doable.

It will be a cohort of curious hearts to just see; just be together and to just see what happens in this space. I’ve invited a fellow emerging voice to join me as my co-host. Peter Ivey lives a couple mountains away. We have forged a companionship that transcends our ages. He’s like 38. Together, when we meet, we’ll each bring a “third space” poem that we’ve been thinking about. It’s like a fire to warm the soul. I know you’ll love Peter’s voice and heart.

Here are the details and the way to register. Space is limited and we’re filling the spots. We begin September 30.

I want to republish the poem I shared on Saturday. It’s about having regrets. I wrote about regrets on this past Saturday but many of you might have missed it. If so, look back to read the set up I offered you to this poem. But here is the poem without any other words. I’m interested in how this stirs you! I think weekends are probably not the best time to send out my Substack given that the one on Saturday got the lowest readership of any in a year…Whoah…that told me something important.

Since I wrote this poem, we’re leaving tomorrow to go see a few folks we love and miss. Yesterday, I heard of a friend who just got news of the worse kind regarding her health. You know how this goes…. we so often think, "I wish I could have see her more…gone to visit him more…had that conversation and on and on.” I’m just trying to live clean these days regarding my regrets. How about you?

Leave a comment and let me know if you could please.

The Box of Regrets

by Stephen W. Smith


I have made a shelf for my regrets.
I place them there to look at from time to time.
Boxes of "I should have done that."
Smaller boxes labeled, "I could have gone there."

I could have acted better.
I should have told you, “No.”
Some boxes there are dark filled with remorse.
Some have been opened long ago and now feel clean.

For years, I do not even look at the shelf.
But when it is quiet both inside and out,
A box or two whispers my name.
"Come and consider what could have been."

I have chosen to say to the whispers.
“But, I was protected from you.
Your darkness might have consumed me."
I am done with your taunts; done with your lies.

I am the better for not opening you up.
I am the better because that box has baggage.
Yesterday, I saw a sign for junk removal.
In my heart, I am making that call now.

But, in the night when I am half asleep,
I hear the whisper from a box still bulging.
“Open me. Talk with me again. Let me out again!”
Sometimes the voices diminish. Sometimes, I stay awake till the light.