I’m dreaming of a cozy little third place…

There’s a house in my town I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. It’s the kind of place you drive by and can’t help but wonder about: a little worn but full of potential. It has a big front porch and sits on a quiet street that feels like the kind of spot where life could happen—not the busy hustle, but the kind where neighbors stop to chat, kids play outside, and strangers don’t feel like strangers for long.

I’ve been imagining what it could be if it became more than just a house—if it became a third place, a space where people could gather, connect, and build a community. Third places have always fascinated me. They’re the spaces outside of work and home where you can just be. Coffee shops, parks, bookstores—they’re all about the in-between moments that bring people together. But what if we created more of those spaces in our neighborhoods? What if that house could be a place where people feel welcome no matter what, where being a good neighbor isn’t just an idea but something we live out every day?

I think about who might walk through the door if this house became a community space. Maybe it’s the couple down the street looking to meet people since they’re new in town. Or the retiree who has so many stories but no one to share them with. Or someone who’s just having one of those days and needs a cup of coffee and a place to sit. By simply opening the doors, you invite people in. You give them a chance to connect with each other and, in turn, with the neighborhood itself. That’s the beauty of good neighbors—they don’t just live nearby; they make life feel a little less lonely.

The idea of creating a space like this isn’t just about what it does for others, though. It’s about what it does for all of us. We all share the same streets, the same spaces, the same air. Choosing to pay attention to the people around us, to see and understand them as part of the same whole we belong to, changes everything. It creates a responsibility to each other—not just to live side by side, but to truly care about how we all exist here together. When we put ourselves out there—when we smile at someone walking by or invite a neighbor in—we feel a little more rooted. It’s like planting seeds of belonging, and over time, you see those seeds grow into something bigger.

It’s easy to underestimate how much we need that feeling of being part of something. But when it’s missing, you know it. Third places remind us that belonging isn’t something you wait for—it’s something you build. I’ve seen what happens when neighbors look out for one another. It’s the kind of thing that makes you sleep a little easier at night, knowing there are people nearby who’d notice if something felt off or who’d show up if you needed help. There is something ineffably human about being enmeshed in the patterns of other people’s lives. The unexpected magic of neighbors is that every person who comes into your life brings their own story, culture, and experiences. Listening and learning from one another when those stories are shared, that helps us all grow.

So, I keep thinking about this house. What could it be? What would it mean for the neighborhood, the town, and even me? It’s more than just an idea about a property; it’s a vision of what happens when we start treating our neighborhoods like extensions of ourselves, places where we’re all responsible for creating connection and care. Maybe this house becomes a coffee shop, a library, or a meeting space. Or maybe it’s just a place where the door is always open, and you’re always welcome. Whatever it turns into, I hope it becomes a reminder that being awake and engaged in our shared spaces isn’t just good for others—it’s what makes everything work.

What kind of third place would you love to see in your neighborhood? Let’s dream a little together.