Bernard O'Shea: What is a 'third space' and how can you use them to hide from your family
Bernard O'Shea: "The truth is, in Ireland, we’ve always had third spaces — we just didn’t call them that. We called them pubs."
I’ve developed a strange compulsion lately. I leave my perfectly decent house and drive to cafés to sit beside strangers, drink overly ambitious coffee, and stare at my laptop like I’m decoding the Enigma machine. Except I’m not. I’m usually googling “how long should a 45-year-old nap before it turns into a coma?”
And it’s not just me. These cafés are full of people like me — hunched over screens, headphones in, pretending they’re in the middle of a cultural revolution, when really they’re on their fifth quiz about which potato-based side dish matches their personality. (I got gratin, in case you're wondering.)
What we’re doing — according to sociologists who actually study this stuff — is occupying a third space. Not home. Not work. Somewhere in between. The Switzerland of daily life. Neutral. No pressure. Somewhere you can exist without being handed a clipboard, a chore list, or a child.
These “third spaces” are having a bit of a moment. More and more of us are fleeing the confines of home, especially since work has moved into our bedrooms, kitchens, or worse — the car. So, the need for a third option has grown. A space where we don’t have to “do” anything. Just sit, think, sip, and scroll.
The truth is, in Ireland, we’ve always had third spaces — we just didn’t call them that. We called them pubs.
The Irish pub has historically been more than a watering hole. It was a confessional, a comedy club, a counselling centre, a place of philosophical debate where men with no medical training would argue about gallstones over a pint. If you needed to meet someone, you said, “I’ll see you in the local.” You didn’t even need a plan. You’d show up, and nine times out of ten, there’d be someone you half-knew from football or who once fixed your boiler.
But something shifted. Drink-driving laws (good), rising prices (bad), and a general cultural shift toward wellness, self-improvement and kombucha (uncertain) changed how we socialise. Suddenly the pub felt like a guilty pleasure, and we all started finding new places to hang out.
Community centres, gyms, cafés, co-working spaces — they’ve all taken up the mantle of the third space. But they’re missing one thing: the old lad in the corner who’ll tell you he once met Bono in a field and show you the scar to prove it.
Third spaces aren’t new. The parish hall was one. The GAA club. Even your granny’s front room — where the good biscuits lived that was a third space.
We’re not inventing something new. We’re just updating the furniture and swapping the porter for cold brew.
According to sociologist Ray Oldenburg, who coined the term “third place” in the late 1980s, healthy societies need three types of spaces: home, work, and a place where people gather informally. He argued that third places create community, lower stress, and support democracy by encouraging casual conversation and shared experiences. That’s a lot for a place with muffins the size of a baby’s head.
From a psychological point of view, third spaces provide something called “psychological detachment.” That’s a fancy way of saying they give your brain a break. At home, you’re in “parent” or “cleaner” mode. At work, you’re in “pretend you know what you’re doing” mode. But in a third space? You can exist without expectations. That sense of freedom lowers cortisol (the stress hormone), helps mental recovery, and has been linked to increased creativity. So yes — even if you are just staring at a wall with a flat white, you’re actually boosting your cognitive performance. Probably.
One paper from Oxford University suggested that even low-level social interactions — like nodding at the same man who’s always in the gym locker room for some reason — create a sense of belonging that helps buffer against isolation.
So if you’ve ever sat in a coffee shop alone and thought, Why am I here?, the answer is: because your brain likes it. And because you probably needed to escape the bin rota.
Want to find your own third space? Here’s a quick guide that doesn’t require a sociology degree or yoga pants.
Your third space should be somewhere you don’t have to perform. No tight deadlines or no laundry piles. If your third space involves a task, let it be something relaxing. Writing. Reading. Watching people try to parallel park.
You won’t go if it’s a 40-minute drive. Your third space should be convenient. A short walk, a five-minute spin — bonus points if parking is free and the Wi-Fi password isn’t “123456”
Despite what some wellness articles say, you don’t need to strike up a conversation with a stranger holding a smoothie. Just being around other people can give your brain the feeling of connection. And if you do chat to someone, even better. Especially if it’s a woman who tells you you did “definitely go to secondary school with her son”
Same time, same place, once or twice a week. Habits are powerful. If Tuesday mornings become your time to sit in the park with a coffee and a podcast, it’ll start feeling sacred.
This is key. Your third space is not the same as checking your email in Tesco. Protect it. Don’t let your work creep into it. Don’t let your phone take over. (Unless your third space is doomscrolling, in which case, fair play.)
Maybe the third space isn’t a physical location at all. Maybe it’s just the feeling you get when nobody expects anything from you for a little while. Maybe it’s a mindset — one you can find anywhere. Even in the car outside SuperValu.
So, go on. Step into your third space.
Just remember to order something every 90 minutes. They have bills too.
