The art of gathering
How intentional spaces bring belonging and purpose.
“What suburbia cries for are the means for people to gather easily, inexpensively, regularly, and pleasurably.” -Ray Oldenburg
My local café used to be within walking distance. The couch sank too deep, the tables were messy, the chessboards missing pieces. But it felt like home.
When it closed, I didn’t expect it to hurt. Starbucks became my fallback. I don’t love their coffee, but the space worked for focus and deep work. Still, both places lacked something essential.
Then, a new café opened right next to my home. It’s part of a regional chain, but it has what Ray Oldenburg called a third place: a space outside home or work where you can relax, belong, and connect.
Oldenburg put it best in The Great Good Place:
“…when the good citizens of a community find places to spend pleasurable hours with one another for no specific or obvious purpose, there is purpose to such association.”
I’d always known about the third place, but it wasn’t until a few visits that I realized why this café resonated more than my past experiences. Then the pieces clicked.
On my first visit, I met one of the owners, or maybe the operational lead, who was helping open the café. We exchanged names and greeted each other every time I came back. Before long, I started running into neighbors and friends I hadn’t seen in months. On my last visit, a neighbor I didn’t recognize (though she probably knew me from the local Facebook group) walked right up and greeted me confidently. My wife, kids, and I sat with her, and a quick hello turned into a long, warm conversation.
One common thread ran through these moments: community.
This reminded me of a friend who owns several coffee shops in South Florida. Community has always been his focus. He hosts poetry nights, music sessions, and art showcases. He’s deeply embedded in each city he operates in. Everyone knows him, and he knows them. His shops succeed because they’re more than businesses. They’re community hubs.
Contrast that with Starbucks.
Recently, they announced closures of some stores. Perhaps that’s because they’ve lost sight of community.
Even before those closures, its new CEO admitted it wanted to return to that neighborly café experience. Because that’s what people want: another place to call home. A place where you aren’t alone but surrounded by familiar faces, and where every visit brings the chance to meet someone new.
Without community, these spaces lose their meaning and cease to exist as authentic meeting points. In my short story "The Will," the protagonist discovers that he has been living in a simulation of Rome, where even the things and person he loves aren’t real. His experience in these dream-like spaces becomes numbed, and he loses that sense of belonging and, in turn, reverence for Rome.
True community spaces also become second nature, like an involuntary heartbeat. When there’s news or something worth talking about, everyone knows where to go. In Albert Camus’ The Plague, for example, it’s no surprise that when he wants to depict a sense of normalcy after a disease ravages a town, he writes how residents return to the café:
“Cafes and picture-houses did as much business as before. But on a closer view you might notice that people looked less strained, and they occasionally smiled. And this brought home the fact that since the outbreak of plague no one had hitherto been seen to smile in public.”
In my own memory, I think of when Fidel Castro died in 2016. Everyone, even the news stations, knew exactly where to go to get a grasp of the Cuban exile community. It was Versailles: the restaurant and café where Miami Cubans have met for decades to discuss politics and history over cafecitos, cigars, and dominoes. The night of Castro’s death, Versailles was packed with dissidents.
These communities and spaces may grow organically over time, but they don’t happen by accident. Community spaces require intentionality.
My old café proved that. People knew each other, but few went out of their way to connect. If I broke the silence and tried to start a conversation, the most I usually got was an AirPod removed, a request to repeat myself, and a half-sincere nod.
Community has to be designed through the layout, the culture, and the location. Let’s explore these elements, because they don’t just apply to cafés. They apply to workplaces, neighborhoods, and even our daily lives.
II. The anatomy of a community space
A community space is both physical and abstract. You can design for it, but you can’t force it. Communities grow organically, like seeds planted in the right soil. And with the right foundation, they can flourish.
The layout
A welcoming space balances openness with intimacy. My neighborhood café does this well. Two lounge areas with leather seats and low tables invite close conversations. A wide lobby gives space to linger and bump into new people. A row of tables lets solo workers focus. And long community tables encourage strangers to sit side by side, sparking introductions.
That mix of environments (quiet, social, and communal) makes it easy for different kinds of connections to form.
The team culture
Community doesn’t take root without people modeling it. Staff (or leaders in any group) set the tone. If they’re closed off or dismissive, the atmosphere dies. But if they’re welcoming, forward, and genuinely interested, it signals to others that connection is safe.
This culture of hospitality is key to a community space. Community cannot grow without it, particularly the welcome of a guest. Homer describes this well in The Odyssey:
“Here in our house you’ll find a royal welcome. Have supper first, then tell us what you need.”
The guest is greeted (Athena in disguise) by Odysseus’s son, Telemachus. Athena is welcomed, fed, and supported. These are the ingredients to a fruitful community culture.
What’s interesting is how passionate Telemachus was to make the guest feel welcome. This was not a passive approach but an active one with energy and purpose. Homer describes the scene when the prince sees the guest:
“…straight to the porch he went, mortified that a guest might still be standing at the doors…he clasped her right hand and relieving her at once of her long bronze spear, met her with winged words.”
Notice, the host disarmed the guest. This is critical because it demonstrates that the guest can feel safe and comfortable in Telemachus’s home and under his protection. This is called xenia, the ancient Greek practice of guest-friendship and a duty to hospitality, all tied to a sacred set of rules for hosts and guests.
When my new café first opened, the staff’s warmth seemed to spread. People struck up conversations in line. They lingered next to each other instead of retreating into their own worlds. That culture made all the difference.
The location
Where a space is built shapes who shows up and what kind of community forms. A café in the heart of a city will attract entrepreneurs, software engineers, and freelancers. Try to replicate that in a suburb, and the vibe changes completely. Location filters the community.
In Atlanta, Paschal Brothers served as a meeting place during the Civil Rights Movement. Martin Luther King Jr. and his allies often gathered there. In 1966, Ebony magazine described the diner as “a large attractive building with a soda fountain and booth in front and a large dining room in the rear.” Across the street stood La Carousel, also owned by the Paschals, which “features the finest jazz singers and musicians in the country.” These community spaces provided layered environments for many interests and arts, nurturing the African American community and empowering them to overcome adversity—all in a city already fostering this growing group.
III. The importance of shared values
A community space is only possible if people are united in purpose. In The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot wrote:
“In the room the women come and go / Talking of Michelangelo.”
It’s a reminder that shared spaces are only meaningful when paired with shared ideas. People must agree to connect, whether around art, work, or simply local life.
In cafés, that agreement is often unspoken. People work quietly side by side, trade hellos, and chat about the neighborhood or industry. The shared value is simple: a desire for community in everyday life.
Without shared values, the space is just furniture. With values, it becomes alive.
Types of community spaces
Cafés are just one model. Other spaces can play the same role:
Libraries
Colleges and student centers
Hotel or office lobbies
Bookstores
Parks, plazas, and public squares
Saunas and pools at gyms and wellness centers
Churches
Breweries
Each of these spaces invites people in, usually based on common values and purposes, and holds the potential to spark new relationships.
When a team or leader designs these spaces specifically for community-building, everything falls into place.
Whether you find a community space or create one, look for ways to cultivate engagement, authentic connections, and shared purpose. Third places give us more than a seat and a cup of coffee. They give us belonging. They become sources of new friendships, renewed inspiration, deeper productivity, and a stronger sense of community. And we need more of them.
Discussion: What is your favorite community spot? What makes this one unique?
You forgot parks, and btw, you should come to Europe ;).