In the past few years, discussion around “third places” has exploded. Sociologists, journalists, and everyday residents are rediscovering something our grandparents intuitively knew: we are healthier, happier, and more trusting when we have places to gather that are neither home nor work. These informal gathering spots — from coffee shops and bowling alleys to libraries, barbershops, convenience stores, and churches — once formed the backbone of American social life. Today, they are endangered. I’ve felt this decline personally. Several years ago, I committed to visiting a pizza café near my office for lunch once a week. I stayed afterward, hoping to read, talk with strangers, and build a sense of place. Most of the time, I was the only customer. Eventually, the café closed — and with it, the possibility of that space becoming my regular hangout. I moved to a convenience store but no one else ever showed up so I abandoned that options. I tried a local coffee shop and most days I was th...

  It all started with a folding table and a dream. I decided to host a potluck in our garage—because nothing says “community” like a plastic table next to a weed whacker and a half-deflated beach ball.  But in our small suburban town, where the biggest excitement last week was the garbage truck backing into a mailbox, this potluck had the potential to become the social event of the season. First, I printed some invitations (read: scribbled notes on sticky pads) and walked door-to-door like a middle-aged Paul Revere shouting, “Bring a dish and a chair!” People were intrigued. A few asked if this was one of those pyramid food schemes. Others wanted to know if there would be Jell-O salad. (Of course. What kind of operation do you think I'm running?) The day arrived. I swept the garage, shoved the lawn mower behind an old quilt, and strung up some Christmas lights I forgot to take down in 2019. Our suburban garage was transformed into a cozy, slightly flammable banquet hall. Neigh...