Places of Belonging
Vessels of Connection
In July, we explore loneliness by distancing ourselves from self-blame and guilt. This letter is the third and final chapter of the month’s series. You can delve deeper into the introductory piece Vessels of Connection, and the follow-up An Antidote to Loneliness to uncover lesser-known aspects and interpretations of this multifaceted topic.
In the late eighties and early nineties, I was a little girl spending a few days at my grandparents' house every summer. Every morning, when I woke up, my grandfather was already gone. He would wake up early and, depending on the day, would go to the farmers market three kilometers from our house, walking up and down the narrow streets of the old town. He would do this three times a week, returning with heavy cotton bags full of fresh produce. But the most remarkable aspect, the one I remember with great pleasure, was the stories he would bring to discuss with my grandmother. On his way, he would encounter numerous acquaintances, friends, and relatives, and would stop to chat with everyone. Stories of deaths, births, family disagreements, and gossip would flow and become their main preoccupation for the next hour, as my grandmother made lunch and my grandfather rested by the kitchen table.
On the mornings when the farmers weren’t selling fruit and vegetables, my grandfather would still be gone when I woke up. With his small folding chair under his arm, he would go to the main square of the neighborhood and spend the entire morning sitting in the shade of the old oak tree, in a circle with other peers, just talking and listening. More stories would flow at lunch, and for me, it was like a portal opening into the multilayered, incomprehensible world of adults. Over the years, I would witness the development of entire family sagas with chapters being released sporadically, turning unexpectedly to happy or tragic events.
My grandmother’s place for social interactions was closer to home: she would sit on a small concrete bench just a few steps from the house, with other older ladies, in turn grandmothers to my summer friends who were visiting or living in the same neighborhood as my grandparents. She would occasionally abandon the conversation to make a quick check on what was slowly cooking on the stove or growling in the washing machine.
There were no appointments or schedules for these gatherings. Everyone would show up whenever they could and stay as long as they could. The only purpose of these encounters was to talk, listen, and often just be in each other’s company, in silence, observing rare passersby, domestic activity on nearby balconies or in yards, and the movements of insects.
I had my place to go, too. It was the street that bisected the neighborhood. More than 20 kids would gather every day to play, talk, and sometimes ideate dangerous activities. I grew up managing multifaceted interactions and emotions daily, without the constant supervision and interference of an adult.
What would our lives have been without the farmers market, the main square, the concrete bench, and the recently asphalted street? What would our everyday life have been without these third places offering their unique opportunities to be and relate to others spontaneously, without time and space constraints, regularly and predictably?
Unfortunately, we know the answer: impoverished and dangerously isolating, as it is today for many elderly and children.
The third place
The way we humans come to be ourselves is always relational, and it’s a process that requires social and interpersonal skills that many of us take for granted. We grow and develop our sense of self in interplay with others; through acting, reacting, talking, telling, and listening.
These were the third places that today, at least in our developed countries, are on the verge of extinction.
It was the sociologist Ray Oldenburg who coined the term third place in his 1989 book The Great Good Place. The third place is not home and not work, but instead one of the physical settings that have throughout history encouraged a sense of warmth, conviviality, and that special kind of human sustenance we call community.
According to an article published by Oldenburg himself, this is what makes a place a third place:
It’s neutral ground: You don’t need an invitation, and anyone can enter.
It’s unstructured: You can come and go as you please.
It’s not expensive.
It’s a place to talk: Conversation is the main activity, though playing games like chess and mahjong is also common.
It’s near your home or workplace: Ideally, you can walk to your third place.
It has regulars: But strangers aren’t out of place.
Chatter, joking, and teasing are an integral part of a third place.
I’m aware of attempts to pass gyms, co-working spaces, or indie coffee shops as these old hubs for social connectedness. While I’m happy for the attempt, I’m very skeptical they will ever succeed in connecting people in a meaningful way since all these new concepts’ main goal is to make a profit, apparently designed to disincentivize lingering. They are places mainly for the privileged. What I see in these attempts is the creation of an illusion of a third place, which more often than not results in a false sense of connection, as you are surrounded by people. But these realities can potentially trigger an even deeper sense of isolation as no real interactions are going to happen. People attending are coming with a clear purpose: to exercise or to work. They enter these places intending to isolate themselves in a certain activity, not to connect. They bring devices as a way to say “do not disturb,” discouraging any potential interaction with others.
The immeasurable value of true third places is in the nurture and prevention they’re built upon. It’s an environment where individual friendships could happen organically and at the same time offer the feeling that you are welcomed, seen, and appreciated as part of a social group.
Because when we talk about loneliness, we talk about emotional and social loneliness.
Sociologist Robert Weiss introduced the idea that loneliness can take on two forms. The first form, called emotional loneliness, occurs when we lack deeply close relationships and emotional connections with others. The second form, known as social loneliness, happens when we feel isolated from others and don't experience enough meaningful social interaction.
Without emotional security with others, we feel emotionally lonely
According to Social Penetration Theory, formulated by Altman & Taylor in the seventies, “for relationships to develop, there must be an exchange of information. Vital to social penetration is breadth, the number of topics discussed, and depth, the degree of intimacy that guides these interactions.”
We need to be aware that certain essential conditions must be met for the process of bonding — which moves a relationship from superficial to more intimate — to happen.
Self-disclosure is one of them. How much we open up, show our vulnerability, and allow others to do so with us can predict the emotional security we feel within a certain relationship. More recent studies have found that when strangers are getting to know one another, the more they share about themselves, the more they end up liking each other.
Regularity with which we meet. Sociologists have long recognized that friendships thrive when we have continuous interaction. Research conducted in the 1960s showed that we’re primed to like people more if we know that we’ll see them again.
Mere exposure effect is a lesser-known but essential factor. In line with regularity, repeated interaction opportunities allow us to capitalize on our tendency to like things more the more familiar they seem, and this applies to people too.
Being around random people indiscriminately will not prevent us from feeling emotionally lonely or socially isolated. In big cities like Milan, we have the impression that they abound with opportunities for connection, but the reality is grim: most of them physically mimic some characteristics of third places at high financial cost while failing to provide the opportunity for repeated encounters and shared experiences that draw us closer.
With all this in mind, the chances of finding the right setting that provides the right conditions for emotional security between two individuals to form and thrive seem very low. I often wonder if, in times of no real third places, turning to shallow alternatives and relying on luck will ever make a positive U-turn.
Feeling like we don't belong leads to social isolation
Thich Nhat Hanh introduced the concept of "interbeing" to highlight how deeply interconnected our existence is with others and the natural world. He saw human life as fundamentally relational—our survival and sense of meaning depend on the connections we build with people and nature.
For him, interbeing wasn't just a philosophical idea—it was a call to action.
He encouraged what he called “socially engaged” mindfulness, which is about more than just individual meditation. It’s about coming together to practice mindfulness, building strong, ethical communities, and tackling social and environmental challenges. Through this collective approach to mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh suggested we can break free from the mental patterns that make us feel isolated and disconnected.
This concept of interbeing is not unique to Buddhist philosophy. In the Nguni Bantu traditions of Southern Africa, the word ubuntu conveys a similar idea. Liberian peace activist and Nobel laureate Leymah Gbowee translates it as: “I am what I am because of who we all are.” Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a theologian and anti-apartheid leader, explained the Zulu phrase umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu as: “A person is a person through other people.” Both interbeing and ubuntu encapsulate the essence of belonging.
Our need to belong is as ancient as human society itself. In the earliest days, people formed tight-knit kin groups or villages that were essential for survival. These communities worked together to hunt or gather food, took turns caring for one another’s children, and provided mutual protection. Being part of such a group was not just beneficial—it was often a matter of life and death.
Feeling a lack of belonging goes beyond just emotional loneliness. We might have strong, fulfilling relationships with friends, family, or colleagues, yet still feel like we don’t quite fit in with our workplace, family, city, or other social contexts.
Belonging often relies on shared values, customs, or activities that connect us to a group and give our lives meaning and purpose. When we feel that others in our social circles don’t understand or appreciate our values and interests, it can lead to feelings of distress and disconnection. The discomfort of not fitting in where we’d hope to be seen and valued can deeply impact our well-being and leave us feeling isolated and alienated even in the midst of a bustling social environment. In these moments, we’re reminded that a true sense of belonging is not just about having relationships but about finding our place within a larger community that resonates with who we are.
Closing the circle
It’s clear that social identity and emotional loneliness are closely linked through our deep-seated need for belonging. We naturally gravitate toward groups that resonate with our own values and characteristics, seeking out communities where we feel accepted and understood. These connections don’t just provide comfort—they shape our sense of self. Being part of a group influences our thoughts, feelings, and actions in profound ways.
This brings us back to an important truth: thriving emotionally requires more than just personal introspection. We need rich, nuanced social identities that align with and enhance our individual sense of self. Our well-being is closely tied to the communities we belong to and the roles we play within them. Without these meaningful connections, our emotional lives can feel incomplete and lonely.
In essence, our social identities and personal sense of self are inextricably linked, and nurturing both is fundamental not just for combating loneliness but for fostering a deeper, more meaningful understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.
July Conversations
If you are in the mood for some self-discovery time and inspiring exchange, head to July Conversations. You can keep the answers for your introspective self or share them with others looking for solace in relating.