The magic of the third and fourth space

and why we need more parks like Balboa.

I never thought I’d miss a park, but here I was, leaving San Diego, already longing to return to Balboa. I’d never heard of this park before our visit, but the minute I entered its gates, I was met with a bustle of human energy and high spirits that reminded me of the sweet ease of childhood.

Upon my first visit, right by the parking lot I chose was an artists’ fair lining the sidewalk, and little cottages stood behind them, nestled along winding, floral paths that, upon closer inspection, I discovered were part of an international village. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car, and I can’t remember the last time I had this feeling of giddiness in my body. I nearly skipped up the path, and like a moth to a flame, I found the House of Israel first. I was offered latkes and sufganiyot as it was nearly Chanukah. I lingered, chatting with the volunteers in Hebrew and pretending I was home. I hopped over to Germany and Finland and then to Turkey, discovering handiwork, history, and treats in each one of them. In Turkey, I was delighted to be greeted at the entrance with my Saba’s aftershave—the smell of orange blossoms always brings me back to him. I sprayed a dash of it onto my chest smiled, and then ordered an unsweetened Turkish coffee. It was downright magical.

I explored more of the park that day, walking through impressively detailed architecture, and I found myself surrounded by gorgeous vegetation at every turn. There was a plaza with an organ that opened for occasional concerts and a trolley snaking tourists through the park. I visited the UN gift shop—a store stocked with treasures from all over the world in the form of good luck charms, tapestries, candies, and art. I excitedly collected a variety of beads from there to weave into my jewelry-making.

This park is alive. Something about it feels so different. I didn’t just enjoy it—I craved it. Here, my anxiety melted away, my mind softened, and I felt more present than I had in a long time.

When I lived in Israel, I was enamored by the parks. All over the merkaz, or center of the country, lie enormous green spaces that house a robust schedule of activities. I remember when I lived in Herzilya, seeing flyers for the park events, peppering telephone poles, and recycling bins. In the parks are areas for biking, running tracks, playgrounds, and sometimes even pools. Some of my fondest childhood memories take place in these Israeli parks. There are puppet shows, festivals, and concerts featuring notable artists. It’s all open air. It’s a cultural hub. And It’s so inviting, especially on a balmy summer night, laughing with friends and snacking on bamba from a local makolet. It’s a place that is not only socially enthralling; it leaves you feeling deeply fulfilled. When I moved home, I tried to get the same satisfaction out of the parks in New England and was met with disappointment. Because, frankly, these parks are kind of dead. Sure, they have green space, but they lack the cultural infusion places like Balboa and the parks in Israel boast. I’ve reached the point in my life (and I have a sneaky suspicion collectively, we feel the same) where I (we) want to feel alive more often. I want to feel as though I’m not alone and, rather, that I’m part of something bigger.

Since our visit to San Diego was ten days long, I returned twice more to Balboa, drawn in by something I couldn’t fully articulate. I walked along the beautiful greenhouse, weaving in and out of its glass walls, and took a minute to admire the reflecting pool and an explosion of flowers at its entrance. I watched kids enjoying a magic show, sitting eagerly cross-legged in the middle of a nearby courtyard, and admired a group of friends sitting on a picnic blanket on lush grass with snacks abound. Their kids ran and played joyfully in circles around them. As I leaned up against the roots of a eucalyptus tree, it hit me. Balboa Park functions as the kind of third space I dream about so often.

Sociologists talk about third spaces—places beyond the first and second spaces of our homes and work that allow us to connect, unwind, and belong. Cafés, libraries, parks, and public squares fall into this category. Fourth spaces go even deeper, offering room for self-discovery and layered experiences that keep pulling us back for the love of community.

We are all deeply craving these spaces. In a meeting with Cherry Bombe members last month, Sue Chan, the founder of Care of Chan, mentioned the rise in popularity of IRL marketing efforts, and on this very platform of Substack, scrolling through the notes section, I’ve noticed a significant uptick in the many references to diving off into an offline experience. We’re craving physical magazines, writing in physical notebooks, and gatherings with real, tangible experiences to cherish. I keep coming across my Razr phone that I salvaged from my parent’s basement, flipping it open nostalgically and considering the possibility of booting it back up to replace my smartphone, mainly so that my friends will be forced to call me and make physical plans. The founder of Crown Affair, Dianna Cohen, shared a post on notes about recently about upgrading her iPhone. She decided that instead of transferring everything to her new device, she would instead set herself up in a way where her older model would house her social media, functioning in wifi only, while her new unencumbered phone would go with her into the world. She thinks it’s helping. I know deeply that on many levels, we’re all craving less time isolated on screens and more time lying on the grass staring up at the clouds.

Basically, we’re craving human contact in a world where the online chaos has become too much for us to hold, and these third spaces hold the key.

Flexible public spaces are increasingly rare, but they matter now more than ever. They give us a sense of belonging, serendipity, and community in a world where so much of life has become transactional and virtual. They are places where we are free to simply be—without an agenda, without expectations.

a night picnic in the park in Israel with my girlfriends

Balboa Park layers experience upon experience. Museums, an international village, open-air concerts, hidden gardens, spontaneous performances—it’s a place designed for curiosity, where every visit can feel new. It invites us to explore and to play.

On one of my last days in San Diego, I returned to Balboa to visit the artist village—a whimsically decorated pedestrian road with artist studios flanking the path. I bought ceramic bells, ogled beautiful rings, and met so many talented artisans. My favorite piece was the spirit totem—a ceramic hanging piece with hand-made beads stamped with symbols that represent you and your loved ones. The totem hangs as a symbol of good luck and abundance for your family. I left feeling creatively fed and inspired to create more on my own. And this is how I want to feel every single day.

Leaving the park for the last time was difficult because places like Balboa Park feel increasingly rare. Public spaces are often underfunded, and many third spaces have been privatized—think coffee shops where you have to buy something to linger. And yet, we need places like this more than ever. Places where we can stumble upon something unexpected, connect with strangers, and return home to ourselves. I know we’re all craving this more and more.

My hope is that I can recreate this sense of wonder in more spaces within my community. Perhaps the more that we begin to ask for these types of places the more they will exist.

So I ask: Where are your go-to third and fourth spaces? What are the spaces you wish existed? Let’s gather our resources and dreams and unfurl back into real life together.

---