After years of connecting through screens, many of us are realizing that a “like” isn’t the same as a shared laugh. The pandemic and simultaneous transition into increased digital use didn’t just separate us — it revealed how fragile our sense of belonging had become. Now three years later, our communities are still fractured, with people working from home more and losing basic social skills and experiences.
The US is facing an immense loneliness epidemic, exacerbated by the lack of use of third spaces, increased phone usage fostered by social media, and the strain on relationships from the pandemic. In 2023, the US Department of Health and Human Services reported this epidemic’s disastrous effects, emphasizing that the mortality impact of being socially disconnected is comparable to smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day and greater than that associated with obesity and physical inactivity.
Third spaces — or places outside of the home (first place) and work (second place) — are designed for people to socialize, find community, and build relationships with friends, neighbors, and even strangers. Coffee shops, local parks, bookstores, libraries, community centers, or bars are all examples of third places; they create a sense of community and belonging that allows people to feel a human connection and a collective sense of shared purpose.
Yet, now, people are lacking a sense of community as there is diminishing use of third spaces. Since the pandemic, people have developed a new affinity for connecting solely through phones — why schedule an in-person meetup when you can have a quick chat over the phone? Why study or work at a coffee shop when your couch is right there? But this ideology reaps imminent harms, leading to less social interaction and more reserved natures.
I mean, when was the last time you went to a coffee shop and actually interacted with the people sitting near you more than a courteous nod or hello? People come to these third places under a common purpose, yet many fail to strike up meaningful conversations and find the belonging that comes with that purpose. These casual interactions, like small talk with a barista or a fellow park-goer, are what give us the fuel to feel less alone. They expand our community from our immediate friends and family to our entire neighborhood, college, or even an entire city, as we affirm our identities and connect with the people who make the place.
Ironically enough, I have come across numerous TikToks in recent months of users sharing videos of people coming together in city squares or parks — singing, dancing, cheering, and laughing in the streets. These videos that initially induce a smile become rather concerning when the comments are entirely about how people are yearning for more prevalence of this sense of belonging. These comments reflect the desire of users to unite under the common front of being mere human beings filled with joy. People seem to reflect on these videos with nostalgia, as if they are craving something entirely lost.
Evidently, these viral videos aren’t just wholesome clips; they’re a mirror reflecting what our society has been missing. In an age where online connection is instant but intimacy is rare, people are rediscovering that joy thrives in togetherness. It’s not about the song being sung in the street, but the simple act of being there — of witnessing, participating, belonging. Perhaps if we put down our phones and immerse ourselves in these third spaces, instead of watching them through an endless, addictive algorithm, we could transcend our confining borders and find fulfillment.
As college students, it is up to us to do our best to address this issue and mitigate the loneliness crisis. The next time you go to beloved CAJÉ or sit on the infamous fourth floor of the library, smile at the passersby walking near you, strike up a conversation with the stranger who sat at your table, or share an awkward laugh when the elevator gets too full. These little moments go beyond the simplicities of human interaction; they are not just niceties — they make campus feel intimate and personal. They help connect you to this wonderful Isla Vista community that we have the privilege of calling home.
Every time we choose to be present with one another, we challenge the notion that our lives are meant to be lived behind screens or confined to the four walls of our homes. Community doesn’t just happen; it’s built, moment by moment, through presence and care. Of course, this is, as most things are, easier said than done. It takes courage to talk to strangers, vulnerability to risk social rejection or awkwardness, and intention to show up consistently. But that’s why connection is so meaningful and so essential — it asks something of us, it pushes us out of our comfort zone, and it forces us out of our own way to empathize and identify with strangers.
Our generation has lived through distance — physical, emotional, digital. We spent years learning how to stay apart from each other. Maybe what comes next is learning how to build closeness again by returning to what has always been there: people, place, and the simplistic joy of being together.