Since 2019, I’ve been self-employed, working remotely when and where I choose. And in many ways, it’s great.
I’ve worked retail jobs and experienced other casual work – I’ve sorted parcels, invigilated exams, and even dabbled in gardening – and none of it has fulfilled me the way writing does. If 15-year-old me knew that I’d be making a living from writing at 25, I’d have been amazed.
I can plan my work around my mental health, book appointments in the week when places aren’t as busy, and make more money than I probably would as a staff writer at this point in my career. By and large, it works for me.
But when you work alone, it can get lonely. My partner and most of my friends have staff jobs, so they’re in the office at least once or twice a week – and I can’t help but feel sad sometimes when they mention hanging out with a colleague or going for work drinks.
In 2020, I graduated and after moving back home for a few months, moved to the next town on my own. While I enjoyed having my own flat for the first time, it was difficult. It was still very much peak pandemic, and most of my friends were scattered across the country. I saw my parents and sister most weekends when I was allowed in their Covid bubble, but that was it.
When I was able to go to nearby coffee shops to work, it gave me such a boost – and almost a reason to get up in the morning. The second lockdown felt like a real kick in the teeth, as I was once again spending my weeks working from home without much human connection from Monday to Friday.
A year later, I started a master’s degree, and while going back to education and dialling back my freelance work felt like a jolt, I loved seeing people every day, and I made some of my very best friends on the course. As much as I didn’t enjoy some of the early mornings, I missed it when I went back to full-time freelancing.
The solitary aspect of my freelance life suits me. Sometimes, I don’t feel like being very sociable, and I’m happy sitting at my desk at home all day. But other times, it can feel like a slog. Before I moved in with my girlfriend, there were times – if my flatmate was away for work or at his girlfriend’s apartment – when I could go without speaking to anyone from my girlfriend leaving to go back to London (or vice-versa) on Sunday evening until my therapy appointment on Thursday morning.
Or, this would have been the case if not for third places, like cafes, pubs, libraries, and bars. It’s great to be able to work from home and save money, but sometimes I want that connection and sense of community.
Working from a cafe on a Wednesday morning rather than sitting at your desk in your home office isn’t going to be the same as going out for drinks with your friends on a Friday night, of course, but it makes you feel a little less ‘cut off’ from the rest of society. Even if I’m not talking to people besides the usual pleasantries and the barista taking my order, I’m able to feel part of something.
And, when working from home it can be so tempting to work from your bed – particularly during the autumn and winter months – put the TV on in the background, or start doomscrolling social media. Lying down in your pyjamas in the middle of a coffee shop to get your work done is, generally, frowned upon.
And often when I’m in a third place, among the other patrons, I’ll spot more people at work, typing away on their laptops. Though we might not speak to each other, and we could be working in totally different industries, it makes me feel a sense of community.
And I know I’m not alone in finding solace in these sorts of third places. Particularly now – I’ve left the student life behind, and I’m in my 20s – a time in your life when it can be difficult to make friends. We know that young men are among the most isolated people around, but it’s not just us.
Take retirees. If you’re in your seventies, perhaps divorced or widowed, and no longer work, third places can be invaluable in ensuring you’re keeping yourself busy – particularly when loneliness has been linked to dementia.
There are all sorts of people for who third places can offer a lifeline, almost, to the world beyond their usual four walls. And as freelancers, we’re among them. Now, I live with my girlfriend – who works from home three or four days a week – and our two cats, so working from home isn’t as isolating as it might be for some.
But even for me, it can still become difficult. As silly as it might sound, taking the time to have lunch and work in a coffee shop or a quiet pub can truly be one of the highlights of my week.
What worries me the most is the future – both for myself and for vulnerable people who rely on third places. For third places to thrive, we need to use them, but that often costs money.
Nobody wants to be that freelancer who spends all day hogging a table and making one latte or Diet Coke last for six hours, so even a couple of mornings a week working from a coffee shop can get expensive. Likewise, you might like the idea of going to the pub to read your book on a quiet evening rather than lazing on the sofa, but when everyone’s finding it more difficult to make ends meet it’s going to be more cost-effective to stay home.
You might not have a third place in comfortable walking distance, or if you drive you might not want to spend money on fuel. You might have caring responsibilities, an ever-growing list of errands and chores, or just be too tired.
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to suggest that third places have had a massive impact on my mental health – the pandemic showed me how I feel when I don’t have access to them – and I want to ensure we have them for as long as possible. Even if sometimes I might not feel like leaving the house, I’m going to make sure I do – even if it does mean spending an extra £5 here and there.
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