A Love Letter to Reverie and All the Great Third Places Out There

Third places are disappearing. Those spaces between home and work where community forms naturally. I’m lucky enough to have one.

Most Mondays I go to Reverie Coffeehouse. I get my coffee and find a spot to write and think through Heart-Strong. It’s where a lot of this work happens.

I love getting coffee at Reverie instead of making it at home. The connection with the people there helps set the right rhythm. The employees. The regulars. A few words, a familiar face, and I’m ready to go inward.

Here’s what a recent Monday morning at Reverie looked like. Like most mornings at Reverie, people kept showing up in interesting ways. And I left with an empty mug of coffee and a heart full of community and connection.

The Veteran

There’s a guy I see almost every time I’m there. I was pretty sure he was a veteran. We’ve exchanged nods for months. That kind of polite regular-to-regular acknowledgment.

This Monday we actually talked.

Turns out he was not only a veteran but was also on scene at the Patagon on 9/11 in D.C. He’s dealt with a lot of trauma and PTSD. He asked if I had a podcast because he’d heard me mention something. I explained the Campfire Conversations.

He said yeah, so much behavior is driven by fear.

We only talked for a few minutes. But it was real. We had deep conversation in the matter of minutes. That’s the thing about Reverie. You can see someone dozens of times and then one day you actually talk. And it’s not just about exchanging pleasantries. The space makes meaningful connection possible.

The Cappuccino

I settled into my go-to-spot and started writing. And I witnessed something I think was very special. Hannah, the owner, was serving a woman at the counter. The woman was buying her husband a gift card. She wanted it to be the exact cost of his regular drink but couldn’t remember what he ordered.

Hannah asked the husband’s name. The woman told her.

Hannah described him. The hat he wears. What he looks like. The woman nodded. Yes, that’s my husband.

Hannah said, “Oh yeah, he gets a cappuccino.”

The woman confirmed, “Yes, that’s it!”

I went up to Hannah after. I had to tell her how amazing that was. The attention and care she brings to actually knowing the people who come through. She does this with everyone. Coffee is the vehicle. Community and connection are the reason.

The Friend

A little bit later a friend of mine came in to get coffee before heading to work. We’ve been trying to connect for a while. He sat down and we chatted for a few minutes.

At one point he mentioned something his acupuncturist’s son said. The son just graduated from West Point. He was commenting to his mom that things are really good for him. He has a good job with good pay, solid benefits, investment plan, and health insurance. All provided by the government.

My friend then shared an observation the acupuncturist’s son made. The U.S. has no problem using socialism to support the people who defend capitalism.

Wow! I found that thought profound and have been sitting with it ever since. Using some of the tools of socialism to defend and protect capitalism. Maybe the two are not mutually exclusive. Maybe it’s not either or, but yes and.

What Hannah Built

These are the kind of things that happen at Reverie. The kind of thing that comes up when you’re actually having a real conversation with someone. Not surface level stuff. Talking about important things and asking interesting questions.

I’ve spent a lot of time in coffee shops over the years. I wrote the business plan for my first company, Atayne, over the course of a few months at a great coffee shop in Arlington, VA called Murky Coffee. Unfortunately, it’s no longer around.

I love coffee shops. But for me, Reverie feels a bit different than most.

You can see it in the space itself. The plants everywhere. The warm colors. The “Sip & Wander” mural with the hummingbird. The kids’ corner with books and coloring supplies. The cozy chairs arranged for actual conversation.

Hannah built this intentionally. It’s designed to hold people, not move them through.

The sociologist Ray Oldenburg named these kinds of places “third places” back in the 1980s. Not home. Not work. The informal public gathering spots where community forms naturally. Coffee shops, barbershops, corner bars, libraries. The kinds of places where regulars become something more than customers.

And they’re disappearing.

Robert Putnam documented this in “Bowling Alone.” Americans are increasingly disconnected from each other. We’re not joining civic organizations. We’re not participating in community life. We’re literally bowling alone instead of in leagues.

Part of what we’ve lost are these third places. The economic incentives work against them. A customer who nurses one coffee for two hours while writing doesn’t hit the metrics. The space feels wasted on conversation that doesn’t drive transactions.

But here’s what we actually lose. We lose the veteran who can talk about fear. We lose the chance encounters that become real relationships. We lose the connective tissue that turns individuals into community.

My order is simple. Black coffee with a couple ice cubes. I don’t like things too hot or too cold. Hannah and the rest of the team (Alyssa, Audrey, Laura, Lucas, and Megan) know this. They know everyone’s orders.

That’s not a small thing. It’s evidence of what Hannah’s prioritized. Knowing people matters more than efficiency. Connection matters more than transactions.

Supporting Community Beyond Coffee

I recently hosted my first community Campfire Conversation at Reverie. I’d reached out to Hannah about doing this. Could I gather some men from the Reverie community to talk about love and fear?

She was all in.

Seven men showed up. All regulars at Reverie. We pulled chairs into a circle, sat around a makeshift fire, and talked for nearly two hours. Real conversation. The kind where people actually listen and share what’s true.

It worked because Hannah had already built the foundation. A culture of connection. All I had to do was invite people into something that already existed.

That’s what a third place does when it’s done right.

The Gift

I’m grateful for Reverie. I’m grateful for Hannah and what she’s created.

But this isn’t just a love letter to one coffee shop in coastal Maine. It’s a love letter to every third place that’s still out there. Every barbershop where the owner knows your name. Every corner bar where regulars look out for each other. Every library that’s more than just books. Every space that treats people like community instead of customers.

These places are rare and getting rarer. The economics work against them. The cultural momentum is toward isolation. We order everything online. We work from home. We don’t need to go anywhere to get what we need.

Except we do.

My Heart-Strong work needs spaces like this. Places where I can think and write. Places where I can watch people connect. Places where community is the point, not just the byproduct.

The world works better when more of us are pulled by love than controlled by fear. Third places are one of that ways that comes to life in practice. It’s not complicated. It’s a coffee shop where the owner knows your name and your order and actually cares about both.

Hannah built a space where connection happens naturally. Where a veteran can talk about trauma. Where a wife can buy her husband’s favorite drink without knowing what it is. Where friends can talk capitalism and socialism over coffee. Where seven men can gather and share what’s real.

I invite you to notice the third places in your life. And more importantly, support them. Show up to them. Not just for the coffee or the haircut or the beer. Show up for the veteran who needs someone to hear him. Show up for the conversation that shifts your thinking. Show up for the chance to be part of something bigger than a transaction.

And if you’re lucky enough to have someone like Hannah in your life who’s built one of these spaces, tell her thank you. Tell her what it means. Tell her you notice what she’s created.

Because people like Hannah are building something the world desperately needs. Spaces where love spills over. Where connection is the default. Where community just happens.

So, this is a love letter to Reverie. And to Hannah. And to everyone who shows up there and makes it what it is. And to all the third places out there still holding space for us.

Thank you for creating places where this work can happen. Where people can connect. Where we remember we’re not alone. Where we know we’re held by something bigger than just caffeine and Wi-Fi.