I subscribe to the concept of having a “third place.” If you’ve never heard of a Third Place, it’s exceedingly simple. I’ll use Wikipedia’s definition:
“In sociology, the third place refers to the social surroundings that are separate from the two usual social environments of home and the workplace. Examples of third places include churches, cafes, bars, clubs, libraries, gyms, bookstores, stoops, parks, theaters, among others.”
What most people don’t realize is that the Third Place in their life often finds them by surprise. Associations and friendships appear out of nowhere. Involvements in familiar places can grow and change overnight – and the mundane can be reformed into a haven. Comfort is a crucial aspect of the settlement of a Third Place – but that comfort can be one that grows over time.
I met my dear friend Ammon in December of 2017, and I had no idea at the time that he would eventually be the best man in my wedding. I was sitting beneath the needle in a random tattoo shop near where I was living at the time. The bright, LED sign above the door had called me in. Apollo Tattoo. The man tattooing me, Joel, was so eccentric he deserves a post of his own. Ammon, the surprisingly young owner of the establishment, took an interest in my tattoo concept. We hit it off and the rest is history. It’s a friendship that has spun out artwork, a band, fishing trips, a plethora of dump runs, and a spiritual camaraderie I’d never experienced before. But this post isn’t about Ammon.
Over the last 6 years Ammon’s establishment, Apollo Tattoo, has become a deeply important Third Place to me. As an artist it is a haven. Artwork adorns every surface within it – from the walls, counters, shelving, and even the very bodies that inhabit it. It is a place where people come to share their stories in hopes that they might proudly display them upon their skin. It is a place where artists push themselves to write those stories with the highest standard of integrity. It is a place where you encounter permanence in a whole new light. It is where we have spilled music late into the night – and I have sung myself hoarse on verses I’d have never thought of before. In short, it frees me.
Apollo Tattoo is not devoid of its responsibilities. In fact, those within it take great care to make it a wonderful place to be. And that, in itself, requires an immense amount of responsibility. But Apollo Tattoo is not a corporate office. It’s not a lonely coffee shop counter, or a home office carved from an extra bedroom. It’s not church. And it’s not the home of a sibling or a parent. It does not bear the weight of one’s own laundry list of projects. It is the craftsmanship of a dear friend – and a place where questions are welcome. Where songs are sung, games are played, and stories are told. I am blessed that this can be my third place.
I decided to write this piece because of a chair. It’s a chair that I find myself in often. One of two chairs in the parking lot behind Apollo Tattoo. It is a derelict chair. The one that truly falls apart if you lean back upon it. It threatens to give way to the merest breeze. But it is a chair that, if you learn the art, stands up. This is the chair I sit in when we take breaks in the sunshine or watch the rain from beneath the awning of the warehouse.
The chair inspired me because, after six years, I was struck by just how many conversations I have had in it. The talking chair. It too is a staple of the place. My third place. It has seen six years of my elations and pains. It stands for not only the depth of my friendship to its owner, but to the connections I have fostered to dozens of artists and human beings I have met there. I was inspired because, without care, this blessing I have counted as my third place could too fall apart. The wrong life circumstance and it could all fall out from under me. Not my friendship, not the steel that makes up the chair. No – just the opportunity to take part in it all - To share in the life and vibrancy that is that place in just that moment.
The chair stood out to me as a symbol of fragility despite a make-up of steel. So, I hope to leave you with that: despite all tensile strength – the blessings in your life are just as mortal as you are. Do not miss the opportunity to appreciate them as they are, and as they continue to evolve.
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