Welcome to THIRD SPACE

An introduction and ethos for our creative commons.

I am lucky to be one of those people who keeps a pristine, storied journal collection. Since 2010, you’ll find ruled, grid, dotted, and even ripped pages chronicling my life—each one a record of moments both ordinary and extraordinary. It all began with daily schedules scribbled on trips with my mom, a young scholar working on the Baraka Campaign in Newark, New Jersey. The U.S. Conference of Mayors, presentations to the Annie E. Casey Foundation, and trips to Duke University for hush puppies with Professor William Darity. His wife once taught me how to play cat’s cradle as we waited for the check. 



The adults were amused to find that I—a child surrounded by indulgence—did not like ice cream. As they wiped off their milk mustaches, I realized something profound: children hold a unique power at the table. As long as we were diligent, kind, and respectful, we could listen, learn, and contribute. If we mimicked the best of the adults around us, ignored the worst, and asked good questions, then why couldn’t a child be just as capable as an 18- or 65-year-old?



This lesson—growing up as my mother’s road companion, granted access to rooms filled with Black women and other social scientists deeply invested in the world’s welfare—became the foundation of my lifelong commitment to storytelling. I learned that curiosity is a gift, one that bridges every moat of difference, connecting us to rich kingdoms of information and even love. I also learned that while books introduce us to new worlds, there is something uniquely powerful about being physically present in them. Spaces matter. Travel matters. The vibration of human connection, the way atoms pack tightly together in places where people gather—that matters.



It wasn’t in schools, offices, or homes where I saw transformation happen. It was in coffee shops, parks, churches, gyms, museums, libraries, and community centers—spaces where people recognized one another, where they came to see and be seen. That’s where history lived. That’s where the stories worth writing down unfolded.



Despite this early exposure to community, I spent much of my childhood feeling lonely. Not because I lacked people, but because I lacked places. Where could young people simply be together? Not at home, not at school, but in a third space—somewhere reality and utopia aligned. These places exist, but increasingly, they require planning and permission, an invitation, a link, a calendar hold. A spontaneous visit to a friend’s apartment now demands a group text and confirmation. A passing conversation about “grabbing a meal sometime” often fades under the weight of Google Calendars and LinkedIn updates. The ease of finding each other—out in the world, simply being—has become difficult in a society that lacks true third spaces.



So how does THIRD SPACE fit into all of this?



This newsletter is an ode to storytelling and the spaces it creates. It is not a creative studio, nor a forum, but the beginning of a long-term vision—one that will grow over the next decade into digital and physical platforms that cherish the intimate, the embodied, and the everyday histories that make our world beautiful. Through creative nonfiction, cultural commentary, poetry, and perhaps even research, THIRD SPACE will explore the ordinary yet spectacular moments that shape our collective experience. Whether through fashion, literature, visual or performing arts, architecture, nature, or technology, this is a space for curiosity to thrive.



I don’t know exactly where this vision will take me, but I do know I am grateful for every single person who joins me on this journey.



This is our Third Space—our place to gather, to think, to dream. I welcome your comments, emails, and reflections because I know these stories do not exist in a vacuum. I hope they extend to your kitchen tables, morning walks, and shower thoughts. I hope they bring you joy—a joy that resists the urge to be small, cynical, or silent.



Thank you for being here. One day, THIRD SPACE will not just be words on a screen. It will be rolling hills, a farm, a space you can walk into and call home.



For now, we begin.