“Someone to love; something to do; something to hope for.” This existential triptych – of uncertain provenance, but with roots back to Kant – is said to provide the key to happiness. I’d humbly add a fourth element: somewhere to be.

By which I don’t mean a place to live, one of life’s necessities, but rather somewhere away from home where you can just be. A place that requires nothing of you, but where you can feel connected to something bigger than your immediate existence. Typically now known as “third spaces” – neither home nor work – such places enable engagement with the broader world, without forcing or even requiring it.

Third spaces can be libraries, cafes, pubs, dog parks, dogless parks, beaches. They share simple constitutive elements: it’s fine to be there alone; and you’re not required to do anything there (except maybe order a drink). They are places where your mind can wander, and indeed wonder; where unforced conversations can be struck up between strangers.

Third spaces can bring benefits to all of us. They hold unique potential in our efforts to stave off the quiet epidemic of social isolation and loneliness that is increasingly recognised as a major health hazard.

I recently sat with my mother at a third space; the café at her retirement village. We watched two men converse with the ease of old friends in what was clearly a regular routine. Then a third man at an adjacent table, after a few furtive glances, reached over to shake hands and introduce himself. Half an hour later, when we left, the three men were still deep in conversation.

As we all know, it’s that easy for new connections to be made. But we need the opportunities for this to happen.

Over the past year I’ve been co-hosting social isolation and loneliness forums in urban, regional and rural areas, to learn about what’s working and what’s needed.

Libraries have emerged as crucial third spaces, with books becoming ever more incidental to their purpose. So have men’s sheds, their catchphrase capturing a profound observation; men talk better “shoulder to shoulder”.

And it’s not just men. I had a terrific conversation a few months back with a woman in Cairns about flaws in our mental health system. She asked if we could go and sit side-by-side on a park bench, where we could look out to sea and allow our conversation to be less forced.

It’s a curious feature of the human condition that we need not just the time but the space to allow ourselves to be who we are: individuals, and yet connected.

John Chesterman is the Queensland Public Advocate.