root We move through spaces every day—our homes, workplaces, and the in-between places we pass without thought. Yet, how often do we truly notice them? Space is fundamental to our existence, but it rarely enters our consciousness. We name streets, cities, and countries, but what about the places that shape us yet remain unmarked?
The doorway we always duck under. The ledge in the narrow alley that we had to be careful not to trip over. The corner of a café where we made a habit of sitting. These spaces exist, yet we do not name them. Do they belong to us, or do we belong to them?
Let’s explore the places that fail to be noticed, but have not failed to change us — and the underlying philosophical glimmerings that define our subconscious.
What’s in a Space?
As a child, I tended to dump my Lego bricks at a certain spot in my living room–no, it wasn’t the least trafficked spot in the living room, and no, it did not have any ergonomic advantages either. For no rhyme or reason, my little head just liked sitting there. Yet at that little spot, a vast domain built from imagination expanded. It was there I played out whatever scenario my Lego characters were in. So, how big was that space, really?
We rarely perceive space itself—we navigate through it, occupy it, but seldom reflect on its presence.
Some cultures, however, cultivate a heightened awareness of space and our relationship with it. In traditional Javanese architecture, for example, lowered doorways are intentional; they require those entering to bow slightly, fostering humility and mindfulness. Such designs do not just shape movement but cultivate an awareness of the spaces we interact in and with.
This “engineered” awareness is not unique to Javanese culture. The Japanese concept of Ma (間), or the Space Between, also comes to mind.
It is the idea that empty spaces add as much as filled spaces, be it an artwork, an action, or even a song. Yes! The pause is not necessarily a physical pause, but can also be a temporal one. It emphasises that space is not only meant to be occupied, but also felt; that absence does not oppose presence, but complements it.
The Japanese term for ‘human being’ combines both the kanji characters for ‘person’ and ‘place’: nin-gen (人間). Unlike the Western idea that the world has no bearing on the affairs of humans, the Japanese consider the environment as influential on the person as the person is to the environment, though ever so subtly.
That’s not to say Western philosophies are incompatible with Eastern ones. While yes, it is much more intentional compared to Javanese culture or the Japanese ‘Ma’, at its core, the Nordic idea of Friluftsliv, or ‘open-air-life’, emphasises mindfulness and presence of nature through the deep awareness of the outdoors.
Friluftsliv wants you to be actively in touch with the space that you overlook. The Norwegian Trekking Association has over 550 cabins dispersed over a myriad of environments. They are not fancy spaces, but rustic corners that blend with and accentuate the environment you are meant to connect with.
Much more fascinating is that most of these cabins run on an honour system: You pay for the resources you take of your own volition, and no camera or person is there to catch you for not paying your share. Yet despite the lack of strict enforcement, cases of abuse are rare. It is even common courtesy to clean up the cabin after you are done.
Being thrust into the responsibility over a space creates a stronger awareness of it, as well as the realisation that you are not the only person experiencing such a space. In fact, it highlights that you, through your actions, are a part of the space that others will come to experience.
Even for the busy, there are ‘slow nature’ YouTube? channels showcasing baby chicks hatch from their nests, or peaceful adventurers roaming throughout the Nordic states in all seasons. They offer a glimpse of the world that many people don’t have the luxury of observing.
But reflecting on the spaces we encounter, as close as outside your doorstep for some, doesn’t the incessant sound of jackhammers just… annoy all the mindfulness out of you? As we force the world to bow to us (through algorithmic smart homes); As playgrounds give way to train stations, and are replaced by online chat groups and endless feeds, how do we come to terms with the reduction of real spaces and the dawn of digital ones?
“The world you knew is gone, but the world still goes on.”
Once, our spaces were alive and real—playgrounds filled with laughter, childhood paths that led to everything and everywhere we knew then, and imagination to carry us the rest of the way. Today, many of these places have transformed, replaced by structures of a more ‘productive’ nature. Yet, it did not mean that these spaces disappeared, but merely evolved.
During the isolation of the Covid-19 pandemic, we found new ways to connect through digital spaces. We built cosy homes and tranquil islands in Animal Crossing, and discovered communities in online forums. These digital spaces, much like unnamed places, became the new medium for us to build memories with our friends.
Yet, just as urbanisation erases the physical embodiment of our cherished memories, digital spaces are impermanent too. An archived Instagram post, an outdated piece of software, a lost save file—these spaces will cease to exist one day.
But it is not just our spaces that will fade. You and I will too.
The streets closest to you, the things you once knew, the people you cherish the most, they are all fleeting. In time, and no particular order, your memory will fade; your memories will fade; you will fade.
How do we contend with that?
In Daoism, there is the concept of Wu Wei (无为), which states that space is not something to be owned or preserved, or wrestled with, but something to flow with. Laozi speaks of nature’s impermanence, of how water does not resist change but moves with it.
Maybe the solace for these disappearing spaces lies not in clinging to what was lost, but in embracing change.
The forgotten island still exists, even if you’re too embarrassed to remember what you named it, the paths you walked, will be rediscovered and reshaped by others, the people who shaped you, live through the ways they changed you.
Somehow, I feel comfort in the thought that as the world grows, changes and fades, you and I shall too!
I am not saying that the answer is in Daoism, but maybe Laozi is on to something, even after all these years.