Every Saturday around noon, I sit on a patch of grass tucked away on the corner of a busy street in Baltimore. It is nothing fancy — no manicured lawn, no park benches lined in neat rows — yet, for me, it is one of the most important places in the world.
Here, I gather with college students from the University of Maryland and the Naval Academy, Catholic missionaries with their smiles, young professionals from nearby offices, retirees with endless stories, neighbors whose windows overlook the park, and those without any windows at all — people who are unhoused and call the streets their home.
We are here together for Source of All Hope’s lunch in the park: a couple of tables set up with hot food, a few volunteers with open hearts, and a steady hum of conversation.
As a Johns Hopkins medical student, my weeks are often crammed with lectures and labs. But for two hours on Saturday, all of that fades. I am not “the medical student from Hopkins.” I am just me, reminiscing about favorite childhood memories or swapping stories about favorite food spots, or listening — really listening — to others’ journey through the winding streets of Baltimore.
These two hours nourish my soul. They remind me why I wanted to be a doctor in the first place. Not to ace another exam, not to add more lines to a resume, but to meet people where they are, to be a witness to their lives, and to find my own humanity in the process. In these conversations, I am a friend, a volunteer, a listener. I am reminded that I am not a machine built only for medicine.
This is where I found my way to pop the Hopkins bubble.
First, what exactly is this Hopkins bubble?
If you have been at Hopkins for even a few weeks, you know. It is the invisible force field that wraps itself around our campus and our lives. It is the way we talk mainly to other students, spend most of our time within the same few ZIP codes, and get caught up in the never-ending pursuit of the next goal. As a recent graduate from the University of Pennsylvania, I am sure many universities have their version of “the bubble” as well. The institution becomes its own world, separate from the city in which it is nestled. It is easy to lose sight of the broader world, the humanity, just outside the invisible gates.
And that is why stepping out of the Hopkins bubble is not just “nice,” but rather, I argue that it is essential.
First, it is about community. Real community, not just the familiar faces in the library or the hospital hallways. Meeting people from different walks of life, different neighborhoods different generations expands the soul. It teaches empathy and what it means to step into the shoes of someone vastly different from you in a way that textbooks never can.
Second, it is about perspective. Hopkins can feel like a pressure cooker. Grades, research, awards, residencies — the stakes always feel sky-high. But outside the bubble, I meet people who have never heard of Step 1 or Phi Beta Kappa, and frankly, do not care. And that is freeing. It reminds you that the metrics we obsess over are not as important as they seem—and that real life has a much broader definition of happiness and success.
Third, it is about identity. Stepping away helps you remember who you are apart from your professional role. You are not just a medical student, resident, or future surgeon. You are also a neighbor, a friend, a hiker, an artist. You are a curious soul with a hundred ways to connect, create, and contribute beyond your job title.
And honestly? It is just more fun. Life is richer when you are not stuck in one story.
So how do you do it? How do you pop the bubble?
Start simple. Find a volunteer activity that makes you excited, whether it is serving meals, tutoring kids, or planting gardens. Join a church or a faith community where you will meet people of all ages and backgrounds. Get outside with a Baltimore Hiking Group: Go canoeing on the Patapsco River, hike in Patapsco Valley State Park, bike along the Jones Falls Trail. Try something totally random and new, like magnet fishing in the harbor. Let yourself be surprised.
Baltimore has so many pockets of wonder. Its people have some of the most interesting stories to tell. You have to be willing to step beyond the familiar, the known, the Hopkins bubble.
Saturday after Saturday, I keep coming back to that little stretch of green. The grass is still patchy, the tables are still folding tables, the food still simple. But every week, I leave with a fuller heart, a lighter spirit, and a stronger sense of the doctor — and the human being — I want to be.
Hopkins gave me the tools to serve. Baltimore reminds me of the reason.
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