Now I’m not saying Boston’s a big city (relax, New Yorkers, we’re cool), but there’s definitely quite a bit of space available to run away to. Even Cambridge has about a thousand nooks and crannies that not even super-super seniors have wandered into. How is it that we feel stifled by the “Harvard Bubble”, then? It’s definitely there, and we definitely feel like we’re getting smothered by a crimson throw pillow when we haven’t left Mass Ave in three weeks. The problem isn’t that we can’t find space—to me, it seems like it’s there in spades. What I don’t understand is why it feels so life-changing to take an easy thirty-minute walk down the river or a ten-minute T ride to Kendall. What is it about being here that makes us so antsy?
Here’s my theory. At least, here’s what I think about why I sometimes get the urge to get on a plane to literally anywhere in the world not named Cambridge. When I’m here, I’m on call. Things pop up at the last second, plans change instantaneously, and we’re expected to keep up. It’s hard to show up to a special department lecture you just heard about if you’re at Quincy Market sucking down gelato and impossible if you’re (GASP!) somewhere you can’t check your email. The sad thing is that when you do get out of range, a piece of your mind is wondering when you can get your fix and see if your TF got back to you about that paper, or how soon you could rush back if a friend you haven’t seen since October is free for dinner. I’m not convinced that this is a personal problem of making myself overly available, though I certainly admit to that. I do know, though, that being able to perform academically or socially at the drop of a hat is a quality that many Harvard students pride themselves on and want to keep up.
That’s why I think the Harvard Bubble isn’t a place. It’s a state of mind. It keeps us tethered to campus just in case something comes up, which makes us feel suffocated, and it follows us when we leave, which makes us feel like we’re on a leash. I’d bet anything that I could get away without setting foot out of the quad if I could find some mental space for myself, but instead I need to physically rip myself out of the ivy confines to even try and tear my mind away, too. I suppose we wouldn’t be here at all if we didn’t go through high school being the go-to leaders that came in early, stayed late, and were relied upon to solve whatever last-minute crises popped up. I’d sure love a break from my self-imposed claustrophobia, though. And I’d love not to have to stow away on a ship to Brazil to get it.
What am I saying, boats are the greatest. I’ll be sure to send a postcard.