The Hardest Part of Life on Land (That No One Warned Me About)

Everyone talks about how great it’ll be when you leave ships the freedom, the routine you create, the space to do what you want.  And yes, there’s a part of that which is true.  But what no one really prepares you for is the emotional and mental shift that happens once you’re off.

I definitely didn’t expect the hardest part to be something as simple as this:  Not knowing how to explain who I was anymore.

For years, all I had to say was:
“I work on cruise ships.”  “I’m just home on vacation I sign back on soon.”  Or even, “My next contract takes me to XYZ amazing place in the world.”  It was easy. It made sense. It gave me identity, structure, and a label that people understood.

But once I’d officially left… what did I say?
“I used to work on ships?”
“I’m in between things?”
“I’m figuring it out?”

It felt awkward. Not fully part of ship life anymore… but also not fully landed.  There was a certain pride in being ship crew and I still wanted that sense of pride in my next chapter.
But instead, I was in limbo.

I’d go out, try to make new friends, connect with people, join conversations with those who had nine-to-five jobs or office careers… and I’d feel completely out of place.  I didn’t have a “what do you do?” answer anymore.  And truthfully, I didn’t yet have a clear plan.  I was still figuring it out.

That feeling of not belonging anywhere was hard.  It’s strange how much weight one sentence can carry.  “I work on ships” used to explain everything about my life.  And now, I didn’t have a sentence that fit.  I didn’t know how to describe myself anymore.  And I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere not until I had something ‘solid’ lined up.

The second hardest part?

Realising that I wasn’t on vacation anymore.

At first, everything around me looked exactly like it used to when I’d be home on leave.
The same house.
The same grocery store.
The same cafés I’d visit.

Except this time… there was no sign-on date.  No return flight.  No contract waiting.  And that’s when it really hit me This isn’t vacation. This is my life now.  I knew it but I didn’t quite feel it yet. 

And the thing is, I’ve always known that routines help us settle.  They give us shape, and grounding.  But trying to create a routine when not all the pieces of land life are in place?
That’s a different kind of hard. Because land life is easier when it’s already set up:

• When you’ve got the job you want
• When you’ve adjusted to being home full-time — not just visiting
• When the people around you have adjusted to your presence
• When you’ve got your hobbies, habits, and a sense of normalcy

But I didn’t have all of that yet.  I was still finding my feet.  Still working out what my days would look like.

And while I deeply wanted a routine, something to help me adjust it was strange trying to build one when nothing felt fully formed.  I was in the same four walls as vacation mode, but now I had to live in them full-time. 

There was no countdown.  No “just ride this out” mindset.  No contract to return to.  I was in this in-between place.
Not fully landed.
Not fully settled.
But trying.

Trying to feel normal… in a life that didn’t feel normal yet. 

And that’s the part no one talks about.  The internal limbo the part where you want structure, you need stability… but the pieces aren’t all there yet.  That space can feel deeply uncomfortable.  Like something’s wrong with you because you haven’t clicked into your new routine.  But the truth is that’s just the transition doing its work.  I woke up some days and didn’t know what to do with myself.  Even simple things deciding what to eat, what to wear, or what time to get moving, it felt strange.  Because none of it had settled into place yet.

And somewhere in that stillness, I realised just how much of my identity had been shaped by the structure around me:
My title.
My schedule.
My crew.
My role.

Without all of that… I felt a little blurry.  Like I was walking around in my own life, but not quite inside it yet.

The truth is: this part of the transition is hard.  You don’t hear many people talk about it but it’s real.  And it doesn’t mean you’ve made the wrong decision.  It just means you’re between worlds.  You’ve left one life… and the new one hasn’t fully arrived yet.  So, if you’re in this space, if you’re waking up and feeling strange, slow, unsure, you’re not alone.
This isn’t failure.  It’s just the part where your system recalibrates.  It’s where your new identity starts to form, quietly, in the background even if you don’t see it yet.