The day I have been waiting for, hoping for, anticipating, imagining, playing out in my mind over and over is here and I feel…lost. Lost in this world. I can go anywhere I want and even though I'm in the place I spent 21 years of my life, something just doesn't feel right. Is it that my old room is now an office? No. Is it that everyone I knew is now 4 years older? Perhaps. Or maybe it's that I only really know about 4 people here now. Days after I left my job I dreamt of the boat, I was subconsciously trying to convince myself that my job wasn't that bad, that I could go back to it; see my friends and...serve rich people again. Never mind.
Something about being lost and the uncertainty of what’s coming next gives me a rush. But I am stressed out! Constantly wondering what's coming in this thing we call 'real life'. Why does it feel so hard to just go get a job? Oh right, my boyfriend is American and I want to be where he is. I also found out very quickly that life is hard when you’re not living in the same little bubble known as yachting. Food doesn't magically appear on the table, cleaning is something done in my spare time, not as a job. When I do laundry for my family and I. I find myself a little upset when I have to fold the clothes nicely (because to iron them would just be silly and a waste of time-- when it’s not my job). My perspective of cleanliness is subjective now: To me, tidy is now a mess and messy is a disaster. A disaster is horrendous but turns into the most satisfactory job when it’s done—if you get paid for it.
I always looked out of my port hole and thought "Recession? What recession? I can do that, that doesn't look so hard. Look at all the other people doing it!" I think the tunnel vision from the port hole blurred my vision of the reality. I find out I haven’t paid my taxes in a year and owe the government over $2000.00. Even if I wasn’t working in Canada! Oopsie.That's a bit of a dent in my move-to-LA-and-not-work savings.
When you come home after a yachting stint-- whether it’s a vacation or end of a job--things are different but the people are the same. This is the one certainty. The welcome home by the ones you love is the greatest feeling but I’ve been out-of-sight out-of-mind for months So the welcome quickly wears off—for both parties. I'm always asked the mistaken question: “So, how’s the cruise ship?” Something about the reference to me being a cruise ship employee irks me so I will usually correct them; “well I was never on a cruise ship…I was on a private yacht.” and I'm not trying to sound hoity-toity or toot my horn (because I was essentially someone's 'bitch')--OK, maybe a I'm tooting my horn a little, but only like a bicycle sized horn. They ARE completely different—trust me. I could never work on a cruise ship. From what I’ve heard, it’s like a huge tease: you can’t use the bars/clubs unless you’re an officer. That alone is a deal-breaker. You get barely any--if any-- time off the ship and the pay is nothing compared to what we got. While cruise-ship crew serves many people, we served 1. It was much more intimate and sometimes rewarding.
Being back on land seems to bring about numerous questions: “what do you mean I have to pay taxes?... You want me to work where and do WHAT?...You mean toiletries aren't free?” Even though I was basically a servant during my job as a yacht stewardess, our lives as yachties were very privileged (this is probably why I take offense when being referred to as cruise ship crew). We were sailing anywhere there’s water, docking in some of the most beautiful places on the planet, like Antigua, St. Baarths, the British and US virgin islands for days or weeks at a time. Alot of the time, when the owners weren't on we were only working a standard 7-4 day, which meant evenings and weekends were ours to schmooze with other yachties, locals and tourists.
Now, when I go to these places I will be a suntan-lotion-wearing tourist, with the scent of fake coconut as I walk down the street (no offense to those out there).
This time around I will have to plan my future and get a job. Pay taxes and save money—at the same time. Own a home and have a family. Buy material things—that I won't have to give away when I leave a job. This whole 'real-life' thing doesn’t sound so bad after all!
Here I come world...aka. LA.
