On being ship-side single

One of the most common questions that we, as crew members are asked by everyone (usually by our fellow crew-mates) is “do you have someone waiting for you back home”. For a large number of us, the answer is either “no” (which, in my case is quite legitimate, though a little over-simplified), or something a little more complicated.  There are a lot of us that answer with “I’m ship-side single”…

Life on ships is unusual. It’s an entirely different world. In a very real way, we’re living in a bubble.  We’re like our own floating version of Vegas “what happens on the ship, stays on the ship”. I’ve seen people who are wearing a wedding ring, hooked up with people who most definitely are not their spouse.

The concept of “Shipboard single” is a very real thing. The thing that’s important to understand though is that it isn’t born out of being “that kind of a girl”, or a desire to just sleep around – at least not for most of us. It’s born out of a very real emotional need. The hook-ups inevitably start about half-way through a contract; it’s fascinating to watch really, because some of the relationships are not remotely what you would expect. Some stay secret, some are blatant, some exist only in the rumor mill, but all are borne out of the same basic thing.

We get lonely.

You see, the thing about living on a ship, about living in this floating glittering wonderland, is that the sense of belonging doesn’t always go more than skin deep. There are people around you all day, every day, but it’s the ultimate example of being alone in the crowd. We do develop incredibly close connections, with truly amazing people, sometimes those connections last – but most times they fall by the wayside when a contract is over, you can’t get too close to anyone, since you’re rarely in one place for more than a few months at a time. I’ve been fortunate, there are some connections I’ve made will last me a life time, but there are many others that I know I’ll likely not see again for months, years, or ever again. My point is, out here we’re separated from everyone we know, everyone we care for – we wear a mask daily, no matter the weather, the lack of sleep, or the emptiness that occasionally gets its hooks into us, we are always smiling, always happy always with a little bit of extra sparkle. It’s what we do; it’s who we are, or rather, who we’re supposed to be. But when you’ve been two months at sea, away from your loved ones, away from anyone who seems to really know you, all you want is some kind of human companionship, some kind of human contact, to remind you that you are here, you are present, you are a person, that you are solid and in the here and now.

And you reach out. Sometimes to people that you would normally not give a glance to on the street.

Or, as a dear friend of mine put it once, “I’m a sailor, we’ll kiss anyone!”

Freud would have a field day with the likes of us…