I suspect that, at one time or another, each of us has felt the "world-strangeness" that William Watson (1858-1935) writes of in the following poem. Of course, feeling "world-strangeness" on a daily basis may be a sign that one does not have an adequate purchase on reality.
On the other hand, there is something to be said for a spell of "world-strangeness" now and then. It may prompt one to look at the world afresh -- as if you were a castaway on an unknown island, seeing things for the first time, free of everydayness.
Strange the world about me lies,
Never yet familiar grown --
Still disturbs me with surprise,
Haunts me like a face half known.
In this house with starry dome,
Floored with gemlike plains and seas,
Shall I never feel at home,
Never wholly be at ease?
On from room to room I stray,
Yet my Host can ne'er espy,
And I know not to this day
Whether guest or captive I.
So, between the starry dome
And the floor of plains and seas,
I have never felt at home,
Never wholly been at ease.
William Watson, Wordsworth's Grave and Other Poems (1890). A side-note: "World-Strangeness" was apparently set to music by Ivor Gurney in 1925 or thereabouts. However, I have never discovered a recording of Gurney's setting of the poem.