Sell, ship, or bin it? How we’re sorting our time in Abu Dhabi

There is a particular kind of chaos that comes from sorting through the accumulated life of an expat family on the move again. It sits somewhere between a car boot sale, an archaeological dig and a therapy session. And we are currently living in it.

With 9 weeks until we leave Abu Dhabi for Athens, the apartment has entered what I can only describe as its transitional phase. Every cupboard is open. Every drawer has been emptied onto a surface. Patrick is watching proceedings with great concern from his bed in the corner, which is — for now — staying exactly where it is.

My home has become a place filled with piles of stuff.

Our time in Abu Dhabi has been eventful in ways we didn’t entirely anticipate. We arrived two years ago full of plans, had our contracts terminated in the first year due to school-wide restructuring — something that was entirely out of our hands — found new positions at a second school and then found ourselves moving on from there too for other reasons. Two schools, two years and more than our fair share of unexpected plot twists. Abu Dhabi has been many things for us. Straightforward has not been one of them.

So as we sort through what stays and what comes with us to Athens, there’s an added layer of reflection to the whole process. This chapter was harder than we expected. But it’s also taught us more than we anticipated. And now we’re packing it up — literally and figuratively — and moving on.

The system we’ve landed on is simple: everything gets sorted into one of three piles. Ship it, sell it, or bin it. In theory this is very straightforward. In practice it involves a lot of standing in the middle of a room holding something random — an air fryer, say, or a raclette set still in its box — and having a surprisingly lengthy internal debate.

“The rule: if it costs more to replace than to ship, it comes with us. If it hasn’t been used in a year, it goes. The air fryer is in a grey area.”

For the big stuff — furniture, the kids’ beds, the sofa — the maths is clear. Shipping large furniture internationally, especially given the current complications with the Strait of Hormuz, costs more than replacing it in Athens. So the furniture is going on Dubizzle, Facebook Marketplace, numerous whatsapp groups and we’ll start fresh in Greece. There’s something quite liberating about that, once you get past the initial resistance.

The kids’ stuff has been its own project. Books, toys, games accumulated over years of birthdays and Christmases and “I promise I’ll play with it” moments. We’ve involved them in the sorting — anything they genuinely love and use comes with us, anything they haven’t touched in months goes to a good home. They’ve been surprisingly pragmatic about it. More pragmatic, if I’m honest, than I’ve been.

Our sell everything guide

Dubizzle — best for furniture, appliances, and bigger items. Abu Dhabi and Dubai buyers, good reach, straightforward to list. Take clear photos in natural light and price slightly higher than you’re willing to accept — people will negotiate.

Facebook Marketplace — better for smaller items, kids’ stuff, books and toys. Local expat community groups on Facebook are particularly good — search for Abu Dhabi expat buy and sell groups and join them all.

And then we found the box.

Tucked at the back of a wardrobe, behind winter coats we haven’t needed since Germany, was a box we had barely opened since we arrived. Inside it: artwork. Pieces we’d collected over the years and across our travels — the majority from six years in Malaysia, where we fell completely in love with the local art scene and some from our time in Germany. Pieces from markets, galleries, and cities we’d wandered through and fallen for. Art we loved enough to carefully wrap and carry from country to country — and then apparently never quite got around to putting on the walls in Abu Dhabi.

The sorted box of art work including some beautiful Chinese fans we bought in Singapore.

“In Malaysia and Germany, the walls were full. In Abu Dhabi, somehow, nothing ever made it up. Perhaps we knew, without quite admitting it, that we were never fully settled here.’’

I sat on the floor for longer than I planned, going through it piece by piece. There was something quietly moving about it — this little collection of beautiful things we’d gathered from our life, travelling with us in a box, unseen. A batik print from a Kuala Lumpur market. Art work made using teabags from a street artist we’d stumbled across on a sunny afternoon in Leipzig. Small pieces of everywhere we’d been, waiting patiently for a wall to call home.

A canvas bought for my husbands birthday of houses in Malacca.

Every single piece is coming to Athens. And this time, I promise, we are going to hang them up.

That box reminded me why we keep moving — not because we’re running from anything but because every place we’ve lived has added something to us. The artwork is just the visible version of that. Athens is going to get the walls it deserves.

If you’re in the middle of your own sort-out and need a system, start with the big furniture first — the decisions are clearer and the space it frees up makes everything else easier. Save the boxes at the back of wardrobes for last. They’ll take longer than you think.

— Marie 🙂

We’re moving to Athens — and honestly, we can’t quite believe our luck.

We have a destination — and it’s a good one. After weeks of job applications, research rabbit holes, and the kind of late night conversations that only happen when you’re making a decision this big — we’re moving to Athens, Greece. And we are genuinely, properly excited.

The Acropolis of Athens with the Parthenon temple illuminated by sunset, overlooking the cityscape
The Acropolis of Athens glows warmly at sunset overlooking the city

Athens. The Acropolis. The food. The warmth. The sea not far away. A city with thousands of years of history and, as we’re quickly discovering, an incredibly welcoming expat community. There are moments in this process where everything feels hard and uncertain — and then there are moments like this one, where you look at each other and think: yes. This is going to be wonderful.

And there’s more good news — my husband and I have both secured teaching positions at an international school in Athens. The children will be attending the same school. Which means that on the very first day, in a brand new city, in a brand new country, they’ll walk through the gate knowing that mum and dad are somewhere in the building. As far as soft landings go, we’ll take it.

We told the kids on a Tuesday evening, after dinner, when the dishes were still on the table and Patrick was doing his usual post-dinner patrol of the dining room floor. We pulled up a map. We said the word Athens. And then we waited.

“There was a pause — and then the questions came flooding in, fast and excited.”

Our two are old enough to understand exactly what moving means. They’ve done it before. They know the drill: new school, new friends, new everything. And while there are nerves — because of course there are — the overriding feeling in our house right now is one of anticipation. We’ve been looking at photos of Athens together, watching YouTube videos of the city, already debating which neighbourhood we want to explore first.

The questions came quickly, and they were almost entirely about school and friends — which is entirely fair. The school question, at least, we could answer straight away — international school, English curriculum, and yes, mum and dad will be teaching there too. That last part landed differently depending on which child you asked. One thought it was brilliant. The other had significant reservations about the concept of seeing their parents in a professional context. We’re calling that a normal and healthy response.

“What I told them: making friends takes longer than you want it to and faster than you think. Both of those things are true at the same time.”

The honest parenting truth is that you can’t promise your children they’ll love their new school immediately, or that they’ll find their people in the first week. What you can do is be honest about that, stay excited alongside them, and make sure every feeling they have about it is allowed — the nerves as much as the excitement.

Right now the excitement is winning. Athens is waiting. And the Gamble family — Patrick included — is ready for it.

Next up I’ll be writing about the job hunting process — what it actually looks like to apply for teaching roles internationally, what worked, and what the process of landing positions at the same school looked like for two people applying together. If you’re a teaching couple considering a move abroad, that one’s for you.

— Marie 🙂

We quit our jobs, don’t know where we’re moving, and we’re doing it anyway

Let me set the scene. Two kids, two resigned jobs, one apartment slowly being dismantled into labelled boxes and a moving date in roughly three months. Oh — and we haven’t actually decided where we’re moving yet.

Welcome to our life. Pull up a chair. It’s messy in here.

This is our fourth international move as a family. You’d think by now we’d have a system. A colour-coded spreadsheet, a slick checklist, a calm and measured approach to uprooting an entire household. And in some ways, we do. But there’s also the 10pm lying-awake-staring-at-the-ceiling part, which never quite goes away no matter how many times you’ve done it before.

“We aren’t leaving because it is easier. We are leaving because staying feels harder.”

We’ve been living in Abu Dhabi, and if you’ve been watching the news, you’ll understand — without me needing to spell it out — why it felt like the right time to go. The decision itself wasn’t difficult. The everything-that-comes-after is.

So here’s where we actually are: my husband and I have both resigned. We’re applying for jobs with no clear direction of location other than west. We’re navigating online learning — for ourselves and our kids, who are old enough to know something big is happening and ask questions we don’t always have answers to. And we’re sorting through years of accumulated life — deciding what comes with us, what gets sold and what gets left behind.

Exhausted doesn’t quite cover it. But determined? That part’s solid.

I started this blog because I couldn’t find many honest accounts of what this actually looks like from the inside. Most expat content is either dreamy relocation porn or dry logistics guides. What I wanted — what I needed — was someone saying: yes, this is chaotic, here’s what we’re doing about it and here’s what’s falling apart despite our best efforts.

So that’s what this will be. Worth the Gamble is where I’ll document the move, the job hunt, the online learning experiments, the conversations with the kids, the moments of doubt, and — eventually — the other side of it. Whatever that looks like.

Our surname is Gamble. The irony is not lost on us.

“Three months. No fixed destination. Two kids asking where their new school will be. Let’s go.”

If you’re in the middle of your own messy transition — moving country, changing careers, starting over in some form — I hope this is useful, or at the very least makes you feel less alone in it.

More soon. Probably while sitting on a half-packed box.

Marie 🙂