I recently received an email from the HR department, a version of which has arrived every two years for nearly the two decades I’ve lived in the UAE. It was time for my medical test again, and for the renewal of my Emirates ID.
It’s never alarming. But it does what it always does for me: it marks time.
For many expats, time doesn’t announce itself through birthdays or anniversaries alone. It reveals itself in reminders like this – contracts, visas, renewals – gentle administrative nudges that make you pause and take stock. Is my job still working for me? Is my landlord getting greedy? Is it time to try out that new gym that’s just opened?
You don’t drift through life here; you check in with it every few years – a moment of reflection that is also paperwork.
In many places, you settle, accumulate and carry on. In the UAE, time feels more intentional. You learn to think in chapters rather than decades – from your job to your apartment, or even the version of your life you’re living.
Far from creating instability, that rhythm sharpens your sense of presence. You don’t postpone living for a distant “someday” when everything operates on renewal.
Housing is where this mentality becomes most tangible. In my 19 years in the UAE, I’ve lived in about five different apartments. Each move brings the same internal negotiation: how much should I invest in the space? Do I paint the walls or keep them neutral? Buy furniture I truly love, or choose pieces that will transfer easily to the next place? Over time, my homes have been curated with portability and adaptability in mind.
I don’t have children, but I imagine these decisions carry even greater weight for families, where school terms, fees and long-term planning add another layer to every renewal.
Some careers in the UAE also unfold in phases. While I’ve personally remained in the same industry since arriving, I’ve seen countless reinventions. People shift industries, roles and trajectories here in ways I haven’t witnessed elsewhere. One of my closest friends, now thriving as a personal trainer, arrived in the UAE as a salesperson for electrical goods.
A colleague wrote about residents who made a complete career 180, leaving traditional nine-to-five jobs to become their own bosses. This mindset is reinforced by the entrepreneurial culture the UAE actively encourages as economic policy. Minister of Economy Abdulla bin Touq recently said the country aims to increase the number of small and medium-sized enterprises to one million by 2030, up from about 557,000 today.
Even the year moves differently. In the UAE, there are really only two seasons – summer and winter – and each has its own rhythm. Summer slows routines, shrinks social calendars and turns even simple plans into temperature-checked decisions. Winter, by contrast, is bright and compressed, full of activity and momentum. There’s no gradual transition; it feels like flipping a switch between rest and rush.
Those in the know also realise that Ramadan alters the tempo of life altogether. For a month, days soften and nights expand, with routines reorganised around sunset, reflection and communal meals. The shift is felt across the country, regardless of faith, driving home the idea that time here is shaped as much by culture as by clocks.
The cities reinforce this sense of motion. Neighbourhoods evolve. Restaurants open and close. In places such as Dubai and Abu Dhabi, even the skyline is constantly changing. Nostalgia doesn’t cling to buildings here.
Relationships are different here, too. Friendships tend to form quickly, not because they are shallow, but because time feels precious. The flip side is that farewell dinners and “until next time” coffees become part of the social calendar.
There can be downsides. In a life dictated by contracts and renewals, flexibility can be limited. There are times when you are bound to where you are – by work, by visas, by timing – and travel isn’t always possible. Living far from family means accepting that distance sometimes carries consequences.
A colleague recently shared her heartbreak at being unable to say a final goodbye to a beloved uncle. I experienced something similar when I lost my mother a few years ago. It was the hardest journey I’ve ever taken.
But staying in a country shaped by constant movement is a choice we continue to make. That isn’t accidental. Each rental renewal, each contract signed, is an active decision – a recommitment.
This is why time in the UAE feels different. It isn’t uncertain. It’s considered. And once you get used to living like that, it becomes hard to imagine time working any other way.
