{"id":1114,"date":"2026-02-15T18:31:45","date_gmt":"2026-02-15T18:31:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/?p=1114"},"modified":"2026-02-17T15:49:32","modified_gmt":"2026-02-17T15:49:32","slug":"the-creative-power-of-living-in-between","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/2026\/02\/15\/the-creative-power-of-living-in-between\/","title":{"rendered":"The Creative Power of Living In-Between"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Blog Post By: Rachel Zitin<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The late afternoon sunlight is streaming in through my window, casting sparkly golden shadows across the interior of my apartment. Strangely, this is happening in Asheville, NC.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Why is this strange? I grew up here, and it\u2019s perfectly natural to live where you were raised. But, I\u2019m an expat. A dual citizen. Italianizzata. A card carrying member of the club of humans who left their country of origin and found themselves forever trapped between cultures and identities. I\u2019ve lived in Rome for the past fifteen years. In that time, I\u2019ve written a lot about the romance of golden hour. Its beauty can stop me in my tracks right in the middle of a bustling piazza. The only noise outside my window right now is the wind whipping through valleys and hollers. It\u2019s quite the contrast to Rome, where ambulances blare and cars honk and traffic and hustle and bustle are as ubiquitous as pizza al taglio shops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


This winter, I chose to spend my time here. The big leafless trees catch the light, looking like those gold dipped fake tree branches you can find at a craft store. I\u2019m calling it wintering, after Katherine May\u2019s book, and to me that means lots of coziness, time with family and childhood friends that far exceeds my typical three-week trips, and lots of writing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


I feel like an Investigative Journalist. This title started as a joke, given to me by a childhood friend as I made yet another bemoaning observation about life in the USA. Now, it feels appropriate. I\u2019ve been practicing it for the past four months. I\u2019ve fully immersed myself in their culture. The Americans. My native people, the ones who need all the tips and tricks I\u2019ve picked up from swimming in the magical and chaotic fairytale landscape that is Italy. How snooty of me, right? In Italian they\u2019d say I have a puzzo sotto il naso<\/em>, a stink underneath my nose which would make me hold it high and haughty in the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Italy has long been a mirror that shows me what I miss the most about America, and America is now the place that keeps revealing everything Italy has given to me.<\/strong> Italy is the place and the culture where I matriculated into the adult woman I am today. My understanding of wellness, pleasure, history, living slowly– they\u2019re all firsthand bits I\u2019ve learned from 15+ years in la citta eterna<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


In that time, I have unraveled the American Dream I was raised to believe and worship<\/strong>. Constant self-reinvention and productivity and urgency culture. Capitalism and over-consumption. Being told to over-work, accept 10 days of paid vacation a year, not have mandatory maternity leave if you choose to have a baby, buy health insurance that costs more than your mortgage per month. I know how much of a grind this American Life is. Well, I don\u2019t know it firsthand, per se. I moved to Rome when I was 22. I\u2019ve never been an adult in my country of origin– or at least not until right now.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n


I\u2019m discovering that I actually wasn\u2019t getting the full picture of life in the land of the free and the home of the brave until right now. My creative writing, the short stories and the manuscript of my first novel, exist because I have lived between Italy and America. My observations about cross- cultural life put me staunchly in my own identity category: An expat. We are always too foreign for home and too foreign for here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The homesick ache in my stomach bubbles up in both countries. I am no longer missing Asheville, because I am here. Now, I miss Rome. I miss the light, the food, the sounds, my friends. I miss walking into a coffee shop and having a twenty minute conversation in Italian with an 80-year old man about the merits of zabaione<\/em> in your coffee. Of course. Being away makes me create stories, my longing and memories blending between fantasy and lived reality. It is in this duality that expats become better writers. We allow ourselves to live in the in- between<\/strong>. We let our memories be broadened by time spent away. We expand our worldviews, and, let\u2019s be honest, we are in terrific company. Most of the best writers haven\u2019t stayed in one place their whole careers. The threshold between two cultures becomes the location of our best and most valuable writing. Because everyone, no matter their circumstances, has felt the experience of being \u201cnot quite here, not quite there\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rachel Zitin is a Retreat Leader, Embodiment Coach, Yoga Teacher, Holistic Italy Travel Expert, Writer, and Wellness Professional.<\/strong> https:\/\/www.rachelzitin.com\/<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Blog Post By: Rachel Zitin The late afternoon sunlight is streaming in through my window, casting sparkly golden shadows across the interior of my apartment. Strangely, this is happening in Asheville, NC. Why is this strange? I grew up here, and it\u2019s perfectly natural to live where you were raised. But, I\u2019m an expat. A dual citizen. Italianizzata. A card carrying member of the club of humans who left their country of origin and found themselves forever trapped between cultures and identities. I\u2019ve lived in Rome for the past fifteen years. In that time, I\u2019ve written a lot about the romance of golden hour. Its beauty can stop me in my tracks right in the middle of a bustling piazza. The only noise outside my window right now is the wind whipping through valleys and hollers. It\u2019s quite the contrast to Rome, where ambulances blare and cars honk and traffic and hustle and bustle are as ubiquitous as pizza al taglio shops. This winter, I chose to spend my time here. The big leafless trees catch the light, looking like those gold dipped fake tree branches you can find at a craft store. I\u2019m calling it wintering, after Katherine May\u2019s book, and to me that means lots of coziness, time with family and childhood friends that far exceeds my typical three-week trips, and lots of writing. I feel like an Investigative Journalist. This title started as a joke, given to me by a childhood friend as I made yet another bemoaning observation about life in the USA. Now, it feels appropriate. I\u2019ve been practicing it for the past four months. I\u2019ve fully immersed myself in their culture. The Americans. My native people, the ones who need all the tips and tricks I\u2019ve picked up from swimming in the magical and chaotic fairytale landscape that is Italy. How snooty of me, right? In Italian they\u2019d say I have a puzzo sotto il naso, a stink underneath my nose which would make me hold it high and haughty in the air. Italy has long been a mirror that shows me what I miss the most about America, and America is now the place that keeps revealing everything Italy has given to me. Italy is the place and the culture where I matriculated into the adult woman I am today. My understanding of wellness, pleasure, history, living slowly– they\u2019re all firsthand bits I\u2019ve learned from 15+ years in la citta eterna. In that time, I have unraveled the American Dream I was raised to believe and worship. Constant self-reinvention and productivity and urgency culture. Capitalism and over-consumption. Being told to over-work, accept 10 days of paid vacation a year, not have mandatory maternity leave if you choose to have a baby, buy health insurance that costs more than your mortgage per month. I know how much of a grind this American Life is. Well, I don\u2019t know it firsthand, per se. I moved to Rome when I was 22. I\u2019ve never been an adult in my country of origin– or at least not until right now. I\u2019m discovering that I actually wasn\u2019t getting the full picture of life in the land of the free and the home of the brave until right now. My creative writing, the short stories and the manuscript of my first novel, exist because I have lived between Italy and America. My observations about cross- cultural life put me staunchly in my own identity category: An expat. We are always too foreign for home and too foreign for here. The homesick ache in my stomach bubbles up in both countries. I am no longer missing Asheville, because I am here. Now, I miss Rome. I miss the light, the food, the sounds, my friends. I miss walking into a coffee shop and having a twenty minute conversation in Italian with an 80-year old man about the merits of zabaione in your coffee. Of course. Being away makes me create stories, my longing and memories blending between fantasy and lived reality. It is in this duality that expats become better writers. We allow ourselves to live in the in- between. We let our memories be broadened by time spent away. We expand our worldviews, and, let\u2019s be honest, we are in terrific company. Most of the best writers haven\u2019t stayed in one place their whole careers. The threshold between two cultures becomes the location of our best and most valuable writing. Because everyone, no matter their circumstances, has felt the experience of being \u201cnot quite here, not quite there\u201d. Rachel Zitin is a Retreat Leader, Embodiment Coach, Yoga Teacher, Holistic Italy Travel Expert, Writer, and Wellness Professional. https:\/\/www.rachelzitin.com\/<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[105],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1114","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog-post"],"acf":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1114","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1114"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1114\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1122,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1114\/revisions\/1122"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1114"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1114"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.opendoorsreview.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1114"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}