<p><i>I took off my wedding ring </i>-<i> a gold band with half a line of ''Morning Song'' by Sylvia Plath etched inside </i>- <i>and for weeks afterwards, my thumb would involuntarily reach across my palm for the warm bright circle that had gone. I didn''t throw the ring into the long grass, like women do in the movies, but a feeling began bubbling up nevertheless, from my stomach to my throat: it could fling my arms out. I was free.</i><br><br>A few years into her marriage and feeling societal pressure to surrender to domesticity, Joanna Biggs found herself longing for a different kind of existence. Was this all there was? She divorced without knowing what would come next.<br><br>Newly untethered, Joanna returned to the free-spirited writers of her youth and was soon reading in a fever - desperately searching for evidence of lives that looked more like her own, for the messiness and freedom, for a possible blueprint for intellectual fulfillment.<br><br>In <i>A Life of One''s Own</i>,