" Basically this book represents everything I hate about this genre: it's self-indulgent and, worse, self-pitying. Joan Anderson is fortunate enough to have the means to take an extended period of time "off" from her marriage and mid-life crisis to figure herself out, but the life lessons virtually slip past her as she wallows in the "shoulda-couldas" of her life until now. Her story in not at all unusual, nor, frankly, all that sad or interesting. And unlike Elizabeth Gilbert in EAT, PRAY, LOVE, who had the good fortune of not only taking a year off from a bad marriage and unknown future, but who also got to do so in exotic locales, Anderson never shows real growth or self-actualization. She relays her year in Cape Cod in little more than journal entries, without the "a-ha!" And unlike Gilbert, there is no humor nor flair for prose. In fact, the most enthralling character in her memoir is not HER, but Joan Erickson, the widow of famed pyschologist Erik Erickson. And it is Joan Erickson's wisdom that Anderson passes on to her readers, nothing that she has earned on her own. The subtitle of the book is: "Thoughts of an Unfinished Woman." She needs to keep working on that. "
— Tamidel, 1/24/2014