Lost in Boston, Found in Maine

This week, I made another visit to a winter wonderland—Maine—for my concert. Since Boston was the nearest city and airport, I decided to pass through this enchanting place before and after the performance. Having never been to Boston before, I had a certain expectation: maybe every corner would be lined with charming two-story brick houses, streets filled with book-loving intellectuals and smart Harvard students, all surrounded by historic buildings.

While my imagination wasn’t too far off—with its amazing cafés, adorable bookstores, and historic sites—something else took me by surprise: the traffic. Not the volume of cars, but the way the road system was built. It felt like roads were stacked on top of each other. I was constantly either in an underground tunnel or on top of a high bridge road. It was as if someone had drawn a road line one day, and then someone else came in overnight and added another one right next to it. The result? Confused drivers questioning which line was actually the correct one.

This led to tiny highway lanes, sometimes squeezing in three or even four cars side by side, even though they were meant for just two. It became so jammed at times that all I could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all.

To make things even more complicated, if there were three lanes on a street, each one often had a different name. Even if you thought you were on the right path, you could suddenly find yourself on an entirely different street before realizing your mistake. Navigating Boston required constant vigilance—knowing exactly which lane to be in—or else you'd find yourself stuck in an endless loop of U-turns and wrong turns, turning a 15-minute drive into a 45-minute adventure through the city.

Maybe it was just me, a newcomer unfamiliar with Boston’s ways. But when I finally managed to escape and arrived in Sanford, Maine, I learned that Boston is infamous for its chaotic road system. Apparently, the smarter choice is to take the train rather than attempt to drive. Who knew?! Lesson learned.

Maine, on the other hand, was breathtaking—covered in snow and surrounded by wilderness. While it may not have been peak vacation season, I was grateful that there wasn’t much competition for people’s attention when it came to outdoor activities. Staying cozy indoors and attending a classical piano concert felt like the perfect thing to do. The contrast between the frantic loops of getting lost in Boston and the serene, snow-covered trees of Maine was refreshing—exactly what I needed, too.

After the concert, a long line of people waited to meet me, eager to connect in person. Many shared how transformative the experience was for them, how deeply the music had moved them, and some even thanked me for being brave enough to come to Maine in February.

Once the crowd had dispersed and I finally gathered my things—trading my concert dress for something more comfortable—I felt a deep sense of richness. People often talk about the five different kinds of wealth: financial wealth, physical wealth, mental wealth, social and relationship wealth, and time wealth. They say that while all five are equally important, the one people often neglect the most is time wealth. Only when it’s gone do we truly realize its value.

That night, I felt like I had spent every minute fully and deeply. There was no better way I could have used my time than by being there—fully present, connecting through music, and engaging in conversation with the audience. I felt rich. I felt complete. I was reminded of the importance of being here and now—of making every moment count.

It was a productive day, but a different kind of productivity. One that doesn’t require doing things to feel full. Sometimes, all you need is to be awake enough to be aware of your time and how you spend it.

I encourage you to create a day that is time-rich this week. I learned that if I can do it for one day, maybe I can try for the other 364 days of the year, too.

At the amazing Sanford Performing Arts Center