When someone hits you over the head with a new idea, the jarring bruise and bump negate whatever insight they wish to impart. But when they sidle up close and let their fresh perspective seep into you (as if you came to the realization all on your own), the resultant shift in reality sticks.

Penelope—the terrific one-woman musical starring the enchanting Aimee Doherty at Lyric Stage through March 1—is very much the latter. A gentle inducement to consider for a moment, to linger, to pause in consideration of those left behind.

We’re on a lovely balcony overlooking the Aegean, all soft white and dazzling blue. Penelope enters, languidly. Musicians follow, string players in billowing sleeves, a piano man in summer suit before a shiny white grand. The music is repetitive, though not insistent. Percussive, though not a march. It’s the music of walking in place. Of waiting.

About a third of the way into this dreamy meditation on being left behind, I’m struck by an insight. Not about Penelope, a rather minor historical character relegated to the role of daytime weaver and nighttime unweaver. Rather, about Odysseus. A character portrayed heroic in war and in journey. But really, isn’t he just the ultimate male fantasy? A guy who gets to go adventuring for decades while the little wife waits at home, patient. Fulfilling the unglamourous duties of daily administration, Raising their son. Fending off suitors because the aura of an absent Odysseus overpowers any actual man in the flesh. Penelope is the cherry on Odysseus’ Mediterranean sundae. She bestows noble purpose to his wanderings. Without her abiding faithfulness, he’s just a guy on a jag.

Not much happens in Penelope, which is appropriate, since her main task is to wait. The play, which clocks in at a mere 80 minutes, ought to feel compact, yet it’s leisurely. Long stretches of silence; of that musical underscore; of simply being. Goddess Athena blows in at one point, but the goddess of wisdom and war offers nothing substantial. “I don’t need compassion,” Penelope is too expert at her art to suffer even gods as fools, “I need answers.”

I’m hard pressed to explain why this production is so satisfying, except that everything fits so nicely together. The set is effective; the lighting is sublime; the music is pitch perfect, a cadence that persists without ever reassuring. And Aimee Doherty is wonderful: in song; in speech; in silence.

There is a moment when the wait becomes too long, even for ever patient Penelope, that she grows shrill. “Why do I need you here now that I know I can do all this on my own?” But the moment passes. Penelope isn’t going to illustrate the plight of women demonstratively. She calms. Sheds the shawl that’s protected her, stretches it lovingly along the side of her chaise, fondles it wistfully. Without the actual Odysseus, this will have to do. Her plight is best conveyed in gentle gesture.

I love this play and Lyric’s production. Go spend a winter’s afternoon or evening with Penelope. Share with her the art of waiting. Spring—and Odysseus—will return.

A final note. The understudy for Penelope is Liliane Klein. Lili is a favorite actor of mine, a magnificent stage presence, a trombone to Aimee Doherty’s oboe. I’m fascinated how such different actors will inhabit the same role. Fortunately, the Lyric has announced that Lili will headline on Saturday February 28, 8 p.m. performance. I’ve already purchased my ticket to see the show again, knowing that Lili’s way of waiting will be different. See you there?