Blissbee & Me
I have a photos folder on my phone called “Me in places.” It holds photos I like of me…in places. Simple captures literally labeled.
How I discover parts of myself in places, beyond what my lens can capture, that’s more of my own personal Atlas Obscura.
Sometimes, it’s the road that’s organically revealing me to myself. I’m chugging along alone, eyes drinking while my mind sorts and catalogs. Maybe a phrase on a faded billboard rubs a genie lamp within me, and out pops a brilliant correlation about why Subway sandwiches put me at ease, or why eating one while driving makes me feel incredibly capable, or why my body requires one with a Sprite and chips the minute me and my rental beast are out of the airport. Or limitless other non-sandwich-related connections. (This is not an ad for Subway.)
Other times, I’m walking past an art gallery and find my name in colorful, feathered popsicle sticks. Maybe I spot a Goodnight Moon mural in a town I didn’t know existed, nor did I plan to stop in, but suddenly I’m swerving to the curb so I can greet and photograph that sentimental sibling memento.
Findings like those remind me of finding myself in movies. Like the Brave Little Toaster. Film correlations are practically guaranteed for me. But finding myself in a place has an element of shock and awe. I know I’m going to find something amazing somewhere—many somewheres—but what and where? And when I do, it transforms my day, and sometimes, my life.
The mother of all places I’ve ever found myself is, of course, Bisbee, Arizona. Since my very first visit on October 24, 2013, at the age of 23, I’ve been saying, “It’s me in a town.” I’ve never seen and felt so much of myself reflected in a place. I’d never been anyplace quite like Bisbee before.
The age of 23 and my first Bisbee feel quite distant to me now. Boogie-boarding-to-China distant. The age of 23 and my first Bisbee, they’re etched into the history of my life. I have the utmost gratitude and admiration for the girl who Googled a place and got herself there, solo, on a hunch that there was something oh so special to be found. How right I was.
And how beautifully that practice snowballed from tagging along on my mom’s business trip, using her Scottsdale hotel as my home base, and making day trips to every Arizonan corner. To mapping and trucking many thousands of miles across state lines, time zones, tough terrain, no cell service or GPS signal, with countless Subway sandwiches leaking in my lap. All because I’m compelled by the idea of a place, photos that float through my feed, knowing that Teddy Roosevelt loved a place, or simply my deep belief that there’s something special to be found where no one else is looking.
The last few of my photo collection are from my very first Bisbee. The cars feel vintage, the pixels look grainy, but the nuts and bolts, the brick and mortar, the “Best year-round climate on earth” mural, the B that glows on the mountain at night, even that peace sign flag that flies in front of it, all remain the same. They were all there waiting for me a year ago yesterday.
So was a friendly, mustached man behind the counter of a coffee shop. He smiled a warm, welcoming smile and waved me back home to Bisbee. I was just pulling my electric blue rental Jeep around the bend into town with my GoPro mounted on the roof when we spotted each other, both already smiling. It was like he knew I’d be quite literally comin’ around the mountain any minute. It was right out of a movie.
My first time back in seven years—sorry it took me so long, Bisbee. I was off discovering places with Bisbee potential, but none compares to you—and immediately upon my arrival, I’m welcomed back home with classic Bisbee charm.
A little while after I checked into the lovely Letson Loft, I was smile-strolling down Main Street. Said hi and smiled at a white-haired gentleman wearing blue jeans and suspenders. Bisbee is a place where that feels so natural. He smiled and hi’d me back, walking in the opposite direction. And a few moments later, that same gentle voice called behind me, “Excuse me, miss?”
I turned around. It was him. He had the kindest face. He was carrying a small brown bag from a local shop. He reached in and pulled out one of several white boxes wrapped in red ribbon. He handed it to me and said, “Happy Easter.”
A box of delicious, assorted chocolates. I smiled the biggest smile and thanked him profusely for such a kind gesture. He told me I was very welcome, so kind, and deserved it. I almost cried. I could cry again now over the kindness and the brilliant synchronicities. The magnetically timed moments that came together to hand-deliver personalized Bisbee bliss just for me.
Every time I visit, I absorb a little more magic.
Bisbee doesn’t have to wow me, but it always does. I can just sit in my Main-Street-facing window at the Letson, looking up at that big, beautiful B, glancing down at the calm creativity that floats by, and I’m in blissful, peaceful elation.
Some of Bisbee’s mottos and slogans include “Arizona’s coolest small town,” “Keep Bisbee Weird,” and “Be inspired.” It’s also been referred to as the “City of Sunshine.” If I were to throw one more into the mix, it would be, “Be yourself. Love, Bisbee.” I always feel like a more me me when I’m in Bisbee. And I think Bisbee becomes a little more Bisbee—a fuller, more colorful expression of itself—when I’m in town.
I was lucky enough to bring my Dad to Bisbee back in 2018. It was like introducing him to me in my truest, most colorful light. No wonder he loved it so much.
When I imagine bringing friends and more family to Bisbee, I imagine them getting to meet the happiest, most me me they’ve ever met. It’s a beautiful thought.
How lucky I am to have found whole heaps of myself and so much wonder in Bisbee. My love for that one-in-a-million town reflects my love for my own individuality, my precious Bisbee gene.
I hope you find even a little bit of yourself in an unfamiliar place. I hope you experience Bisbee-brand bliss.
