Volunteer Diaries: Fresh Start Surgical Gifts

Divorce, adjusting to single motherhood or coparenting, and the unexpected adjustments that come with it can turn even the most put-together woman’s life upside down. For many, these shifts trigger a profound loss of identity as that chapter of life officially comes to an end. 

While Elena Barbour was navigating a divorce and raising two young children, other women in her circle shared similar experiences—one, a high-powered attorney, said divorce was the hardest thing she’d ever gone through. Barbour realized that women like them who’d gone through divorce, separation, or trauma needed support, but unless they qualified for low-income assistance or could pay top dollar for private services, there weren’t a lot of options. That led to the creation of the Luma Initiative, a nonprofit organization that aims to connect women with the practical resources needed to rebuild after a major life transition. The organization is currently developing its programming and plans to open to its first (already full) three-month cohort of women this fall. 

“I consider myself a very strong, competent woman, but what I went through shook me,” Barbour says. “[There were] all these things that I did not expect, and that a lot of people looking from the outside couldn’t see necessarily. It was hard to relate. And I found that after coming out of this divorce, I needed to reshift my community a little bit because the challenges and the life stage of where I was compared to where they were now was just so different—even though I was surrounded by people, I felt very alone. 

“So [we’re] trying to create that sense of community in this place for women to be like, ‘All these women are going through something similar and when I talk with them, I don’t feel so alone and I can let go of some of the negative feelings I’m feeling, and I can […] start to rebuild.’”

Luma Initiative’s program will include licensed therapist-guided support groups, and support via financial literacy advisors, life coaches who specialize in career building, and family law attorneys, plus therapeutic yoga at sister business Luma Yoga. They’ll also work with other nonprofit organizations as needed to create a “one-stop, well-rounded, holistic approach to supporting women who are going through this really big transition of life,” Barbour explains.

Barbour says Luma Yoga Studio in Little Italy will serve as Luma Initiative’s physical base, transforming into a familiar community-centered home away from home where women can feel safe. She leaned into yoga and the breathwork, meditation, and mindfulness that often come with the practice to get through tough times, and carries those tools with her “off the mat.” She hopes that other women will find that same sense of nervous system regulation. She emphasizes that Luma Initiative and Luma Yoga work as an ecosystem that provides both wellness and tangible support.   

“The goal with Luma Initiative will be to help these women come back to themselves and their identity through community, and use community as a platform to rebuild,” she says. 

Walking into a room full of strangers isn’t high on the fun index for most. It’s inherently awkward: Everyone’s standing in closed-loop clusters, deep in conversation, and, depending on your social aptitude, the feeling is somewhere between light apprehension and burning alive from the inside out. The pull to retreat or reflexively look busy on your phone is stronger than the drink you now deeply crave. Having friends is nice, but making friends can be brutal.

There’s plenty of commentary on the loneliness epidemic. Last year, the American Psychiatric Association reported that one in three adults feel lonely at least once a week; those aged 18 to 34 are more likely to feel isolated and even more likely to turn to social media as a result. Dr. Vivek Murthy’s “My Parting Prescription for America” cautioned that “being socially disconnected increases our risk of heart disease, dementia, depression, anxiety, and premature death.” So it’s not just an emotional need; it’s nearly nutritional—chit-chat and the occasional wine-fueled, emotional deep-dive are just as important as Pilates and a reasonable amount of kale.

Finding social connections in any city is hard, but San Diego has very specific challenges. This is largely a transient population that acts as a temporary hotspot for many and a permanent home for few. Pick your reason: high rent, surreal gas prices, housing shortage, meh job opportunities (ranked 71st in the country in 2025), or the fact that active military is a sizable chunk of us (110,000-ish)—stationed here for a stretch, then gone. This constant flow of departees sucks out the potential for deeply established families and friend groups, leaving a good share of nomads, searchers, and plenty of people feeling socially awkward.

“There’s an underlying loneliness in all of us,” says Ramel Wallace, the host of monthly meetup CreativeMornings. “There are not a lot of San Diegans who are born and raised here, so [even those] San Diegans end up being just as lonely as the person who just got here.”

Every month, in local libraries, breweries, and small businesses, there are ambitious social architects who have made a career out of undoing social sads. Extroverted champions of the awkward and searching, they’ve struck gold on in-person connection.

The first moments in a social situation are crucial. Sets the tone and cools the nerves.

At Pitch-A-Friend, singles recruit their close friends to present a slideshow of their dating green flags. The entry points for connection at Pitch-A-Friend are simple, old tech: stickers. Each colored sticker indicates if the wearer is single or taken, queer or straight, or practicing ethical non-monogamy (in a partnership but open to others under a mutual understanding).

At the helm of each showcase is Arielle Fuller, aka Chief Wingwoman, who is making dating hopeful again. As Fuller explains, this takes some of the fear of rejection out of a first interaction. “Putting a sticker on immediately means, ‘I wanted to leave my house and talk to someone, and I am a safe space to come and speak to me,’” she says.

Of course, not all of San Diego’s events designed to make connections are romantic. On the last Friday of every month, hundreds gather at San Diego Central Library for the local chapter of CreativeMornings—an org formed to unite creatives in various cities across the world (designers, artists, writers, producers, performers, architects, etc.).

These aren’t your standard business card swaps, though. Coming from a hip-hop background, host Wallace uses call-and-response to break the fourth wall. “This is not my stage at all, this is our stage,” he says.

In your standard lecture-based meetup, the crowd silently faces the host and acknowledges nobody except those they came with. At CreativeMornings, everyone is encouraged to look around, pay attention to the strangers in the audience—not just the host. Wallace will pull volunteers to read the CM manifesto aloud, and he passes the mic to creatives, who make 30-second pitches to the community about projects they’re working on—and there’s always an invitation to connect and collaborate with the presenters whose ideas struck a chord.

The U.S. Chamber of Connection (yes it exists) says people experience life transitions nearly every year, and in these stretches are more open to forming new habits, relationships, and communities. In a revolving-door city like ours, the transition often comes when someone moves away. In 2023, the Census Bureau reported San Diego had the ninth-highest rates of domestic out-migration in the US.

This poses an issue for friendships that IRL SD addresses in monthly friend-making events called 619 Night.

“San Diego isn’t a place a lot of people stay forever,” says Alex Hunter, the creator of IRL SD. “They leave, and people [who stay] lose that community, so they’re hungry for community again.”

Their website describes the vibe as “backyard party meets college fair meets networking event meets happy hour.” Each follows a theme—wellness, sports, refresh and reset, etc.—with related community groups joining as well.

“The people I encounter are trying to get a fresh start in some capacity, so they’re more open, receptive, and ready to meet new friends,” Hunter says. “They need the circle.”

Another way adults can break out of this disconnection is to revert in unison, says artist Elisa Summiel-Bey. The 2015-ish adult coloring book moment in the US was based on some real science, with multiple studies finding coloring has a noticeable meditative and stress-release effect by taking the brain away from anxieties and mental inventories, and focusing it on a simple, easy art. Summiel-Bey’s company Illustrated Melanin throws “Color & Chill” events, turning that trend into a group exercise, along with live DJ sets, wellness experts doing sound baths, and food and drink from BIPOC-owned local businesses. “I tend to think of coloring as your way to tap back into your childlike play,” she says. “As adults, I think we’re almost scared to let loose and have that unabashed joy.”

All of these social meetups attract crowds of likeminded connection-seekers, but high attendance is not the only thing that matters. Metrics nuts can track RSVPs, but spreadsheets can’t capture intangible wins: friendships made, innovative ideas sparked, collaborations kicked off. At CreativeMornings, Wallace redefines ROI as Return On Imagination. Resounding success means thoughtful inquiries over coffee, curiosity about the monthly meeting themes, and requests to take the microphone.

A simple, observable ROI is an increased number of window shoppers to the experience—on the periphery, watching from afar, looking for the right way in. Hunter from IRL SD sees the anxiety in her DMs. “The scariest part for you right now is not meeting new friends: It’s the unknown,” she says. “It’s the gap between ‘I’m here’ and ‘That’s where I need to be.’ If I can help you understand, or get a little bit of a shape around that unknown, it’s much more approachable.”

Being able to bridge that gap, however, depends on your ability to step out of your own mind. “It’s not a connection crisis; it’s a courage and confidence crisis,” says Fuller. The first hello could be as easy as, “Hey, cool shirt.” These are the types of things she includes in her confidence lab reels on Instagram and weekly newsletters.

Ever left a social event and shot straight into a spiral? Was I being weird? Why did I tell that story? I hope that person moves to another state very soon.

The experts say that post-event self-interrogation is a standard-issue part of being alive.

“I love awkward people, and I love being awkward myself,” says Wallace. “It’s humbling to experience: ‘I’m not alone. Finally someone is not put together.’ So give yourself that grace.”

Prom is a rite of passage for high schoolers, but a flashy new dress can cost hundreds of dollars. The Princess Project helps girls cut costs while promoting fashion sustainability. The nonprofit collects new and gently used formal dresses and accessories throughout the year, then when prom season rolls around, launches pop-up boutiques where girls can shop for their dream dress at no cost. The only criteria is they have to be a high school student who’s going to prom. 

The Princess Project started in San Francisco in 2002 with a small dress drive. The movement grew exponentially over the years, and expanded to San Diego in 2008. Today, it’s headquartered at Parkway Plaza in El Cajon and has chapters in San Francisco, Silicon Valley, and Sonoma. 

“We really want to celebrate teens, make them feel good about themselves, and save them some money because it costs a lot to go to prom. This is one way that we can help alleviate the cost,” says Karen Martin-Spellerberg, corporate board chairman and head of the San Diego chapter. “There’s no financial requirement to come get a dress with us because we are all about everybody being equal and having the same opportunity.” 

The experience is more than just picking out a dress, says Martin-Spellerberg. The Princess Project works to create a bubble of inclusiveness and confidence, where all shapes and sizes are celebrated, and all comments are positive.

In the months leading up to prom season, teens can book an hour-long appointment at the Parkway Plaza location to try on dresses and accessories, which they get to keep. Volunteers act as personal shoppers, curating an experience unique to each kid. This year, the Princess Projects also brought dresses to eight library branches throughout San Diego County to reach girls who couldn’t make it to the main event. 

Because the Princess Project relies on donations, they often do not receive enough dresses in “fringe sizes” (00-2 and 14 and up), so they hold fundraising events to purchase new dresses in those specific sizes to maintain an inclusive range. Its signature $5 Dress Sale Fundraiser event will take place on May 30-31 at Parkway Plaza, where non-prom dresses (cocktail, casual, business) donated throughout the year are sold for a minimum $5 donation per dress. All proceeds from this fundraiser are used to purchase the understocked sizes. 

“We’ve got dress drop off sites throughout San Diego County and people sometimes will donate dresses that are non-prom—sometimes they’re cocktail, casual, summer, business. So, what happens is when we are done with the season, we flip our dress store and we put out all of the non-prom dresses,” says Martin-Spellerberg. “People can come shop and get as many dresses as they want and 100 percent of the proceeds go toward us purchasing dresses in the sizes we don’t have enough of.” 

The Princess Project also relies heavily on volunteers, including teen ambassadors, the latter who meet monthly, help organize the store, work outreach tables, and host a fashion show to help spread the word to their fellow students that the dresses are premium-quality and “ready to wear, beautiful and amazing.” 

“It’s all about kindness and making kids feel good about themselves,” says Martin-Spellerberg.

June 4: St. Germaine Children’s Charity Star Bright Awards Dinner

St. Germaine Children’s Charity will host its annual grant awards dinner at the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego. The grant funds that will be donated to local agencies that work to end child abuse were raised at various St. Germaine Children’s Charity fundraisers and events throughout the year. 

June 6: Senior Prom: Forever Young

Help San Diego seniors age gracefully at Senior Prom: Forever Young, a fundraiser for Meals on Wheels San Diego County. The retro school dance-themed gala at the Kona Kai San Diego Resort will help the nonprofit continue to deliver daily nutritious meals and friendly visits to local seniors.

June 12-14: Walk Against Human Trafficking

San Diego nonprofit GenerateHope and international charity Freedom Challenge will host a 45-mile, three-day walk from Oceanside to Coronado to help combat human trafficking. Funds raised will go toward Freedom Challenge’s work around the world and GenerateHope’s local programs that serve survivors of sex trafficking. 

June 13: Wildcoast’s Baja Bash 

Roughly 300 guests will gather at a private residence in Solana Beach for bites prepared by San Diego’s top sustainable chefs, along with fine wine, craft beer, and small batch mezcal and tequila to support coastal conservation in the U.S. and Mexico. Funds raised at Wildcoast’s Baja Bash will help expand its programs in 2026 and beyond.

June 20: CYAC Battle of the Badges

Local law enforcement, first responders, and military personnel will face off in a boxing match aboard the USS Midway Museum to raise money for the Community Youth Athletic Center. Now in its 21st year, the Battle of the Badges supports CYAC’s boxing programs for underprivileged youth.

Ray’s Tennis doesn’t look like much from the outside. Never has. It’s just a green box with cloudy windows in Hillcrest, just steps away from a McDonald’s on University Avenue. But for nearly 60 years, this place has been the genesis for three generations of San Diego tennis dreams. Head inside, and you enter one of the tennis world’s great cornucopias.

For years, there was a tennis court behind the store, where owner Bob Ray gave countless lessons. It was like a racket-sport speakeasy; most customers didn’t realize the court existed unless Bob or his wife, Hiroko, guided them through the back door of the shop. Eventually they converted it into a half-court indoors—where a patron might take a racket for a few trial thwacks, trying to avoid rounders of tennis clothes that shared the space.

The shop is an abridged living history. Relics hang from the ceiling: a model of an old metal racket used by fiery lefthander Jimmy Connors in his heyday, and a version of the wooden Donnay that Björn Borg wielded on his way to five consecutive Wimbledon championships from 1976 to 1980.

And just inside the front door is Hiroko eternally stringing new rackets, carefully threading and adjusting the tension of the polyester strings, back and forth, until she has the entire racket head strung.

“I worked seven days a week—five days off in the year,” she says. “My hearing is still good. Physically, I’m as good as I was. Working seven days a week, standing all day. I’m mentally healthier than most people.”

The racket stringing is an operation she does up to 20 times a day—and one that, in some ways, resembles the thread work done by her father decades ago, when he ran a tailor’s shop in Japan.

Hiroko, now 81, was born in the city of Yokosuka at the tail end of the WWII. Her family evacuated to the countryside to escape the bombing raids, and she remembers growing up surrounded by rice fields and mountains. It was in Japan that Hiroko met Bob, a third-generation San Diegan, in the late 1960s, when he was stationed there with the Navy.

Among his possessions at the time was a tennis racket. Inherited from his father, who died when Bob was 11, this racket changed the trajectory of his life: He played constantly, filling up his school days, afternoons, and evenings on the tennis court. He was one of the highest-ranked teen players in the state, and he dreamed of joining the international tournament circuit after his stint in the Navy. But—speaking plainly—he acknowledges that he wasn’t quite good enough to compete with the best of the best. So, instead, he modified his dreams. He and Hiroko returned to San Diego in 1968, and he took a job as the club pro at Morley Field. By their mid-20s, in lieu of touring the world on the tennis circuit, the couple was running the club’s tennis store.

They spent 11 years at Morley Field, which at the time was one of the city’s tennis epicenters, hosting major tournaments for juniors. When the city handed over the store lease to a wealthier applicant, the Rays took over the property on University Avenue and moved in their tennis gear. They have been there ever since—through the McEnroe and Navratilova and Evert eras; the rise of Agassi and Sampras and Graf; the reign of the Williams sisters; the Federer-Nadal-Djokovic rivalry; and into the Alcaraz era. In the near-half century they have sold tennis gear in Hillcrest, the Rays became beloved anchors of the neighborhood’s business community, symbols of stability in an ever-changing environment.

At 84, Bob is still lean and, in his Lacoste tracksuit and Adidas cap, remains every bit the club pro. Like Hiroko, he comes to the store every day—though sometimes, if he is playing tennis in the morning, he might arrive a little later.

But time has started to take its toll. His hearing isn’t what it used to be, and the aging process is revealing itself to be true. And much to the disappointment of their loyal clientele, San Diego’s “First Couple of Tennis” is retiring, a milestone that marks the end of an extraordinarily long chapter in the city’s tennis history.

But Ray and Hiroko didn’t sell the building to a developer for condos or to a big-box retailer looking to open a boutique outpost. Determined that Ray’s should remain a tennis temple, they have negotiated a sale to a former employee who wants to continue the Rays’ legacy.

As of this writing, Hiroko and Bob remain in charge, Hiroko stringing rackets, Bob sharing his expertise about new gear. As much as they love what they’ve built, their hope is to move on soon.

For Hiroko, the prospect of retirement is bittersweet. “What am I going to do?” she asks. “Am I going to be ok? I never had a boring life. Always busy. Business first. I’m so involved in the business—because I didn’t want to fail.”

She looks around her store as she continues stringing. For her, the gladiatorial nature of tennis has always been a metaphor for how to succeed in life. “People have to have a drive,” she says. “You can’t just quit because you lose to so-and-so. Tennis players have that mindset.”

She pauses to talk about all the people who have come through the store’s door over the decades, and the relationships she has built with them. “It’s wonderful to have a great customer. That’s probably the reason I lasted this long.”