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The Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Color Purple is headlining PLNU's Writer's Symposium by the Sea
Alice Walker
She may be best known for her novel The Color Purple, which is taught in schools around the world (and became a movie starring Oprah Winfrey), but deep down, the Pulitzer Prize winner considers herself a poet. Alice Walker has a new book of poems, Taking the Arrow Out of the Heart, and she’ll be talking about her work—which has been translated into 20 languages—when she’s in San Diego for the annual Writer’s Symposium by the Sea at Point Loma Nazarene University. Ahead of her appearance, she shares with us some of her own story.
It’s because the offering of the story was pure. It was a chance to pay homage to my grandparents, and I didn’t have an ax to grind. The story endures because it opens a window to the sexual abuse of children. When I saw the stage play, I was astounded to see the audience rise in a standing ovation. It is because many of them were abused as children, too. The story gives them a chance to say, “Me too.” It gives people a chance to go back into their lives, encouraged to live a life of joy.
Poetry is my home. But people are afraid of poetry, because they feel they don’t understand it and they are afraid of looking stupid, so a lot of people avoid it. Poetry is fickle—that’s why I love it. My spirit loves its freedom. You can’t force a poem. You can only wait. But I am committed to human beings and the earth, so my offerings need to be shaped accordingly.
I can write in both places, but I love being in Mexico. Each year I go to the same place, which feels like the middle of nowhere. I am among regular people in a community that feels like the one I was born into in the South. The elders are part of everything. The children are loved. People are courteous. I’ve never had a problem anywhere in Mexico, which is something I can’t say about the US.
I would turn that question around and ask, “Have you made any progress?” You’re only responsible for the progress you can make. We’ll either make it or we won’t.
I do experience sadness. We all go through angry states. But you don’t have to live there. Why would you want to stay there? Most people on the planet don’t realize where they are—we’re already in paradise. I am so grateful I’ve had all these years. Even the terrible things have had streaks of beauty. I’ve seen the terrible stuff. But I’ve seen the other stuff, too. I just love this life so much.
Dean Nelson is the founder and director of Point Loma Nazarene University’s journalism program and the host and founder of the university’s Writer’s Symposium by the Sea.
Point Loma Nazarene's Sun Room transcends the peninsula to take on the world
Sun Room Live
Courtesy of Sun Room
In summer 2021, a human pile of sunburns and cutoff denim filled the yard of an infamous house in Ocean Beach—a house loved by nearby Point Loma Nazarene University (PLNU) students and not-so-loved by neighbors. The swarm of 20-somethings was so tightly packed they looked like one unit, swaying to the twangy melodies and stomping rhythms of Sun Room—a foursome of home-grown blonde-mopped surf rockers. Everyone could sense it: the band was special.
Louis Tomlinson soon picked up on the same vibe. After discovering them on a playlist, the former One Direction band member summoned them from their life of noise disturbances to his world tour. “It was one of those moments where it was a little bit too crazy to wrap your head around,” says vocalist and guitarist Luke Asgian of the first time they walked on stage at a sold-out arena. “Luckily, I could only see like the first four rows because of the lights.”
But back to the house, where the members of Sun Room—Asgian, Gibson (Gibby) Anderson on drums, Max Pinamonti on bass, and Ashton Minnich on guitar—live. For almost 10 years, PLNU students have handed the residence off like an heirloom, and it’s become an off-campus clubhouse of sorts for creative students. Seeing a Sun Room house show quickly became a summer staple for pandemic- frustrated college kids.
Sun Room huddle
Courtesy of Sun Room
Asgian formed Sun Room in the summer of 2020 after being in many admittedly bad high school garage bands and independently recording music for years. Their fun, front-porch project turned serious when one of their songs blew up on TikTok, then “Crashed My Bike” was featured in the second season of the hit Netflix show Outer Banks. Sun Room’s members, all in their late teens and early 20s, hail from various beach towns across the Southern California coast, so the surf rock came honestly. Asgian’s vision for the band was simple: bring Southern California’s signature sound to a wider audience.
“[I wanted to] take the sound we all grew up with and loved, the sound that all the kids in beach cities play, and present it in a way where everyone can enjoy it [regardless of] what part of the country or even the world you are from,” he says.
They pulled that off somewhere in northern Europe.
Sun Room roof
Courtesy of Sun Room
“I had this full circle moment where we are playing these songs about summer in San Diego in the middle of France or Norway,” he recalls. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with Sun Room, and now we get to do it.”
It’s been go, go, go for the band. Now they’re taking full advantage of being back home. Asgian says this summer is about working on new music, recharging, and enjoying what San Diego has to offer before they head off on their first headlining North American tour this fall.
“It’s a really cool little time in life where we’re just hanging with our friends and trying to surf everyday and work on a ton of new music,” Asgian says, embodying the dream. “The two best feelings in the world are leaving home and getting to come back home.”
Lilly Corcoran is a journalism student at Point Loma Nazarene University. She likes old movies, new TV, and bacon egg and cheeses.
From tacos to tailors and trainers to travel, these are the businesses, people, and places that earned San Diego readers' votes
San Diego Aesthetics and Med Spa
Elicia Soltesz, Elicia Marie Beauty
Ashley Fierro, Ashley Fierro Makeup
Michelle Langston, MSN, APRN, FNP-BC, HNB-BC, Starlite Aesthetics
Alysa Espiritu, Afterglo Beauty Lounge
Ronnie Page, Gold Comb Barbershop North Park
Ryleigh Hunter, Headbang Salon
Ann Teresa Degischer, Maen the Salon
Lindsay Axelrod, Pixiedot Salon
Lauren Skinker, Lucky Cat Tattoo
Father Joe’s Villages Turkey Trot
The Camp Transformation Center, West Chula Vista
Singing Hills Golf Club at Sycuan
Camila Casanueva, The Yard Gym
Austin Harrington, Captain’s Quarters
Bivouac Ciderworks, Savoy Dry Apple Cider
Missi Burns, Et Voila
Prospera Internal Medicine and Aesthetics
After Captain Keno's closed, pro surfer Benji Weatherley gave its tables, dishes, and memories a second life at Breakers Cafe Bar & Grill
Captain Keno’s No. 8 special—pancakes, sausage, toast, home fries, and eggs for $2.99—was the fuel that powered Benji Weatherley for surf competitions as a teenage pro. A couple decades later, tears were shed when the Coast Highway dive-slash-eatery called it a day after 54 years. Usually, the guts of a shuttered restaurant go to liquidation auctions or straight to the dump to decompose along with its legend. Instead, Weatherley took in Keno’s spare parts—plus other relics from Encinitas’ past—and used them to build the newest community hangout.
Every single piece in the place is from somewhere in this town,” Weatherley says about Breakers Cafe Bar & Grill. “I’m not going to settle for anything less.”
Breakers is a Hawaiian hideout in an uncool part of the coastal surf town, but it’s got the set design of an Encinitas superfan. The plates, silverware, and coffee mugs are from Keno’s. So are the tables and booths. There’s a bench made from the last table preserved in The Derby House (a building that, for over a century, was a hotel, then became a hospital, a religious retreat, and a private home). Weatherley’s not performing CPR on old upholstery because he’s a fan of antique furniture. It’s a method to bring people together.
“Representing nostalgia in this town is the only way to grasp a hold of the community,” Weatherley says. “Everyone wants to touch and feel something different from what they’re experiencing on their phones.”
Every week, locals bring him photos, artifacts, and bits of paraphernalia from Encinitas’ past and ask Weatherley to give them a new home. “I’ve had ladies who were there when [Captain Keno’s] opened cry in my arms and say, ‘This table is where I had my second birthday with my grandma,’” he says. “They tell me these stories, and I tell them I have all the same stories about my mom.” (Weatherley’s mom first brought him to Keno’s and helped raise the young surfers from the Momentum Generation documentary—Weatherley, Taylor Steele, Rob Machado, Kelly Slater, etc.—as they surfed some of the world’s most dangerous waves at Pipeline in Hawaii. Back then, she owned Breakers Restaurant & Bar in Haleiwa. Name sound familiar?)
Weatherley has always been the funniest man in the room. He calls Breakers “the Chuck E. Cheese of Encinitas.” The restaurant hosts hula dancing classes, open-mic comedy nights, and evenings bartended by longtime Captain Keno’s barkeep Vaka Kaufusi. Cult-loved reggae band Steel Pulse hit the Breakers stage recently to perform a new song that Weatherley also helped write. His longtime friend Jack Johnson has dropped by to sing a few, too.
Despite not having a fancy location along the 101, people are catching on. Fire stations and hospitals have held staff parties there. Weatherley also currently sponsors four sports teams.
“Last night, I had a girl say, ‘I want my birthday party at Breakers,’” he says. “That, to me, is community in a nutshell.”
Emma Veidt is an editor at San Diego Magazine. She earned her bachelor's and master's degrees from the Missouri School of Journalism. She loves running, hiking, and rock climbing, but really, she mostly loves encounters with the street cats around North Park.
Behind every beautiful space is a thoughtful process, and ASID San Diego is helping homeowners understand the value of professional design.
A perfectly designed home rarely happens by accident. Those kitchens that feel effortless and rooms that seem to tell a story the second you walk in? They’re usually the work of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
It’s knowing which ideas will actually work, which materials will hold up over time, and how to turn a collection of choices into a space that feels intentional. That’s where a professional interior designer comes in.
For the American Society of Interior Designers (ASID) California San Diego Chapter, the goal is to help people see interior design as more than just the finished look. Behind every well-designed space is a process built on technical expertise. Designers are educated in everything from professional software and construction details to building codes, space planning, materials, and functionality.
“People don’t always realize how much goes on behind the scenes,” Kirsten Recce , current president of the ASID California San Diego Chapter, says. “Our designers are not just doing furniture placement and color selection and picking out new fluffy pillows. That’s not what they’re trained for.”
ASID members bring formal education, continued learning, and industry knowledge to their projects, helping create spaces that are not only beautiful, but designed to work. A paint color that changes completely depending on the lighting. A material that looks beautiful in a showroom but doesn’t make sense for everyday life. A layout that photographs well but doesn’t function for the people living there. These are the details where professional guidance can make all the difference.
Still, one of the biggest misconceptions about hiring an interior designer is that it’s reserved for massive renovations, luxury homes, or people who already know exactly what they want. The process can feel intimidating. Where do you begin? Is a designer worth the investment? What if you only need help with one room?
ASID’s answer: start with one hour.
ASID’s Spruce Up events break down one of the biggest barriers between homeowners and professional design: knowing where to begin. Held twice a year, the community program gives homeowners the chance to work directly with an ASID designer through a one-hour, $125 consultation in their own home. Whether you’re looking for advice on furniture placement, window treatments, kitchen and bath updates, remodeling ideas, vacation rentals, color selections or something else entirely, the upcoming September 2026 event offers an approachable way to get expert guidance before committing to a full project. Signups are open through Sept. 7, with consultations taking place Sept. 21 through Oct. 31. Proceeds benefit ASID San Diego’s educational and community programs. Register here!
“It’s a great opportunity for people who are in that exploratory phase,” Recce says. “Maybe they’re not sure they want to hire an interior designer yet, or they think it sounds daunting or expensive. This gives them a chance to discover what working with a designer is actually like.”
Design is personal. A good designer isn’t just creating a beautiful room; they’re helping create a space that fits the way someone lives.
“We’re a resource to all of San Diego County,” Recce says. “It doesn’t cost anything to pick up the phone and call and ask. We’ll answer.”
Follow ASID San Diego on Instagram, LinkedIn, and Facebook for updates on upcoming events, or connect with the chapter directly at [email protected] or 619-548-8847.
Meeting new friends is a scary and sweaty venture—that’s where the city's social event planners come in
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.”
Jeannine Boisse (she/her) is a freelance writer and professional creative with a background in Radio & Television. Based in sunny San Diego, Jeannine spends her time exploring the city's vibrant brewery scene, cooking up new recipes in the kitchen, and connecting with new people.
San Diego's "First Couple of Tennis" reflects on the past as they get ready to move on from Ray's Tennis, a Hillcrest landmark
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.”
Sasha Abramsky is the West Coast correspondent for the Nation magazine and the author of nine books. His tenth book, Chaos Comes Calling, will be published by Bold Type Books in September.
Circadian Sleep Clinic Helps Reset the Body Clock
Nearly everyone experiences a sleepless night once in a while. But for those with a circadian sleep disorder, being well-rested can feel out of reach. A circadian sleep disorder occurs when a person’s internal clock doesn’t align with their desired or socially required sleep schedule. This can significantly impact quality of life, mental health and physical well-being. Scripps Circadian Sleep Disorders Clinic, launched in 2019, was the first of its kind in the state. Its specialists diagnose and treat conditions like delayed sleep phase disorder, shift work sleep disorder and non-24-hour sleep-wake disorder. Many patients have spent years—or even decade —thinking there was no hope for their sleep behavior. A solution can be life-changing. Read more about the Scripps Circadian Sleep Disorders Clinic here.
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