“I love waking up in the morning and just sitting on my mom’s backyard with a cup of matcha and just taking in the quiet cool San Diego morning air,” says Daniels. “One of the things I always make sure I do is go on long, beautiful walks in Tierrasanta and the surrounding areas. And then I’ll finish it off with a really powerful series of runs up and down the Tierrasanta Stairs.”
Also known as the “Stairway to Hell” or “Stairs of Death,” the super steep incline, made up of 112 steps and located on Clairemont Mesa and Antigua Boulevards, is notorious for its challenging climb. It even has its own Yelp page and YouTube video.
But Daniels doesn’t shy away from a challenge, and this drive is exactly the kind of quality that has made her so successful in the world of show business.
Growing up in Paradise Hills and Tierrasanta, she attended the prestigious audition-only public arts magnet school, the San Diego School of Creative and Performing Arts (SCPA).
“My closest friends to this day came from SCPA. The school was just filled with like-minded individuals like myself,” recalls Daniels. “We had a very deep connection on a creative and spiritual level because we were all very determined to develop our art together. A bunch of us auditioned for Starlight Bowl to see if we could land jobs. I performed in four musicals in Balboa Park and Spreckels Theater.”
“One of my best friends from SCPA, Carleton Overstreet, Jr., is working diligently to get the Starlight Bowl back up and running,” continues Daniels. “It really was a magical place and it launched the professional musical theater careers of a lot of SCPA students.”
After high school, Daniels set out for New York—not to tear up the theater stages but to attend Cornell University where she eventually received a bachelor of science in Hotel and Restaurant Administration. After graduation, she had enough snow and ice and moved back to California and to Los Angeles.
Currently, she stars in the Nickelodeon hit show, That Girl Lay Lay, executive produced by Will Packer and the late comedian David A. Arnold. The show made Netflix’s Top 10 lists in 2021 and 2022, and she’s currently filming season two.
Daniels also appeared in La La Land in the opening scene with extras breaking from their vehicles and dancing on top of cars stuck in a traffic jam. The crew rehearsed that scene for three weeks, rearranging their cars in the studio parking lot so that they could practice in and on top of them, even the skateboarder and biker.
“The opening number took two whole days to film. It was all done in only two shots. So if anyone stepped out of line, we had to start over,” said Daniels. They started at 3 a.m. and filmed all day on an overpass when temperatures shot up to 97 degrees.
Daniels’ other accolades include roles on CSI-Cyber, The Mindy Project, Big Bang Theory, NCIS and Criminal Minds and toured with Oprah Winfrey’s production of The Color Purple.
“My first acting teacher said to me, very early on in my training, that discipline is freedom. So if you stay the course, what is meant for you will find you,” she says. “I’ve just worked extremely hard to pull myself back up from all of the rejection, knowing that all the rejection is temporary and the winners are the disciplined.”
Now that she’s closer to home, when she’s back in San Diego, she spends time with her mother, nephew, and two nieces, often at Donna Jean’s in Hillcrest for a gourmet vegan meal and around town to explore the city.
For Daniels, San Diego has been a place of healing and recovery. “So much rejection happens in this industry all the time. For every ‘yes,’ there are like a hundred ‘no’s.’ You can’t let a no derail you from your path and your journey. I’ve gotten really good at bouncing back. And that’s a lot due to the joy and peace that San Diego brings me,” said Daniels.
Ann Sim is telling me about her children. She says she has 50 of them, give or take, and her main job is protecting them and providing them everything they need to succeed.
It’s not uncommon to hear restaurant managers refer to their staff this way, but, unlike most of them, Sim has a necklace that I noticed when we sat down: a thin chain with “Callie” written in gold, like some people wear with the names of their actual kids. You get the sense Sim really means it.
Sim is the general manager of Callie. She opened the East Village Mediterranean-style gem with chef Travis Swikard in the middle of 2021, and now they’re joining forces again for their second location, a to-be-named French restaurant in La Jolla Commons. Much has been made of Swikard’s experience, and rightfully so—more than a decade alongside Daniel Boulud in New York tends to draw eyes—but in terms of pure tonnage of resume fireworks, Sim might have him beat.
Courtesy of Callie
She’s worked at some of the most well-respected places in New York and Los Angeles, including a marquee stint as a captain at Eleven Madison Park, what was—at the time, by every metric available—the best restaurant in the world.
You wouldn’t know it to talk to her. The SoCal native is approachable with an easy laugh. But to watch her at the restaurant is to witness a pro at work. You see it in the way she adjusts a napkin or pushes in a chair, the way she glides between tables or opens a bottle of wine. But you also sense it in the warmth with which she greets guests, touches tables, and coaches her staff.
The front of house at Callie is, like the cuisine, a union of world-class refinement and California vibes. The synthesis of these apparent contradictions is a big part of why Callie is such a local treasure—and why it has earned it national and international recognition (as well as this magazine’s award for Best Restaurant two years in a row). It’s an impressive CV for a woman whose main professional goal throughout college was to get out of restaurants for good.
The daughter of Korean immigrants-turned-restaurateurs, Sim was born and raised in Orange County. As a kid, Sim was “free child labor,” she quips—she worked the counter, grilled chicken, waited tables, whatever her parents’ business needed that day. She stayed in restaurants through college, serving and bartending, and graduated from UC Irvine sans debt. The tradeoff: They were bad places with toxic cultures. She had different ideas of success.
Photo Credit: Luciana McIntosh Prawns al ajillo from Callie
After college in 2011, she took her meager savings and moved to New York, something she had wanted to do since she was a kid. Though she had planned to change industries, she needed a job, so a friend got her an interview at Daniel Boulud’s celebrated Mediterranean restaurant, Boulud Sud, as a host.
For all her experience, she was completely unprepared. “I didn’t know who Daniel Boulud was,” she says. “I didn’t know what fine dining even meant. I never heard the phrase.” What she did know, however, was how to work hard and learn. She absorbed everything she could, bouncing from the host stand to the events team to management.
It was there that she first met a young Swikard and other high-caliber restaurant pros, and it opened her eyes to what this life could be. “They were so good at what they did that I was like, ‘Oh, this is actually a career. This is a profession. This is actually something very respectable,’” she recalls.
Her next job was at Eleven Madison Park. The restaurant already had three Michelin stars, and, during her tenure, it earned an exuberant review from the New York Times, a James Beard Award for outstanding service, and the title of Best Restaurant in the World from the World’s 50 Best.
Courtesy of Ann Sim
When Eleven Madison Park closed for renovations, Sim took the opportunity to come back to California. She arrived in LA at the end of 2017 to open the area’s NoMad Hotel, and did a stint as the GM of Maude in Beverly Hills. After the start of the pandemic, she got a random text from Swikard, her old Boulud Sud colleague, who was trying to open a restaurant in San Diego and had just lost his GM. Did she know anyone who might want the job?
Callie is theirs. It is her and Swikard’s united vision of hospitality and what a restaurant should be. She’s not courting the 50 Best awards—she’s too “old and jaded,” she says, and those things come at too high a human cost (she still can’t watch The Bear, for example). To her, success comes from working hard, taking care of her people, and connecting with the community. Nearly two and a half years after she and Swikard opened the restaurant’s doors, the reservation list at Callie is still full pretty much every night.
“I genuinely care about the business as well as every single one of my employees,” she says. “So I don’t care if anyone’s like, ‘Oh, you wear a necklace with the name of your job?’ I don’t think it’s weird, because for me, it’s like, ‘I also pushed this baby out.’”
And with her and Swikard’s second culinary progeny incoming, she may have to add another charm.
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.”
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
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.
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.
Courtesy of ASID
“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!
Courtesy of ASID
“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.”
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.”
Photo Credit: Blair Kirby
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.).
Photo Credit: Gina Ribando
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.”
Photo Credit: Elysian Visions by Deaune Boyd LLC
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.”
Courtesy of IRL SD
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.
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.
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
“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.
Photo Credit: Matt Furman
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.
Mai Vue was just 34 weeks pregnant when she delivered her baby. Her pregnancy had been complicated, and she’d had a recent second trimester pregnancy loss, which led to her receiving specialized care from Sean Daneshmand, MD, a Scripps Clinic perinatologist who oversees high-risk pregnancies. Dr. Daneshmand and his team took care of Mai during her pregnancy, through the birth of her healthy baby girl and beyond. Mai was part of a program Scripps launched to provide support to new moms in the weeks and months after delivery. The postpartum program, known as Scripps Health’s Fourth Trimester Continuum of Care, provides care for women with high-risk pregnancies to optimize their health after childbirth and reduce the risk of complications in future pregnancies. Click here to learn more.
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