Crowds of masked student protesters raging against the war in Gaza filled the Columbia University lawns last spring, while counterprotesters and journalists surrounded the tent city that had been erected there.

One man stood out.

He was Mahmoud Khalil, a graduate student in his 20s, older than most of the students around him. Mr. Khalil, a Syrian immigrant of Palestinian descent, quickly emerged as a vocal and measured leader during rallies and sit-ins, doing on-camera interviews with the media in a zip-up sweater.

And he was unmasked. Many other international students wore masks and kept to the background of the protests, for fear of being singled out and losing their visas.

His wife worried. “We’ve talked about the mask thing,” Noor Abdalla, a 28-year-old dentist from the Midwest, said in an interview last week. “He always tells me, ‘What I am doing wrong that I need to be covering my face for?’”

Mr. Khalil was a negotiator on behalf of Columbia University Apartheid Divest, the main coalition of protesting student groups, and one with its own spectrum of attitudes toward violence and dark rhetoric.

His decision to quite literally be the face of a deeply divisive movement would have huge consequences for Mr. Khalil. He was called out by critics by name on social media, and on March 8, seven weeks after the inauguration of Donald Trump, federal agents arrived at his door. He was swiftly taken to a detention center in Louisiana, where he is still being held for what officials have described, without providing details, as leading activities aligned with Hamas, an allegation he has denied.

Mr. Khalil’s friends and family have expressed outrage at his detention and possible deportation. But they also say they are not surprised by his activism in a movement that he was born into, nor his relatively calm presence amid a swarm of noise.

As he moved through the world, Mr. Khalil could often come across as the adult in the room. And to one who had known him as an office mate in an earlier time, his role in front of microphones and wielding a bullhorn came unexpected.

“He’s very sort of mild mannered,” said Andrew Waller, a former colleague who worked with Mr. Khalil in Beirut at the British diplomatic office for Syria. “Seeing him in more of a sort of leadership or spokesperson role, I guess was a surprise.”

Mr. Khalil arrived at Columbia University at the end of a long and winding journey. His Palestinian origin story was written and ended before he was born.

His grandparents were from a village near Tiberias, a city on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee in Palestine before it became part of the state of Israel. They were forced to flee in 1948 during the wars preceding Israel’s establishment, Mr. Khalil has said, settling with other members of their large family in southern Damascus in Syria, in a Palestinian refugee enclave. It was there that Mr. Khalil was born in 1995.

In the early 2010s, he fled the Syrian conflict to Lebanon, where he arrived alone and broke. He worked in construction to make enough money to pursue an education, according to his friend Ahmad Berro, who met Mr. Khalil while the two were studying at Lebanese American University. Mr. Khalil graduated in 2018 with a degree in computer science.

While in Lebanon, Mr. Khalil worked with Jusoor, a Syrian American educational nonprofit. There, in 2016, he met the woman who would become his wife, a U.S. citizen of Syrian descent.

In 2018, he began working on programs related to Syria for the British diplomatic office in Beirut. He eventually oversaw a scholarship program for foreign students to study in Britain. His work was informed by his personal experiences of fleeing Syria and his opposition to the government there, Mr. Waller, his former colleague, said.

After about four years, Mr. Khalil set his sights on the United States and applied to a few graduate schools. He hoped to be accepted at one in particular, Columbia University and its School of International and Public Affairs.

He was accepted and enrolled in January 2023.

He saw it as a huge win, not only for himself, but for his fellow refugees, said Lauren Bohn, a journalist who met Mr. Khalil in Beirut and spent time with him after his admission to Columbia. “He said, ‘This will really help me serve all the others who aren’t going to be able to get this chance.’”

He had been at the university for some nine months when everything changed on Oct. 7, 2023.

A campus in turmoil

Students at Columbia turned out for protests immediately after Hamas’s attacks on Israel. Some were quiet calls for peace, others more raucous. Pro-Palestinian and anti-Israel chants rang through the campus, rattling many Jewish students.

Mr. Khalil was on the front lines with Palestinian activists, bracing for a counterattack from Israel that was imminent. In a video from Oct. 12, five days after the attacks, he is seen atop another person’s shoulders, shouting “Free Palestine!” into a bullhorn.

Months of protests followed. Then, in April 2024, pro-Palestinian students established an encampment at the center of campus. They demanded that the university divest from what they called “all economic and academic stakes in Israel,” including Columbia’s dual-degree partnership with Tel Aviv University.

The rows of tents pitched on Columbia’s iconic, grassy lawns inspired similar protests at universities across the United States. They became a flashpoint after Columbia’s president called the New York City police to campus, leading to the arrests of more than 100 people. As the protests intensified, some Jewish students complained about feeling unsafe. Some heard anti-Zionist chants as threatening to them personally. Those accounts reached Congress, where Republicans derided the protests as antisemitic and Columbia as out of control.

When negotiations began between the protesters and the university, Mr. Khalil emerged as a lead spokesman for the students. The two sides met day and night. A Columbia administrator who negotiated with him described Mr. Khalil as thoughtful, passionate and principled, sometimes to the point of rigidity. He got his back up when he felt he wasn’t being taken seriously. Mr. Khalil was also a face of the protesters for the news media, where he was sharply critical of the university, stepping confidently up to banks of microphones where reporters from CNN, Spectrum News NY1, The Associated Press and The New York Times and elsewhere recorded him confronting the school that had brought him to New York.

“It’s very clear the university does not want to criticize Israel in any way,” Mr. Khalil told a gaggle of journalists gathered near the encampment last spring.

On another occasion, at a discussion sponsored by the coalition of student protesters, he remarked that whether Palestinian resistance was peaceful or armed, “Israel and their propaganda always find something to attack.” He added, “They — we — have tried armed resistance, which is, again, legitimate under international law.” But Israel calls it terrorism, he said.

Those comments were highlighted as justifying terrorism by pro-Israel activists on a webpage about Mr. Khalil that had been compiled by Canary Mission, a group that says it fights hatred of Jews on college campuses and that pro-Palestinian protesters say has doxxed them.

Still, Mr. Khalil repeatedly told friends, as he had his wife, that he saw no reason to wear a mask. What were they going to do to me? he asked.

Once, when the number of tents rose to more than 100, including on a second lawn near the School of Journalism, administrators turned to Mr. Khalil. They made him an offer: Remove about 20 tents, they said, and we’ll ensure that the university’s trustees continue to discuss your demands.

Mr. Khalil countered, agreeing to remove a few less than the administrators wanted, according to one administrator present at those talks, who spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss private university negotiations.

Within minutes, 17 tents vanished and the second lawn was emptied. This response burnished Mr. Khalil’s reputation as a good-faith, if demanding, negotiator.

Other times, he stood fast. Late in the protests, when the university offered concessions and the threat of the police arriving to clear out demonstrators was looming, Mr. Khalil pushed back. We don’t want your concessions. The police? Let them come.

Then they did.

New protests, new president

After a faction of protesters took over Hamilton Hall, a campus building, on April 30, barricading doors and trapping custodians inside, scores of police officers descended on the university. They arrested dozens of pro-Palestinian demonstrators and cleared the hall.

Mr. Khalil was not accused of being in the hall. He had been suspended by the university just before the building takeover, accused of refusing to leave the encampment, along with many other pro-Palestinian activists, and then was quickly reinstated. But there were no more negotiations, and the protests ended for a time.

Columbia slowly ceased being the global flashpoint for campus unrest. Mr. Khalil focused on finishing his courses and looking for work after graduation.

He and Ms. Abdalla married, and he obtained a green card, giving him permanent residency in the United States.

Last summer, the couple learned that they were having a baby. Mr. Khalil was excited, his friends said, getting their apartment ready even as the couple looked ahead toward moving after he earned his degree.

“He did everything, basically,” Ms. Abdalla, now eight months pregnant, said. “He did all the cooking, he did all the cleaning. He did the laundry. He wouldn’t let me touch anything.”

He finished his coursework for his master’s degree from the School of International and Public Affairs in December. But he remained aware of protests still bubbling up at Columbia and at Barnard College, across Broadway.

In January, protesters stormed into a Columbia classroom, and two Barnard students were later expelled that month for their roles that day. It was a flashback to the turmoil of the previous spring. While Mr. Khalil was not present, he was soon drawn back in.

Days later, President Trump, newly inaugurated, issued an executive order promising to combat antisemitism and prosecute or “remove” perpetrators of such views.

The same night, an X account of a Zionist group singled out Mr. Khalil. It accused him, without evidence, of saying that “Zionists don’t deserve to live,” and said that the federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency had his home address. “He’s on our deport list,” the post said.

It included a video of Mr. Khalil speaking in a CNN interview, during which he made no such statement. Mr. Khalil has said he had “unequivocally” never spoken those words — another student had, and was expelled.

Mr. Khalil saw himself and other student protesters as victims of doxxing, finding their personal information spread on social media. On Jan. 31, he emailed Columbia administrators asking for protection for international students, such as himself, who he said were facing “severe and pervasive doxxing, discriminatory harassment and very possibly deportation.” A Columbia spokeswoman declined to comment on communications from Mr. Khalil.

Jasmine Sarryeh, a close friend, tried to allay his concerns and told him he would never be deported. Now she feels like she let him down.

“I didn’t think to expect that this would happen,” she said in a recent interview.

‘Suspected Foreign National’

On March 5, in response to the expulsion of the Barnard students in January, protesters dressed in kaffiyehs and wearing masks descended upon the college’s library. It was a Wednesday, and Mr. Khalil turned from his baby preparations and attended as well, maskless again.

It was the beginning of a four-day stretch that would end with Mr. Khalil in federal detention.

Videos on social media depict him at the library holding a megaphone — and, at one point, using it to amplify the Barnard president, who is speaking over a cellphone. When the protesters are asked if they want to speak with the president, Laura Rosenbury, Mr. Khalil gives them an encouraging thumbs up. They respond in unison: “Yes!”

Critics of the protests immediately began posting videos and images of Mr. Khalil on X, calling him out by name.

One post included an image of his face circled in red with the label “Suspected Foreign National.”

Then, Shai Davidai, an Israeli Jew and Columbia professor banned from campus in October after he was accused of harassing employees, reposted that image and tagged another X account. It belonged to Marco Rubio, the secretary of state, who had just posted a threat to deport Hamas supporters.

“Illegally taking over a college in which you are not even enrolled and distributing terrorist propaganda should be a deportable offense, no?” Mr. Davidai wrote.

Separately, Shirion Collective, a group that says it exposes antisemitism, has said that it sent the Department of Homeland Security a legal memorandum advising the “detention and removal” of Mr. Khalil.

Mr. Khalil saw some of the posts online and panicked. He was being singled out for deportation directly to the very official with the power to set that process in motion.

On Friday, March 7, he again wrote to Columbia administrators and described a “vicious, coordinated and dehumanizing doxxing campaign” against him.

“I haven’t been able to sleep, fearing that ICE or a dangerous individual might come to my home,” he wrote.

That fear would be realized the next day.

‘Let’s bring him in.’

Mr. Khalil and his wife were out with friends on Saturday night, March 8. When they returned to their Columbia apartment, a man in plain clothes pushed into the lobby behind them. Ms. Abdalla felt her husband tense.

“He knew something was wrong,” she said.

I’m with the police, the man said. You have to come with us. More officers arrived in the lobby. Ms. Abdalla hurried up to their apartment to get her husband’s green card. She reminded the officers that he was a permanent citizen.

“‘This guy has a green card,’” she heard the officer say on his phone. “And then the guy on the phone with him told him, ‘Let’s bring him in anyway.’”

In a video recording of the arrest, she is heard asking the officers repeatedly to identify themselves and to specify what charges her husband was facing. She rushes after the officers into the street as they ignore her questions.

It remains unclear what exactly Mr. Khalil is believed to have done. He is accused by the White House and others of organizing protests, such as the one in the Barnard library, where participants distributed fliers promoting Hamas. A flier that was shown in online postings from the library said it had been produced by the “Hamas Media Office.” It was titled “Our Narrative” and listed Hamas’s code name for the Oct. 7 attacks, with an image of fighters standing on a tank. It is unclear whether Mr. Khalil knew the fliers were there.

“I can wholeheartedly say that I know that he did not touch those fliers,” said Mr. Khalil’s friend, Maryam Alwan. “But just because he had his face out, people are trying to pin everything on him.”

His lawyers also denied that he had distributed the fliers at Barnard.

Mr. Waller, his former colleague in Lebanon, said the depictions of Mr. Khalil that he had seen in the news media did not line up with the friend he knew.

“The idea that he’s somehow a political extremist or a sympathizer with terrorist groups or whatever just sounds totally outlandish,” he said. “If you know him and you know his character, it just feels like a sort of obvious smear.”

There are circumstances in which permanent residency status in the United States can be revoked — if, for example, the resident is convicted of a crime. But Mr. Khalil has not been accused of any crime. Instead, Secretary Rubio has cited a little-used statute as the rationale for Mr. Khalil’s detention. The law says that the government can initiate deportation proceedings against anyone whose presence in the country is deemed adversarial to the United States’ foreign policy interests.

Mr. Davidai, the professor who tweeted the photo at Secretary Rubio, said in an interview that he believed Mr. Khalil was entitled to due process under the law. But, he added, it does not so much matter whether Mr. Khalil personally handled fliers promoting terrorists, if the group he represented did.

“When you lead an organization, you are accountable for your organization’s actions,” Mr. Davidai said. “When you lead an organization that openly and proudly supports a U.S. designated terrorist organization, you are accountable to the spreading of propaganda.”

Mr. Khalil has said he was never the planner and leader of the pro-Palestinian protests; he has consistently described himself as a spokesman and negotiator for a coalition of student groups.

Resolving this was not the job of the agents who came to his lobby that Saturday night. They handcuffed Mr. Khalil, led him to a car waiting outside and drove him away.

Katherine Rosman, Sharon Otterman, Jonah E. Bromwich and Michael LaForgia contributed reporting. Kirsten Noyes contributed research.

Anne Kaufman Schneider, who shepherded the plays of her father, George S. Kaufman, a titan of 20th-century American theatrical wit, into the 21st century with an acerbic sagacity all her own, died on Thursday at her home in Manhattan. She was 99.

Her executor, Laurence Maslon, confirmed the death.

“Headstrong girls are difficult,” Ms. Kaufman Schneider once told The New York Times, “but that was the source of my good relationship with my father. And it started early. Because there wasn’t any baby talk. We went to the theater together starting when I was 4. Now I have made his work my agenda in life.”

George Kaufman’s stellar career as a hit-making playwright and stage director included two Pulitzer Prizes — one, in 1937, for “You Can’t Take It With You,” a comedy he created with his most constant collaborator, Moss Hart; the other, in 1932, for “Of Thee I Sing,” a satirical political musical he wrote with Morrie Ryskind to a score by George and Ira Gershwin.

Even so, after his death in 1961 at the age of 71, Kaufman was a hard sell for theatrical revivals.

“Very little happened at all,” Ms. Kaufman Schneider later recalled, “until Ellis Rabb revived ‘You Can’t Take It With You’ for the A.P.A./Phoenix Theater in 1965. Ellis proved that these are classic American plays.” (Founded by Mr. Rabb, an actor and director, the A.P.A., formally the Association of Producing Artists, was a Broadway entity notable for mounting revivals after it merged with the Phoenix Theater, another Broadway house.)

Ms. Kaufman Schneider proceeded to oversee her father’s renaissance over the next 50-plus years — a term of service that outdistanced his own living stewardship of his career.

She encouraged countless regional theater productions and helped steer two of them to Broadway: Mr. Rabb’s “You Can’t Take It With You,” which originated in Ann Arbor, Mich., and a revival of Kaufman and Edna Ferber’s “The Royal Family,” which was first presented at the McCarter Theater in Princeton, N.J., and reached Broadway in December 1975.

She also helped nurture a “Kaufmania” festival at Arena Stage in Washington, D.C., for her father’s centennial in 1989 and a major Lincoln Center revival of Kaufman and Ferber’s “Dinner at Eight” in 2002.

“The wisecracking woman who is smarter than all the men” was how Ms. Kaufman Schneider defined a classic Kaufman heroine. “Which in some ways is what I modeled myself after — I hope unconsciously. That’s the kind of woman he admired.”

She was born on June 23, 1925, and adopted three months later by Kaufman, then the drama editor of The New York Times, and his wife, Beatrice (Bakrow) Kaufman, who was known as Bea, a literary figure in her own right as an editor and tastemaker.

Kaufman had begun writing plays on the side in 1918, almost always with collaborators, particularly Marc Connelly, another future Pulitzer winner, who scripted five Broadway comedies with him in four years, including “Merton of the Movies” in 1922 and “Beggar on Horseback” in 1924. (Kaufman wrote only one play solo,: “The Butter and Egg Man,” which was also a hit, in 1925.)

A notoriously aloof germaphobe who washed his hands after any contact with another human being, Kaufman was hardly a likely candidate for fatherhood. His marriage to the conversely gregarious and vigorously social Bea Kaufman had become a loving but chaste one after she suffered an early miscarriage; both openly pursued extramarital affairs.

Into this odd family ménage entered Anne, who grew up at a remove from her parents, attentively raised instead by a succession of foreign-born governesses, nannies and maids, as biographies of Kaufman and interviews with Ms. Kaufman Schneider have attested.

Her mother called her Button and her father called her Poke, an eliding of “slow poke.” Her most regular family contact with them was in stagy “good nights” at their celebrity-studded dinner parties. Little Anne discovered that sharp exit quips made her father laugh with paternal pride.

On Sundays, the help’s day off, her mother handed her over to her father with an admonition: Do something with her. On his own, Kaufman mainly did two things, make theater and play cards, and he excelled at both. He took his daughter to his bridge club, where she stoically looked on, developing what would be a lifelong aversion to card games. He would also take her to the theater, where their deepest bond was born.

Anne attended five prestigious private schools in succession: Walden, Lincoln, Todhunter and Dalton in Manhattan and Holmquist in Pennsylvania, near the family’s country house. She largely grew up in a small apartment adjacent to their palatial home at 200 West 58th Street in Manhattan; her parents had acquired it just for her upbringing. She later lived with them in a series of elegant East Side addresses.

Admitted to the University of Chicago in 1943 at 18, she instead married a young New York Times reporter named John Booth. When, during World War II, he was shipped overseas as a soldier six months later, she moved back home with her parents; when Mr. Booth returned from military duty, she divorced him. She married Bruce Colen, a magazine editor, in 1947 and had a daughter, Beatrice, with him the next year before divorcing him, too.

In 1960, she married Irving Schneider, the general manager for the theatrical producer Irene Mayer Selznick. He had been an assistant stage manager on the original 1934 production of Kaufman and Hart’s play “Merrily We Roll Along” (later adapted by Stephen Sondheim as a musical). That marriage lasted until Mr. Schneider’s death in 1997.

After bonding with the stage actress Eva Le Gallienne during her starring run in the 1975 revival of “The Royal Family,” Ms. Kaufman Schneider became her devoted friend and constant companion until Ms. Le Gallienne’s death in 1991 at age 92.

Ms. Kaufman Schneider’s daughter, Beatrice Colen Cronin, died in 1999. Two grandsons survive.

Of all her father’s many collaborators — including Edna Ferber, Ring Lardner and John P. Marquand — Moss Hart was his favorite, Ms. Kaufman Schneider said. “I think they were very much mentor and apprentice, even father and son,” she said in a 1998 interview with The Times.

Ms. Kaufman Schneider first met Mr. Hart’s future wife, the singer, actress and later arts administrator Kitty Carlisle, on the set of the Marx Brothers movie “A Night at the Opera” (1935); Ms. Carlisle was co-starring in the film, which George Kaufman had co-written. The two women reconnected when Ms. Carlisle married Mr. Hart in 1946, becoming, in Ms. Kaufman Schneider’s words, “inseparable,” particularly after the deaths of both men in 1961.

Their friendship grew into something of a road show in their later years, as they teamed up for speaking engagements all over the world on the subject of Kaufman and Hart.

“Just two girls with six names,” Ms. Kaufman Schneider liked to say.

“I am very grateful to Anne,” Ms. Carlisle Hart once told The Times. “Anne has taken on the major burden of the plays, their second life.”

In 2004, due in no small measure to his daughter’s restorative efforts, George S. Kaufman formally entered the theatrical pantheon with the Library of America’s publication of “Kaufman & Co.,” a collection of nine of his collaborative comic masterworks.

Still, “for Anne, in the end, nothing made her happier than seeing her father’s plays in front of audiences,” said her executor, Mr. Maslon, an N.Y.U. arts professor and theater scholar who edited “Kaufman & Co.” and who, with the actor David Pittu, is an executor of the George S. Kaufman Literary Trust. “‘Get ’em up!’ was Anne’s watch cry.”

Preserving her father’s plays also allowed Ms. Kaufman Schneider to preserve the love that they each had sometimes found hard to express.

“Well, sir, here we are again,” she wrote on Kaufman’s 51st birthday, when she was nearly 16. “Every year at this time I want to write you a really nice letter and every year I’m just as much at a loss as I was the year before. In between times I can make up gobs of them — I remember things we do together; funny things you say; but those aren’t reasons for writing people birthday letters — those are just a few reasons for liking you. Others are hard to say — hard even to define in thinking terms to oneself.”

Justine Doiron didn’t plan on becoming a recipe developer when she moved to New York in 2016. She was fresh out of Cornell University’s hospitality program and had embarked on a career in public relations. Cooking was just a hobby then.

Today, she’s better known by her online moniker Justine Snacks and shares recipe videos with 2.3 million followers on TikTok.

Ms. Doiron, 30, first gave TikTok a whirl in April 2020. Since the app’s main audience seemed to be teenagers, she geared her content toward them with trending recipes for sushi cakes and pasta flowers. Eventually, her style morphed into what she’s best known for today: approachable, veggie-forward recipes paired with stories from her day-to-day life.

She recently published “Justine Cooks: A Cookbook” and has another one in the works. All of Ms. Doiron’s recipe testing, on and off camera, is done in the kitchen of her 250-year-old wood frame house in the Crown Heights neighborhood in Brooklyn.

“I’m really building out my dream life in the house, because this year’s been the year of Martha Stewart and Ina Garten, and their resurgence of this ‘nostalgia core,’” she said.

Ms. Doiron lives with her fiancé, Eric Lipka, 31, an intelligence analyst, their French bulldog, Walter, and their rescue cat, Gladiator.

EARLY TO RISE I wake up at 6 a.m. if not earlier. I’ve been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately, which I guess just comes with age and general anxiety about things (love that). I also really like my mornings to myself. I use the first hour of the morning to ingest coffee like it’s my job and write down my general outline and plans for the week.

TO MARKET TO MARKET I go to the Carroll Gardens Greenmarket as my grossest self. I’m just pajamas-to-jeans, a T-shirt, a puffy jacket, a coat, beanie, puffy eyes and S.P.F. on my face, and I’m out the door by 7:30 a.m. I like seeing everything at its fullest potential. I don’t like to feel like I might have missed out something.

Carroll Gardens has ACQ Bread Co., which is my favorite bread in the entire city — it’s everyone’s favorite bread. They have a line down the block no matter how early I am to the market. Every two weeks I get their Living Bread, which has seeds and sprouts.

GUILTY PLEASURE Afterward, I pop into Trader Joe’s. It’s a 10-minute walk from the Carroll Gardens market, so the amount of guilt I feel walking into Trader Joe’s with two tote bags filled of vegetables that aren’t theirs, to get five cans of chickpeas, some edamame and some coffee creamer, is crazy, but it’s part of my routine. Then I take the subway home.

LEISURELY BREAKFAST My big luxury is a big, slow breakfast, my shower and being lazy for the next 90 minutes. For breakfast, I toast two slices of the Living Bread I just bought, and then I like to boil jammy eggs. I’m a three egg kind of girl, and I mash them up with chili, flaky salt, red wine vinegar, black pepper and I just put that on the toast. It’s a great time to get avocado, so if I have blessed myself with a ripened avocado and have that available, that’ll go on there too. Eric, if he’s lucky enough, and awake and hungry, will get the same.

FIXER UPPER Our house is amazing, but when we got it it needed some tender love and care. I really want a Brooklyn garden in the backyard (which is just concrete, let’s be honest). We’re making garden beds that have good drainage, and I’m watching the sun and seeing where it’ll go. Soon, I’ll start seeds on the third floor of the house.

TEST KITCHEN I’m usually so excited and inspired by ingredients, especially right when I get them, because nothing hits like the vegetables you just buy. They’re at their peak gorgeousness and freshness. I’m currently in the throes of working on book No. 2, so I do a quick little recipe test, or a quick little, “let’s put these flavors together with this ingredient and kind of see where it nets out.” Maybe this will turn into an idea further down the line. We’re not super hungry since we had a late breakfast, so it’s a little peckish recipe test snack.

EARLY BIRD I’m such a morning person and a lazy night person that sometimes we meet our friends for just drinks or aperitivo. Agi’s Counter is in our neighborhood, and that’s my favorite place. I like to get the window seat (if you know, you know) and just get something super cozy there for dinner.

CLEAN UP I have kept this habit since my 9-to-5 corporate days. I can’t start a week without feeling some semblance of: normalcy, control, clean. I just straighten the house, do whatever laundry I can and make sure the kitchen’s clean. It takes me about an hour, and I do it while listening to a podcast like “Las Culturistas.” It used to be so much more intense, but I’ve relaxed now that we have a dog and a cat and I share the home with somebody else. I realize I’ve let go of a lot of control of things, but the cleaning has stayed.

EARLY TO BED Eric and I are together most of the day, but we like to prioritize hanging out all in the same room. He might be logging on and finishing up some emails, while I read and prepare to fall asleep. I’ve really gotten into reading. I loved “The Wedding People” by Alison Espach and I’m getting back into reading Maggie O’Farrell — I leap at her books anytime they’re available on the library’s Libby app. I’m in this phase of my life where I completely understand how lucky I am to have so much peace and so much freedom with my schedule. I use that freedom to go to bed on the earlier side.