Oddly, the movie’s beginning is an end, the end of a marriage. Cal and Emily Weaver—played with just the right mix of neuroticism and wit by Steve Carell and Julianne Moore—are getting a divorce. After shamelessly and publicly announcing that she wants the divorce, Emily initiates what ends up being a hard existential slap in the face for Cal. So much so, that he thinks that the best course of action is to literally remove himself from the situation by falling out of a moving car (He probably wished that it was the car of life, and the easiest way to cope was to just get out while he still could).

Thankfully, as the film unfolds, Cal does not completely self-destruct or self-implode, but becomes (or rather, re-becomes) the man that he was always meant to be. This outcome is great of course, but I think that the process by which Cal’s transformation plays out is the most gripping aspect of the movie.

Repeatedly noticing Cal’s lament routine at a local bar, a handsome swinger named Jacob takes pity on Cal and decides to coach him on how to recover his manhood. This odd premise of course serves as the film’s primary comedic device, but running underneath the jokes and the unlikely Cal-Jacob pairing is a timeless message: true friendship is one of the most potent forces in human experience. The friendship between Cal and Jacob is the vehicle for both characters’ radical character transformation. Both teach each other much, and both learn much from each other.

At the end of the film, through a surprising plot twist, Cal and Jacob’s friendship is tested and Cal has to decided whether he can really trust Jacob.  Cal struggles with the two Jacob’s he’s seen and known: the promiscuous player who has slept with dozens of women, and the reformed ex-swinger who has committed himself to an exclusive relationship. Jacob, while awaiting Cal’s word and approval, realizes Cal’s renewed integrity and says to him, “Cal, you’re a great Dad.”

Keeping true with the idea of inverting beginnings and endings, the movie’s end is a new beginning: the start of a new kind of relationship for Jacob and the start of Cal and Emily repairing their marriage. Nothing is certain and it’s unclear whether everything will work out, but Cal and Jacob have experienced something extraordinary that they will never forget: crazy, stupid, transforming, love.

Many times when I tune into a major news channel, whether it be CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, or the like, I am constantly struck by a glaring psychological phenomenon as the talking heads spew invective at each other: constant attacks against a vaguely defined outgroup. For modern liberals, the outgroup usually consists of big corporations who, according to the pundits’ rhetoric, are driven by greed, corruption, and power and have little to no regard for “the little guy.” For conservatives, the enemy is usually big government perpetually and menacingly encroaching on the freedoms of individuals.

In both of these cases, the underlying psychological thread is extreme demonization and distancing of a big, completely irredeemable outgroup. Since liberals and conservatives share this tendency, I can’t help but think that it’s an undeniable feature of human beings’ cognitive machinery, and it might provide keen insight into how our social brains evolved over time.

Tens of thousands of years ago, when our ancestors lived in relatively small tribal communities, outgroup thinking probably served them well as tribes competed for limited resources. Back then, outgroups were smaller and easier to define. Now, in our 21st century world of complete interconnectedness, ingroup/outgroup boundaries have become so fluid and context-dependent. A major weakness of current US politics is the deeply-entrenched partisanship. This creates a perfect opportunity for “us-versus-them” thinking at the largest possible scale, in order to secure a catch-all conception of an outgroup. Consequently, liberals and conservatives have seized the low-hanging fruit of big business and big government, respectively. And ironically, an underlying assumption that both parties have is that the bigger their outgroup gets, the more dangerous it becomes. For liberals, the engine of that process is corporate welfare and lobbying by big business, and for conservatives, the engine is legislation that grants the federal government more powers over various spheres of life.

It’s hard to say what will alter both parties’ pervasive (and not very constructive) outgroup centered modus operandi. One suggestion, albeit a very idealistic one and a shot in the dark, is to take advantage of the fact that our brains have evolved the capacity to constantly identify and protect against threats from an outgroup. Pushing our cognitive boundaries of who or what constitutes an outgroup would be a good place to start. For example, maybe taking a problem that’s plaguing society (e.g. climate change, human trafficking and modern day slavery) and turning it into an “outgroup” would begin to unite folks from diverse backgrounds and political affiliations.

Or, on the other hand, maybe humans will one day evolve a more helpful and productive capacity that will transcend simplistic dualistic thinking. Until then, we’ll make our outgroups as big and bad as cognitively possible.

This year, I was struck with a thought during the annual fireworks display. As Journey’s beloved anthem Don’t Stop Believing was thundering over the outdoor sound system, I realized how much the song embodies the ethos of Princeton alumni. This is most obvious when alum return every year for Reunions and re-immerse themselves in a frenzied whirlwind of orange and black—with slurred, beer-laced nostalgia never in short supply.

I’m going to venture a guess here and claim that for many alumni, Reunions indeed proves to be a “streetlight” in an otherwise chaotic, stressful year. Regardless if an alum graduated last year or 30 years ago, there is always release and relief during Reunions. Using Journey’s imagery from Don’t Stop Believing, Princeton alum are “streetlight people” insofar as they hunger for the light and connection they feel when they return to their alma mater each year. No matter how young or how old an alumnus/a may be, life outside the “Orange Bubble” the other 362 days of the year is rife with challenge, flux, and trials.

This is a foreign concept that’s hard to swallow when you’ve been bred by parents, teachers, and mentors you’re whole life that you are the master of your destiny, and that “nothing is impossible” if you “just work hard enough.” In this year’s Class Day address  Brook Shields ’87 offered a sobering dose of realism when she warned graduating seniors that “You will no longer have a syllabus to follow, you will no longer have an adviser to consult…You may never be this protected again.”

David Brooks touched and expanded on this idea in a recent column. He argues against the conventional wisdom that life after college is all about “finding yourself.” In fact, Brooks seems to think that the reverse is true. The self is only found (i.e. developed) through lived experience, much of which includes uncertainty and hardship. Brooks underscores this idea when he claims that “Most people don’t form a self and then lead a life. They are called by a problem, and the self is constructed gradually by their calling.”

The rugged American individualist in me is a bit disturbed by this cosmic reversal of the advice that I’ve repeatedly received and tried to apply so far in my life. But I think there is something extremely valuable here to learn. I will take a stab at it and say that life is a complex tangle of tremendous joys and unbelievable soul-rending suffering. But there is an undeniable human yearning in each one of us to press on, to get back on the horse, to search for the “streetlights,” to “hold on to that feelin’.” There may be after all, a great Story into which we’re being written and weaved. If that’s the case, I guess that we’re all “streetlight people” who may be lucky enough to see a day when there won’t be any need for streetlights anymore.

 …the fundamental fact about all of us is that we’re alive for a while but will die before long. This fact is the real root cause of all our anger and pain and despair. And you can either run from this fact or, by way of love, you can embrace it.

When you stay in your room and rage or sneer or shrug your shoulders, as I did for many years, the world and its problems are impossibly daunting. But when you go out and put yourself in real relation to real people, or even just real animals, there’s a very real danger that you might love some of them.

And who knows what might happen to you then?

“Karamazov,” cried Kolya, “can it be true what’s taught us in religion, that we shall all rise again from the dead and shall live and see each other again, all, Ilusha too?”

“Certainly we shall all rise again, certainly we shall see each other and shall tell each other with joy and gladness all that has happened!”

Alyosha answered, half laughing, half enthusiastic.

“Ah, how splendid it will be!” broke from Kolya.

“Well, now we will finish talking and go to his funeral dinner. Don’t be put out at our eating pancakes–it’s a very old custom and there’s something nice in that!” laughed Alyosha. “Well, let us go! And now we go hand in hand.”

“And always so, all our lives hand in hand! Hurrah for Karamazov!” Kolya cried once more rapturously, and once more the boys took up his exclamation: “Hurrah for Karamazov!”

He turned and asked, “Now?”

“Not yet.”

“Why? With every earthquake, flood, famine, I weep without ceasing.”

“I know.”

“With every tear shed, every drop of blood spilled, every child that dies before her time–my heart sinks further. The abyss of sorrow within me just keeps deepening.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t we stop it all now, and finally make all things new?”

“With every second we wait, every breath we give, we give them all another chance to experience grace, love, -what they’re truly seeking.”

“Yes, but isn’t the cost too high?

“Not so, for I love them beyond their wildest dreams. I’m going to risk everything and wait.”

“Why?”

“My word will not return to me empty;
But it will accomplish that which I have purposed,
and prosper in that for which I sent it.”

“What have you purposed?”

“To bring all of them home.”

But all these bits do make
For a bit of a mess.
Who will take our piles of bits,
And know what to leave, what to take?

Show yourself,
Collector of bit-collectors.