(Sending) Everything Everywhere All at Once

by Conor Wellman

I asked Ethan, “Do you ever think you’ve done all the boulders you can do?” It was the Spring of 2023, and I’d felt more defeated than ever in my climbing. I’d gone through a rough breakup, was considering transferring schools, and couldn’t get up a hard boulder to save my life. The question wasn’t meant to be heartbreaking, but Ethan said it was. I was beginning to feel that climbing was pointless, and for someone who spends almost every day living, reading, watching, and learning climbing, that's a pretty tough blow. I felt like I was losing my sense of self and my purpose in life.

 

In the movie “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” we follow Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh), a mother and owner of a laundromat. Her husband is filing for divorce, her judgmental father is coming to visit, her business is being audited, and her daughter resents her for not accepting who she is. Essentially, she is living her worst life. Evelyn gains the ability to experience different versions of her life across the multiverse and finds a version of her daughter, Joy (Stephanie Hsu), who also possesses this ability. Joy’s mind is fractured across every version of herself in the multiverse. She experiences infinite moments simultaneously, revealing to her that nothing matters. With infinite possibilities, no single experience can hold meaning, so she destroys herself and the multiverse.

 

Meanwhile, Evelyn’s husband, Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), represents the opposite philosophy, absurdism. Waymond’s life is mundane, but he doesn’t let that bring him down. He finds joy and meaning in every interaction, regardless of its significance.

 

In an attempt to save her daughter, Evelyn fractures her mind. Experiencing the same existential crisis as Joy, she chooses between stopping her daughter and joining her. She can either succumb to Joy’s nihilism or embrace Waymond’s absurdism and decide to keep living.

 

In a less significant way, I found myself at a similar crossroads. When climbing wasn’t enough to help me run from the troubles and burdens of my life, it made me question whether it had any meaning. For the first time in my life, it was becoming easier to believe climbing was a pointless activity. Was the sport I loved a waste of my time and energy?

The following autumn, I was invited to try The Multiverse. I remember the exact moment I first became aware of the boulder. Scrolling Eric Jerome’s Top 100 Double Digit Boulders list, I came across a V15 I’d never heard of. Instinctively, I opened a Mellow video of Jimmy Webb claiming the first ascent, and immediately, I was hooked. Everything about the boulder suited me, and it was among the highest-quality challenging boulder problems in the US. It immediately became the boulder I wanted to send the most in my lifetime. I began to see The Multiverse as the ultimate goal for my climbing life, the final boss that I could only complete at my absolute peak. However, The Multiverse was shrouded by mystery. Nobody seemed to know where it was, and it hadn’t seen a second ascent.

 

That changed when Taylor McNeil, Eric Jerome, and Daniel Woods sent the boulder in the fall of 2022, confirming the grade at V15. The following summer, Austin Purdy, Ben Burkalter, and Tristan Chen sent the boulder, downgrading it to V14. My friend Ben Blackmore had tried it with them and suggested I join him on the trek to Wheatland, Wyoming, to attempt it. With a pin for the boulder and a more approachable grade, The Multiverse felt within reach for the first time.

Making the trip was intimidating. The last times I’d tried a climb of this grade, I had not been very successful. The Pheonix and The Ice Knife in Colorado had shut me down considerably, and I was unsure whether making the four-hour drive would be worth it. Nevertheless, I let Ben drag me out.

After driving for 3 hours up I-25, we drove west for about fifteen minutes before turning onto a dirt road. We continued on this road for another 45 minutes before turning left and straight into the Wyoming prairie, making a few turns around some winding hills. In the actual middle of nowhere, Ben told me to stop the car. We packed pads and walked over another hill. Like magic, one of the most significant boulder problems I had ever seen appeared, seemingly from nothing. To this day, I’m still shocked that something so perfect could have formed there and that someone could ever have found it. 

The climb surpassed my high expectations. Every hold was ergonomic and interesting, and each move was equally as fun as the last. The Multiverse had it all: an obvious start hold, bullet stone, plenty of moves, a flat landing, gorgeous landscape, history, intrigue, and a heady dynamic finish move to cap it off. In my eyes, it was the perfect boulder.

 

I did all the moves in my first session and made some links. The opening V12/13 sequence was tricky, relying on a decisive first move followed by a technical toe hook and foot moves on slippery stone. The second half hosts thuggy, classic compression with edges on the left and arete slopers on the right. At the top of the arete is a jump to a bucket with the left hand, which opens your shoulders and swings your legs over a death pit. After a quick shake, a few more jugs lead you to the top. I left more captivated than before.

For the next three weeks, I made the eight-hour round trip to try The Multiverse, each week coming closer than the last. On the fourth day, I reached the top of the arete, my shoe slipping off the rock as I made the last right-hand slaps. I was getting in my head, weighed down by sacrifices made by being here and nowhere else. College parties, my Data Structures and Algorithms final, and money for gas all weighed on my mind. With all the noise, being frustrated by the negatives was easier than focusing on the boulder. 

I rewatched Everything Everywhere All at Once the night before my next visit. This time, a new line stood out to me. “I’m learning to fight like you.” Inspired by Waymond, Evelyn learns to use her power more effectively by not attacking everyone in her way but by searching the multiverse to find what makes them happy. In this moment, Evelyn embraces absurdism, finding purpose in the meaningless infinities she experiences. 

When we climb, we, too, embrace absurdism. There is no reason to climb. It accomplishes nothing. We start and finish routes at arbitrary points when we could just walk around, and we come back down right after. We spend countless hours training, driving, hiking, and falling, all in pursuit of the elusive feeling of sending.

 

I often think about a version of me out there in the multiverse who hadn’t invested so much of their life in climbing. Maybe I would have a better career path, more meaningful relationships, or more helpful passion. But then I remember every person I’ve met in the sport who has made me who I am. Every moment of adversity that has made me stronger spat me out, telling me to try harder. I remember every time I made a better decision for myself so that I could climb harder. I remember the drive the sport instilled in me to be the best I can be in every facet of my life. Climbing can be meaningless, or we can find the purpose within it.

I returned to the boulder the next day, cutting away the noise. There were no more assignments to worry about, no more people I needed to see, and nothing I was missing out on by being here and not somewhere else. I cut out all the stakes in my head, removing any pressure to send. It’s just another day playing on the best boulder I’ve ever tried.

I give my first go of the sesh. It is terrible. I fumble the feet, cutting a few times. I miss the cruxy heel kick twice, but eventually, stick it and keep moving. It’s so far from what I visualized, but I persist. I again climb into the final sequence and fall while placing the heel for the final right-hand slaps. No wobbler, no rage, no feeling, I just turn around and admire my effort on such a terrible go—the session proceeds.

 

While I’m chalking up for the next go, Ben says, “Do it for Chicago.” I chuckle, but internally, I embrace it. Being one of the few people from my city to ever climb the grade would be incredibly meaningful. When I was growing up, nobody from Chicago was climbing that hard. I think of all the people behind me, everyone from home who got me to this moment, and I pull on the wall. 

I don’t remember the next minute. Every movement was so similar to what I visualized that it was hard to distinguish between my thoughts and reality. It wasn’t until I stuck the second-to-last move that I woke up.

“F*CKING COME ON!”

Ben’s shout made me lucid again. I was staring down the jug, suddenly nervous and afraid after feeling nothing for 17 moves. I set my left foot, pulling my heel out as carefully as possible. I jumped like every time before, but in this instance, I jumped with more weight than ever. For a moment, I floated.

Suddenly, I hit the jug. My body swung left, but I managed to control it. I let out five guttural screams. I never knew how I would react when I got there. I couldn’t visualize it. I threw my heel over my head and shook out for a second. Shakily, I pulled myself over the slab on the final V2, experiencing the happiest moment of my entire life. 

For a moment, I yelled, but the sentiment of the moment quickly hit me. For the first time, I cried on top of a boulder. I sat down for the next few minutes and watched the sun set over the Wyoming prairie.

 

It’s hard to put into words how much this meant to me. It was redemption, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, the culmination of a process, and the perfect moment to bring it to a close. It encapsulated every feeling of progress and success from the past eight years. I’d never experienced joy and satisfaction like this, and it’s hard to believe I ever will again.

 

Driving back home, I reflected on all the moments in life that hold meaning. I considered graduating, getting married, having a child, and other life milestones. I can’t imagine how I’ll feel when these moments come, but it's hard to believe that I wouldn’t consider sending The Multiverse to have a similar separation from the rest of the moments in my life. If climbing can make me feel this much, then it's impossible that it could ever be meaningless. Whether I’m just an absurdist or climbing does carry that weight, I’ve found my place in the multiverse and my meaning within it.