Lessons on Life and Art from Everything Everywhere All at Once

Oscar Wilde famously wrote in his 1889 essay The Decay of Lying, "Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life." This philosophical debate—whether life mirrors art or vice versa—has intrigued humanity since ancient times. Even Aristophanes, pondering the works of Menander, once asked, "O Menander and Life! Which of you took the other as your model?" Recently, this timeless question resurfaced in my mind while watching Everything Everywhere All at Once. Directed by Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, this heartfelt and mind-bending comedy stars Michelle Yeoh as an unlikely hero tasked with saving the multiverse from collapsing. But beyond the fantastical premise, the film offers profound insights into the intertwined nature of life and art, blurring the boundaries between them. So, let’s explore the lessons it holds—not just about storytelling, but about the messy, beautiful, chaotic experience of life itself.

EVERYTHING

The first act of Everything Everywhere All at Once plunges us into the everyday chaos of Evelyn Wang’s life—a chaos that feels both deeply specific and universally relatable. Evelyn isn’t just a laundromat owner juggling a tax audit, a failing marriage, a strained relationship with her daughter, and the care of her elderly father. She’s all of us. Her life is one giant to-do list, filled with loose ends and unmet expectations, all pulling her in different directions. Sound familiar?

The genius of this act lies in how it sets the stage. The Wangs’ story begins in a grounded, intimate space—a story of family struggles and financial hardship that, on its own, could have been a compelling indie drama. But then the Daniels (the directing duo behind the film) rip the rug out from under us, catapulting Evelyn into a multiverse of absurd possibilities and existential stakes. Suddenly, her mundane, overburdened life becomes a fractured prism, each shard reflecting a different path she could have taken: movie star, chef, martial artist, rock, or even a being with hot dog fingers.

And here’s where the magic of Everything comes into focus: it reveals how each of those possibilities lives within all of us, all the time. Every choice we’ve ever made—or didn’t make—echoes in the background of our lives, whispering, "What if?" Evelyn’s journey through the multiverse isn’t just science fiction; it’s a poignant metaphor for the weight of all the lives we might have lived.

The most striking part of this act isn’t the spectacle (though the visuals are stunning) but the way it mirrors our human experience. Who among us hasn’t wondered how things could have been different? Who hasn’t felt the crushing weight of obligations, expectations, and regrets? The Daniels take that feeling and crank it up to eleven, showing us how overwhelming life can be when every possibility feels like it’s happening all at once.

But this act also hints at a deeper truth: that the life we’re living, messy and imperfect as it is, holds a value that no alternate reality can replace. Evelyn’s multiverse journey isn’t about escaping her reality—it’s about confronting it. It’s about seeing her failures, her family, and herself through a new lens. And maybe that’s the point of "everything." It’s not about being perfect or fulfilling every possibility. It’s about finding meaning in the life you’ve chosen, even as you carry the echoes of the lives you didn’t.

EVERYWHERE

The multiverse in Everything Everywhere All at Once isn’t just a mind-bending concept; it’s a metaphor for how overwhelming life can feel. Evelyn's journey through countless parallel universes mirrors our daily attempts to juggle the endless possibilities, roles, and expectations that demand our attention. Who hasn’t felt like they’re living a hundred different lives at once—parent, partner, professional, friend, dreamer, and occasional martial artist with hot dog fingers? Just Evelyn and me? Okay.

Evelyn's kaleidoscopic adventure reveals a brutal truth: everywhere isn’t always better. The ability to access infinite realities comes with an existential cost. Evelyn’s struggle to hold the multiverse together while maintaining her family relationships is eerily relatable. How often do we try to be "everywhere" at once—online, at work, at home, in our friendships, in our side hustles—only to realize that this omnipresence drains us instead of empowering us?

Jobu Tupaki (Alpha Joy) captures the dread of this constant juggling act when she confronts Evelyn with her "everything bagel." The bagel isn’t just an absurdist joke—it’s an emblem of our overstimulated, overconnected modern lives. The more we try to cram onto our proverbial bagels, the more the center collapses under its own weight. Jobu’s bagel says, “You want it all? Fine. Here’s everything. Spoiler alert: It’s unbearable.”

Yet there’s beauty in the chaos of everywhere. Evelyn learns to stop fighting to control every possibility and instead to connect with them. A universe where she’s a rock? It’s serene, quiet, and shockingly profound. Hot dog fingers? Ridiculous, but unexpectedly tender. The message is clear: instead of being overwhelmed by the infinite, maybe we can simply appreciate what is. If life really is a generative NFT project, then perhaps its value lies not in perfect utility but in its ability to surprise, delight, and occasionally throw us completely off balance.

So, what does the multiverse teach us about our lives? That it’s okay not to be everywhere at once. That meaning comes not from trying to achieve everything but from embracing the present moment. That sometimes, a rock just needs to sit quietly next to another rock. And yes, that there’s room for love, even in a world where mustard and ketchup replace the touch of human hands.

ALL AT ONCE

If Everywhere teaches us the dangers of being spread too thin, All at Once plunges into the emotional core of what happens when the dam breaks. Evelyn's ability to experience the multiverse simultaneously brings her to the brink of despair. At its worst, "all at once" feels like a pile-on of every stressor, heartbreak, and unmet expectation in our lives crashing down in one moment.

Sound familiar? That’s because "all at once" is the default setting for modern existence. Notifications pinging, deadlines looming, social expectations mounting—it’s no wonder we often feel like we’re one inconvenience away from a Jobu Tupaki meltdown. (Minus the everything bagel, though now I want one.)

The genius of Everything Everywhere All at Once is how it grapples with this existential crisis and flips it on its head. Evelyn’s journey shows us that the weight of "all at once" is unsustainable—unless we learn to reinterpret it. What if the chaos isn’t a burden, but a gift? What if life’s randomness and absurdity are precisely what make it worth living?

Consider Waymond, Evelyn’s husband, who navigates the multiverse’s madness with a weapon far more powerful than kung fu or existential nihilism: kindness. His quiet philosophy—that gentleness and compassion are radical acts in a chaotic world—grounds Evelyn when she’s on the verge of succumbing to despair. In a world where everything matters and nothing matters, Waymond’s choice to focus on the small, tender moments is what ultimately saves them. He’s the antidote to "all at once": the reminder that even when life feels overwhelming, we can anchor ourselves in the here and now.

The film’s final act is a cathartic revelation. Evelyn doesn't beat Jobu Tupaki by outsmarting her or outpunching her (though there’s some great punching along the way). She saves the multiverse—and her family—by embracing the mess. She doesn’t resolve every conflict, mend every wound, or conquer every challenge. Instead, she chooses to be present with those she loves, flaws and all.

And that’s the most profound lesson of Everything Everywhere All at Once. Life is chaotic, unpredictable, and often absurd. It’s easy to feel like we’re failing when we can’t control it all. But the truth is, we don’t have to. We just have to find meaning in the chaos, hold on to the people who matter, and maybe—just maybe—learn to laugh when the universe hands us hot dog fingers.