February 2025
Hi, I'm Sang Hyup, but most people call me Shawn. I'm a computer science student at Johns Hopkins University, a startup co-founder, and someone who has spent most of his life approaching the world like a problem to be debugged. I think in systems. I plan things out. I like knowing what comes next.
Which is exactly why improv terrifies me, and exactly why I'm here.
Outside of code, I'm the person who will drive thirty minutes for a restaurant I saw on someone's Instagram story, the kind of friend who says "yes" to spontaneous road trips but secretly has the route already mapped out in his head. I care deeply about making things that help people, whether that's an AI medical interpreter for patients who can't communicate with their doctors or a browser extension that makes the web more accessible. Creativity, for me, has always lived inside a code editor. This class is my attempt to find out where else it might live.
This blog is a real-time journal of what happens when a developer who plans everything gets thrown into an art form built entirely on not planning. Each post will be an honest reflection on what I'm learning in my improv class: the exercises that clicked, the moments that didn't, and the slow process of getting comfortable with the uncomfortable. If you've ever been curious about improv but never tried it, think of this as a window into that world from someone who is figuring it out one scene at a time.
For anyone unfamiliar, improv (short for improvisation) is a form of live theater where nothing is scripted. Performers create scenes, characters, and stories completely on the spot, often based on a single audience suggestion. There are no scripts, no rehearsals, no second takes. The golden rule is "Yes, and...": you accept whatever your scene partner gives you and build on it. If someone says "We're on the moon," you don't argue. You're on the moon. Now what?
It's equal parts terrifying and freeing, which is what makes it such a powerful creative exercise even for people who never plan to perform on a stage.
As an engineer, I spend most of my time in environments where precision matters. Code either compiles or it doesn't. A function returns the right value or it's a bug. There's comfort in that clarity, but there's also a cost: I've noticed that I hesitate when there's no clear "right answer." In conversations, in brainstorms, in moments that call for spontaneity, my first instinct is to hold back and think instead of just going for it.
Improv is the opposite of that instinct. It rewards the people who leap before they look. I chose this class because I wanted to train a muscle I've been neglecting: the ability to trust myself in the moment, to say something without knowing if it's the "optimal" thing to say, and to be okay with failing in front of others. In a way, it's like learning a new programming language, except the compiler is an audience, and the syntax is just being human.
Each week, I'll share reflections on my improv sessions: what exercises we did, what I learned about performance and creativity, and how those lessons connect (or clash) with the way I normally think. Expect honesty over polish. This blog is less about having answers and more about asking better questions, one improvised scene at a time.
Welcome to Compile, Run, Improvise. No scripts. No syntax errors. Just whatever happens next.