Philosophical as Improv
Joining Improv was one of the highlights for me in 2025. My goal was simple: to hold a conversation with anyone I crossed paths with in a way that allowed genuine human connection. As it turned out, improv was not only joyful, but unexpectedly philosophical. This depth did not come from the instructors alone, but from the very nature of improv itself.
Most of the lessons empowered me to reflect on presence, identity, and especially trust. Although we weren’t trying to be funny, a series of simple games led us into surprisingly deep territory. Frankly, one can learn a lot more about oneself through improv.
In the very first session, we learned a simple but enlightening practice that is “Yes and…”. The exercise aims to embolden the very first principle of Improv that is acceptance. The exercise embodies the core principle of improv, which is acceptance. When on stage, because there is no script for improvisers, scenes are inherently unpredictable. The exercise teaches partners to embrace what is offered, creating openness that allows the story to move forward.
It resonates with the philosophical point of view on life very much. Before my prefrontal cortex fully matured, I held an unexamined belief that grit and hard work alone could take a person anywhere. That belief began to unravel as life confronted me with persistent challenges, the ones I had no choice but to face in order to move forward. “Yes and” is a reminder that you should accept the cards you were dealt and make the most out of it. You can’t just be a child and demand another hand. The sooner you make peace with yourself and accept the rules of the game, the more resilient you will be. Instead of being discouraged, you should feel fortunate that you have learned how the game works, and tackle it head on.
Beyond the theater, I began to see how improv speaks directly to my work as a software engineer. Building software is rarely a linear process; requirements change, systems behave in unexpected ways, and collaboration often matters more than individual brilliance. The principle of “Yes, and…” mirrors how strong engineering teams operate, as they have to accept constraints, and build on partial information, and move forward together rather than resisting reality. Improv trains the same muscles good engineering demands: presence, adaptability, and trust. In that sense, learning improv isn’t a detour from engineering. It’s a way of becoming better at it.
Later on, I learned from Vinh Giang that “Yes and…” is a popular framework for public speakers as well.
The other practice that impressed me deeply was sending love into our acts and towards the partners. In this practice, we stood in a circle and each person had to call someone’s name and show some affectionate gestures while walking slowly towards them. The sender also has to maintain eye contact with the person they are calling. Once the sender comes to the receiver, the receiver restarts the process again to someone else.
The meaning of the exercise was simple, almost obvious. Yet its impact was anything but. Beyond improv, it felt like a principle that applies to anything worth doing in life: how intention changes the quality of action. I know this may sound like a familiar, even cliché idea—something we’ve all heard before. But experienced in the right context, it carries a quiet force. It lingers. It leaves a lasting impression. I always felt refreshed and deeply in love with Improv after every class.
The whole experience as a whole invites a continued flow of reflection rather than demanding attention. I am grateful to myself for pushing me out of my comfort zone to enter the unknown but rewarding land of improv. I can’t wait to see what awaits ahead in my Foundation 2.