Skip to main content

The Grid's Future

In this episode, the Grid’s Future Might Lie with 'Outsiders.'

In a previous episode of On the Fly, I posed a thought experiment:

If the grid went down forever, what part of my work would still matter?

That question sparked more conversation than I expected.
One comment, in particular, made me stop and reread it twice:

“Are you in touch with and talking with those in your own company about the question you are asking? It is your business, yes?”

It’s a fair question.

And the short answer is: Yes.
These conversations happen—often, seriously, and with no shortage of charts and careful language.

But the longer answer is this: The question itself was never meant to stay inside the building.

When Expertise Becomes a Blind Spot.

There’s a concept called functional fixedness.

It’s what happens when experience—valuable, hard-earned experience—quietly limits what we imagine is possible. When you work inside a system long enough, you get very good at improving it.

You know which knobs to turn.
Which levers not to touch.
Which ideas will get approved . . . and which ones will be politely thanked and set aside.

That’s how systems remain stable. But it’s rarely how they change.

If innovation only came from insiders, we’d still be trying to invent flight by upgrading horse-drawn carriages.

Better wheels.
Stronger horses.
Same road.

Progress Has a Habit of Arriving Sideways.

Real breakthroughs tend to come from people who weren’t trying to solve that problem at all.

Take the transistor.

Before it existed, electronics ran on vacuum tubes—hot, fragile, and about as subtle as a space heater. Improving them made sense . . . if you were already in the vacuum tube business. The breakthrough didn’t come from better tubes.

It came from physicists at Bell Labs—people studying quantum behavior in solid materials.

Result? The digital age.

Or Velcro.

No committee sat around saying, “We need a better fastener.”
A guy went for a walk, got burrs stuck to his pants, and got curious. 
Under a microscope, irritation turned into invention.

And MRI machines?

They didn’t begin in hospitals. They began in nuclear physics labs—scientists studying atomic nuclei with no medical application in mind.

Decades later, we’re seeing inside the human body because someone followed a question that didn’t seem useful at the time.

Outsiders. Again!

The Grid Isn’t Just an Industry.

The electrical grid is something most of us don’t think about . . .
right up until we can’t make coffee.

It isn’t just an energy problem.
It’s a systems problem.
A materials problem.
A human behavior problem.

Which means the next big idea probably won’t come from a single department, discipline, or job title.

It might come from biology. Or physics.
Or someone studying how complex systems fail—and how they recover.

Someone who doesn’t even realize they’re working on “The Grid.”

So . . . Is It My Business?

Yes.

But it’s also everyone’s.

This thought experiment wasn’t an audit. It was an invitation.

To step back.
To widen the circle.
To ask who else might be holding a missing piece.

Because when the question is,
“What would still matter if the grid went down forever?”

The answer probably won’t arrive in an email.

It will arrive sideways.
From curiosity.
From outsiders.
From someone brave enough to ask a different question.

And history suggests—that’s where the real answers usually come from.

Innovation rarely knocks on the front door. It usually wanders in through the garage—holding a strange idea—and asks, “Mind if I try something?”

I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious and keep asking questions. See you in the next episode.

Innovation arrives sideways, and I'm curious which direction you’re looking. Click here to add your voice to the 'On the Fly' feedback slides.

Comments

Don Hanley said…
Thanks for the long-winded answer and confirms the fact that is almost always brought about from outside the problem or system.

Most Popular of All Time

A Mother’s Day Reflection

With Mother’s Day here and the world bustling with cards, brunches, and busy schedules, I find myself reflecting on something a bit simpler: taking a moment to remember the person who helped shape my earliest sense of home. Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom. We arrived in Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition whose enormity I only fully appreciate now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped into Midwestern life with remarkable courage. Her smile could warm the coldest Illinois morning, and her hugs lingered long after she let go—quiet reminders that you were deeply loved. Born February 16, 1934, the third of four children, she grew up in Nazi-occupied La Rochelle. As kids, we listened wide-eyed to stories of soldiers patrolling her streets and fear shadowing everyday life. Yet she carried none of that darkness forward. What endured was resilience and an unwavering devotion to family—qualities she carried across the Atlantic and planted firmly in C...

Time Travel, Roving Mics, and Muscle Memory

In this episode, the 2026 Sinkankas Symposium. Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t arrive in a DeLorean. No flux capacitor, no dramatic lightning strike—just a Saturday parking pass and a name badge. And yet, somewhere between the rotunda doors and the first handshake, it happened anyway. This past Saturday, April 25th, I was transported—effortlessly and completely—back in time at the 20th Annual Sinkankas Symposium on the GIA campus in Carlsbad. Walking into that magnificent main campus rotunda early with my colleagues, Paul Mattlin and Glenn Wargo, felt like wrapping myself in a familiar, gem-encrusted blanket. It was less a building, more a family living room where nobody ever really forgets your name. The halls were quiet (a rare and beautiful thing), and the soft echo of our footsteps on the polished floors sounded exactly as I remembered it. For a moment, it wasn’t 2026—it was April 1997, my first time walking onto the beautiful, brand-new GIA campus as Director of Alumni. Som...

Freedom 7 - 65th Anniversary

Podcast - Freedom 7; 65th Anniversary . "Man must rise above the Earth - to the top of the atmosphere and beyond - for only thus will he fully understand the world in which he lives." - Socrates, 500 B.C. May 5, 2026, marks the 65th anniversary of Freedom 7's launch. Commander Alan B. Shepard, Jr. became the first American in space. A 15-minute sub-orbital flight, a day for the history books; the entire world was watching. NASA and the world had witnessed many trial runs explode violently on the launch pad. The space program was in its infancy. Unlike today, there were far too many unknowns. This prompted me to pull out one of my favorite books from my office library,  Light This Candle , by Neal Thompson, copyright 2004. Light This Candle is a biography of Alan Shepard, Jr., you won't be able to put down. It's - "Story-telling at its best . . . every page is alive," says David Hartman, U.S Naval Institute. In the opening pages, you read endorsements fr...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day.  Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...