The Adjacent Possible - What it is and how it leads to innovative thinking

Famous scientist and chemist Stuart Kauffman ​defines the "adjacent possible" as all the molecular reactions directly achievable based on the combinations of existing molecules.  The things that compose our world, quite literally, depend on what already exists at hand, something Kauffman referes to in the prebiotic chemistry world as the "primordial soup". 

As a quick example, stannous fluoride (SnF2, for the record) is a first-order combination. It's created directly from the molecules found in the primordial soup. Toothpaste, however, involves a whole host of other first-order combinations  - abrasives, surfactants, antibacterial agents and of course flavorants. Layer on top other innovations such as the striped toothpaste and you can begin to see the long line of progressive movements that brought something like Crest out of a single chemical compound. 

As Johnson puts it himself, ​"the strange and beautiful truth about the adjacent possible is that its boundaries grow as you explore them. Each new combination opens up the possibility of other new combinations." Johnson's example of the adjacent possible as it relates to cultural innovations, as opposed to chemical revelations, comes from Johannes Gutenberg, who took the older technology of the screw press, designed originally for making wine, and reconfigured it with metal type to invent the printing press.

However, Johnson is quick to point out a glaring problem - our society is set up such that walls are erected in order to preserve a company's competitive advantage. In the technology industry these walls are easy to identify - intellectual property, patents, proprietary technology, etc. ​The incongruence here is that the adjacent possible is only able to promote innovation when the comprehensive set of elements within the primordial soup are available to all. How would we be able to clean our teeth today if tin (Sn) was unable to bond with fluoride (Fl) because of a legal patent protection?

The founding assumption with these barriers is that by putting restrictions on the spread of new ideas, ​innovation will increase because of the large financial rewards. In turn, these financial incentives attract other innovators to follow suit. 

To this type of thinking, I respond with ​George Bernard Shaw's popular quote:

If you have an apple and I have an apple and we exchange these apples then you and I will still each have one apple. But if you have an idea and I have an idea and we exchange these ideas, then each of us will have two ideas.

​I'm not going to say I'm the most innovative thinker. But I am saying that if I wanted to become better at devising innovative ideas (which ideally would result in innovative implementations of those ideas), then I would start by thinking about the area/industry it is that I want to affect and look at the primordial soup at hand. Along the way, I'll hope that there aren't any legal hurdles preventing me from accessing the apples. 

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​*Information in this post was taken from Steven Johnson's Where Good Ideas Come From. While you could just read my thoughts below, both the article and the book are worth the time/effort.​

Book Review: So Good They Can't Ignore You

The phrase "walk a mile in a man's shoes" exists to make the argument that one never truly knows an experience until they live the reality themselves. ​

Now, Cal Newport doesn't use this phrase in his newest book So Good They Can't Ignore You​, but at the crux of his argument is the discrepancy between the ever popular "follow your passion" platitudes tossed around at a graduation ceremony and the day-in, day-out realities of what living your passion actually feels like. Sure, you might think that becoming a zen buddhist will fulfill your life's passion, as Newport describes in one of his examples. But what happens when you quickly realize three months into your zen buddhism practice that this life isn't what it's all cracked up to be? 

​Newport's thesis strongly denounces this "follow your passion doctrine." His reasoning? Most of the time, passion doesn't precede the job, as the conventional wisdom suggests. In fact, the process usually happens the other way around - passion follows you, and proclaiming the idea that workers are able to pursue a passion and succeed only promotes incorrect expectations. Newport finds in his research that people who love their jobs more often feel so because they are really really good at what they do. Sure, it's a much less sexy thing to hear when thinking about how to create a successful career, but this kind of hard, tactical advice, believe it or not, was less than popular during my last semester of college. 

In Newport's most recent Harvard Business Review Blog article​ he calls out the need for more accurate and specific career building tactics:

We need a more nuanced conversation surrounding the quest for a compelling career. We currently lack, for example, a good phrase for describing those tough first years on a job where you grind away at building up skills while being shoveled less-than-inspiring entry-level work. This tough skill-building phase can provide the foundation for a wonderful career, but in this common scenario the "follow your passion" dogma would tell you that this work is not immediately enjoyable and therefore is not your passion. We need a deeper way to discuss the value of this early period in a long working life.

As a recent grad myself, I don't feel too far removed from the dozens of "you just gotta go out there and do it" nuggets of wisdom. While I'm happy to say that I'm loving my current job, I also believe there was a certain gap between what I expected my life to be as a new grad in the working world, and what my life actually is as a new grad in the working world. The notion of isolating a skill and honing a craft are much more granular bits of advice compared to questions like "How do you want to change the world?", which are often asked at liberal arts schools like the one I matriculated at. Since I've started working, I've shifted my thinking to a much more micro level by focusing on performing the tasks on my plate as excellent as I possibly can and building the skills associated with those tasks. The plan is to revisit in a couple of years the "How do you want to change the world" question based on the more tactical tools under my belt. 

Newport's approach to career building is similar to the trains of thought coming from Roy Baumstien and John Tierney, which I've mentioned in a previous post. Newport's emphasis on building transferrable skills and gaining what he calls "career capital" emerges only as a function of the "genius is patience" mantra lauded by Baumstein and Tierney. In other words, the two books I'm discussing here provide the insight that passion for your job doesn't come instantly and it only comes after patiently uncovering skills and tasks that one can perform really well.