obsession

A while ago, an article appeared in Times Higher Education that talked at length about the behavioral patterns that are encouraged in academy. The conclusion was put right at the beginning: "If you're an academic, you had better be obsessive." Many great discoveries in the past were made by highly unsociable, difficult people who worked determinedly and single-mindedly on the topic that had, at some point in the past, caught their interest and never let go.

I was thrown off by that early conclusion. I don't consider myself obsessive, and I certainly don't need anyone telling me I can't make a good scientist. I want to make it how I am, without digging myself into a dark hole and barreling on hard in one direction only. But how am I?

Today, I left my house sometime in the afternoon, after any hope of a good day had dissipated beyond any doubt, and rode my bike to Imperial. I had some work lined up that I wanted to kick-start before the the new week comes along. There is a student in the lab that takes way more of my time than was envisioned initially or is justifiable. It's his fault because he makes such good progress that there's always new things to teach him. I'm not complaining, incidentally.

The main reason for going to Imperial was that I need to steel my legs for the marathon I might do at the end of April. The final decision is still out – I might surrender to the sloth that comfortably lives inside of me and do the half-marathon only. In any case, I have to train a little.

I took my bike up to my office, turned my computer on and checked the weather. It was just as cold as it had felt riding in – when it was also drizzling. I read a paper, aligned some sequences and kept my eyes firmly on the big window to my right. All of a sudden, the sun made a surprise appearance. I changed and went out, going after the first thirty-kilometer run of the year.

The first lap was hard. My stomach was empty and I felt out of energy. I slugged along without much enthusiasm, ready to throw in the towel. Returned to the Albert Memorial, my legs were ready for a break. I blamed it on the visual cue – I inevitably end my runs there – and soldiered on.

To my delight, the going got better with every step. I worked myself into the zone and mentally prepared for the full run. Without an iPod, I was alone with my brain, but that's usually good company. We were debating what keeps me going, and obsession is what come up quickly. Why am I running when I could sit in a café reading a book or visit a museum? I put something in my mind and follow that plan with considerable determination.

Maybe I am obsessive. My mental dialog took me to the Oxfam store that I visit every week. Nearly every time, I leave it with a book in hand. My New Year's resolution had been to finish reading more books than I acquire. At the moment, I'm way behind schedule. The score is 9:4 against, and I'm still out to get more. This compulsive behavior must be a manifestation of my obsessiveness.

I don't think I'm pathologically obsessive, though. When I saw old Albert for the third time this afternoon – after the start and the ten-kilometer mark – I called it a day. The temperature had sunk into territory whose memory causes trauma to my fingers. They were cold and hurting.

The hot shower at Imperial gave my extremities their life back, and a big bowl of granola helped my legs along the road to recuperation. I could have gone home. I could have gone to Café Deco and finished a book. I could have even cruised down to Tate Britain for a quick look at the crazy Altermodern exhibition.

All would have made sense, and I did none. I stayed in the lab for another two hours, cascading through the hollow tubes of electron density on my screen as if they were water slides in an amusement park. The protein, invisible to the naked eye, had assumed a clear and unambiguous shape. It's structure lay bare before me.

I twiddled with side chains and added ligands, working myself into a state of euphoria related to revealing the unknown. The protein whose structure I'm unraveling has been bothering several post-docs for three years now. Tossing the net wide, talking to experts all over the globe and taking unconventional approaches, we might have finally pinned it down. The praise may need to go to obsession.