Lately I've been struggling to maintain balance in life. And on a recent Sunday, I almost teetered off the edge. At midnight I was still working through a long list of tomato seeds to be sown for this summer's experiments.

Between organizing new projects for my next career move and preparing pancakes for my daughters while my wife treats her dental patients, I am stretched thin. Meanwhile, my free moments are consumed by doing or thinking about research — and as I'm a mentor as well, not necessarily my own.

From the outside, one might say I'm obsessed, but I prefer a more positive spin. I have passion. My friends have seen it when I talk about my excitement for growing giant pumpkins, and my parents claim it started with a fascination with frogs. Nowadays, the movement of pollen from one flower to another excites me; I visualize their chromosomes doing a molecular dance.

Having crossed paths with many scientific minds, I think I can spot those with passion rather than obsession. The passionate ones exude joy, and insist on sharing that joy with others. It's passion that keeps the sparks flying, the ideas flowing, and my eyes open past midnight on Sundays. But I did get to bed before one o'clock. Had I stayed up any longer, there's a chance that obsession might have stolen away my joy.