Rob teaching a section of BUS 3306: Business Communication at University of Dallas (Photo credit: Gerard Shaughnessy)Some people jump out of planes, or run marathons, or race mountain bikes on impossible trails. I teach. From a very young age there was nothing more exhilarating for me than knowing something that someone else didn't, and getting to tell them about that thing I knew. Eleven years ago, when I stepped into my first college classroom as an instructor, I remember my fellow first-timers expressing anxiety about their first class period. I remember nothing but exhilaration: An entire room full of people looking to me to guide them in a learning adventure. Breathtaking.

Charles Jones once said "You are right now who you will be five years from now except for two things: the people you associate with and the books you read." As a college professor, the opportunity to not only select books for my students to read, but the opportunity to be a person they associate with, at least for a brief time, is an important responsibility. Being a teacher affords us lucky ones unparalleled opportunities to shape our students' lives in profound ways. I love the communication classes that I get to teach; nothing is more rewarding than helping students find their voice and learn to communicate effectively and persuasively about issues that matter to them.

As I have grown and progressed as a teacher, I have found few things that are more rewarding than hearing from students (and even more so former students from long ago) that something they learned in my classroom made a difference in their personal or professional endeavors. These interactions with students provide that same exhilaration as my first day teaching: they are breathtaking.

Ever since my diagnosis, I find myself in a teaching role I would never have chosen, but one which I find even more important and rewarding. My assigned teaching roles, guiding students through the foundations of business or how to be an effective communicator, have been dramatically expanded. Through this  blog and the countless interactions I have with students about my illness, treatment, and prognosis, I now find myself with the responsibility to educate my students through my actions about how to live the good life, the importance of making the most of each day, and the transience of life and its concomitant preciousness. Eventually, I will have the opportunity to teach my students how to die with grace and dignity. These are not lessons I look forward to giving, but ultimately they are probably the most valuable contributions I can make to my students' lives.

On Thursday mornings after a Wednesday all-day chemo infusion, I often wake up, look at my wife, and tell her: "I can't do this today." She patiently reminds me that my students are waiting for me, and without exception, the promise of a room full of knowledge-hungry students provides me the drive to get out of bed, dress myself, and make my way to campus for a few precious hours of class time and interaction. Some have asked why I continue to teach when the cancer symptoms and treatment side-effects present so many challenges. Why do I put myself through this? Because nothing is more therapeutic and healing than doing the thing that I love the most: teaching. It is the joy of my life - the thing I was born to do.