Numerous times over the past couple of weeks, I’ve asked people to tell me their mission statements. Their personal statements of purpose.

It’s funny how that concept takes on so many different meanings for different people. Two of the first people who answered my question did so from a business/marketing approach, something I didn’t expect, though I suppose that in itself is telling of an individual’s priorities. The other answers I received ranged from sassy to sarcastic to cliche – yet none of them took the tone I was trying to set myself with my yet-to-be formulated personal mission statement.

My therapist gave a good example. Her purpose statement, she said, is to always strive to be a more loving person. I like this one in particular because “love” has such a broad definition; there are many ways to be more loving, all of which ultimately have a positive impact.

I suppose my struggle has been with wrapping my head around the magnitude of this idea. The term “personal statement of purpose” sounds like it ought to be the driving force behind everything that you do. Your reason for living and breathing. The thing that guides your every action, and I don’t know about you, but deciding something like that sounds like a pretty major development to me. And I can’t even commit to an apartment lease longer than six months without getting a little uncomfortable.

I really like the way Erica O’Grady approaches this topic. She examines her priorities and determines her motivations from there, drawing a clearer picture of who she is and strives to be. It’s by no means an easy thing to do, especially when listing your priorities means admitting you prioritize some things that maybe you shouldn’t. So without getting too personal (I hope), here are my top ten, in no particular order.

1.  Impactfulness
2.  Acceptance
3.  Communication
4.  Passion
5.  Accomplishment
6.  Creativity
7.  Validation
8.  Community
9.  Trust
10. Confidence

I know you’re shocked that rock and roll, boys and eyeliner are nowhere to be found on that list… oh, but they are. They’re just buried within blanket terms that apply to many parts of our lives.

When I say “acceptance,” for example, part of that means seeking the acceptance of others. No one likes to admit things like that are important to them, do they? I’m not going to lie – being liked by other people is totally a big deal to me. I think it’s the influence of my bullied-in-middle-school inner child. Then I think, maybe if I cared less what other people think, they would be more apt to like me. But you can’t make yourself just stop caring, can you?

See?

It gets to be a big ol’ vicious-cycle type of mess that I still haven’t figured out. Hence why acceptance, validation and confidence all have places on that list.

I like that I’ve been able to come up with a good mix of priorities that I am actively tackling and others that are taking up far too much space in my brain not to do anything with. Putting something in a top ten list pretty much actualizes it, right? This is a call to action to myself – I have to work on my image, my social habits and all those things that tie into confidence; I have to be more persistent in getting things done; I have to do whatever it takes to stay excited about my work and my life to prevent burnout (and by extension, unproductivity, low self-esteem, etc.).

I’m totally calling myself out. My personal mission statement?

I will take better care of myself to have a more positive impact on my community.

In other words, I need to get myself together so I can be a stronger advocate for the causes I believe in. So I can be a better friend to the people I love. So I can contribute solid ideas and produce quality writing and rightfully earn the respect and confidence of others.

Because seriously? I’m dipping into my therapist’s pool of feel-good wisdom again, but I think there might be something to that bit about loving yourself first.

Frost/Nixon, presented by Broadway in Houston, plays at the Hobby Center through Nov. 2.

The Broadway in Houston feature now onstage at the Hobby Center, Frost/Nixon, doesn’t exactly have the sexiest title.

Frost – Cold. Icy. I think of the poet Robert Frost, a crusty old man whose poetry about paths and trees and weather was about as exciting to me as watching grass grow when I had to read his stuff in high school.

Nixon – One of the most loathed names among liberals in America. Political. Boring. Another crochety old man who could have absolutely nothing to say that interests me – particularly 30 years after the fact.

If I’m exposing myself as being a little shallow, so be it. I’m making a point, and that is despite all this, Frost/Nixon is not boring by a longshot. It’s pretty exciting and many times, even funny. I know!

The “Frost” in this story is not stodgy old Robert the poet (thankfully). It’s leisure-suited British TV personality David – the epitome of the swinging seventies. Portrayed by Alan Cox, Frost practically evokes the Carnaby Street jingle and “Yeah, baby!” whenever he steps onto the stage. Personality-wise, at least, he is a worthy adversary for Tricky Dick.

Nixon is played here by Stacy Keach, a big enough name to get a thunderous round of applause when he makes his first appearance. Keach is a stocky guy, and not as tall as Nixon (at least I don’t think he is), but he’s got the voice down. Within a few minutes, I’m totally sold on him as Nixon.

The play chronicles Frost’s attempt to win credibility among American audiences by securing Nixon’s first big TV interview after his resignation, and ultimately, getting Dick to admit his guilt. Since the play is based on actual events, I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by giving the ending away – Frost gets the confession he wants. But knowing that doesn’t make the journey to the end any less captivating.

Frost and Nixon each has his own team of advisors, and to some degree, these characters give the story its heart. On Frost’s side, much of the story is told through the narration and viewpoint of Jim Reston, a young political researcher who is even more hellbent on scoring Nixon’s confession than Frost. Reston – good-looking, jeans-clad and sporting some seriously hip ’70s hair - makes this story relatable to viewers who weren’t even alive in Nixon’s day. On the liberal side, anyway.

In Nixon’s camp, military aide Jack Brennan does most of the talking. Where Reston is the affable everyman, Brennan is button-down all the way – from the uniform he constantly wears to the control he tries to maintain over the former president. Not that he and Reston are all that different; they just come from different worlds.

The best moments are the ones in which Reston and Brennan’s opposing passions come to a boil – when Frost’s team practically crucifies him after his disastrous first sessions with Nixon; when, just as Frost has Nixon seconds away from an admittance of guilt, Brennan breaks into the taping with a desperate plea for Nixon to rethink what he’s about to say.

Frost and Nixon have their share of decent moments on their own, as well. A defeated Frost receives a surprise phone call from Nixon, who’s had a bit to drink, after a particularly grueling early interview. Both have let their guards down, and in this conversation, they are simply two men in times of crises. Who’s to say whether the conversation actually took place. It makes for a deeply humanizing moment in this story, something essential in a political climate a tense as this.

Oh! But the best part? OK, this is my shallow side revealing itself again. The music! The music used to transition between scenes is pure ’70s fantastic. Imagine a cross between the Three’s Company theme song and your run-of-the-mill porn soundtrack. It further cements the time setting and helps the action (which can drag at times) seem faster-paced and fun.

Playboy Frost certainly livens up Nixon’s story. In the end, this isn’t so much a tale of political wrongdoing and righteousness as it is about the thin line between politics and celebrity. In a time when Barack Obama is as big a tabloid star as Britney and the evening news is covering Sarah Palin’s $150,000 shopping sprees at Saks and Neiman Marcus, the flashbulbs surrounding David Frost and Richard Nixon don’t seem so outrageous anymore.

Appropriately enough, Frost/Nixon is on its way to the big screen, as well – with Frank Langella as Nixon and Michael Sheen (previously known to me only as Kate Beckinsale’s babydaddy) as Frost. Ron Howard is directing, and the film is slated for a Christmastime release.

Something I learned in high school - I write very well under pressure. Which, being a terrible procrastinator, is a pretty awesome thing to know about myself.

My friends in high school couldn’t stand that I could get away with this. My entire English class spent all summer struggling through East of Eden to be ready for the paper we’d have to write at the beginning of our senior year. As soon as I saw that ginormous monstrosity of a novel, I quickly said, “No thanks,” and made plans to pick up the CliffsNotes sometime before the semester started.

Of course I forgot to buy the CliffsNotes, so the day before the paper was due I got someone who had internet access (a rare commodity at the time) to print out some free CliffsNotes-knockoff chapter summaries for me. I spent that night reading the notes and writing the paper, and had it ready to turn in first thing in the morning.

A few days later when the papers were graded, my teacher put mine on the chalkboard ledge at the front of the room with a big, red “A” on the title page, and encouraged the rest of the class to read it. The kids who knew what I had done were (rightfully) pretty ticked off. I consider it my finest achievement in slacking to date.

I bring this up now because I have a paper due tomorrow. It’s for my non-credit fiction workshop, so technically I can’t get a failing grade for not doing the paper. But still, I paid for this class and I won’t really be getting my money’s worth if I don’t participate fully, I suppose. I haven’t even started the paper. And here’s why.

Writing five hundred words the night before the paper is due is no problem. I could probably do it in my sleep. (OK, no more bragging.) But this assignment involves using specific words. More specifically, all the words in a list that my classmates and I were asked to compile based solely on liking the way they sound. We were each asked to submit two words. One wiseguy submitted eight. Not liking him a whole lot right now.

Of course we didn’t know (but should have) why we were making this list of words at the time. Let me give you examples of some of the words. There are about 25 altogether.

Rhododendron.

Slugabed.

Adumbration.

Jood.

WTF? (That’s me talking, not one of the words.)

I know a truly creative person could make do with this list, even come up with something great. But me? It’s just not happening tonight. I’m tempted to find a story I’ve already written and just haphazardly insert the words until I’ve used them all. Maybe I can find that old East of Eden paper…?

This exercise has got me wondering if I should change my ways. Actually work on things at a pace rather than rush to get things done as the deadline looms. For this assignment I’m afraid it’s too late. Anyone have suggestions? Better yet, anyone have a story about slugabed rhododendrons they’d like to share?

Have you ever met someone who doesn’t know how to form a sentence that doesn’t begin with “I”? Every conversation with a person like this revolves around what they think, what they did today, what they did one time when such-and-such happened to them. Not surprisingly, people like this don’t tend to have a lot of friends. (Which seems to make them even more self-centered and desperate to tell anyone who will listen all about “me, me, me!”)

It’s exhausting spending time with someone like that, because no matter how good of a listener you try to be, the relationship will never be truly equal. If you know someone like this, think about it: when was the last time that person showed sincere interest in you? Other than, of course, “So what do you think about me/my problem/my non-issue that I’m only talking about because I love to talk about me?”

This particular subject is a hot button for me because I’ve been guilty of it myself. Funny how working in public relations and understanding the need to engage people professionally took so long to click for me personally. Just as you pitch your product or service in a professional setting, you’re pitching yourself (as a potential friend, date, whatever) in a social setting.

Recently I’ve noticed this behavior a lot in social media – the online tools that people and organizations are using to cultivate relationships, whether they be friendship, business or some combination of both. And with so much going on in all our lives, what’s the quickest way to lose somebody’s attention? Blathering on about things that don’t matter to anyone else but you.

When I try to explain to skeptics why Twitter is an awesome tool, for example, one of the responses I often hear is, “Why do I want to sit around reading what people had for breakfast?” Exactly. You don’t. And unfortunately, a lot of people don’t get that tossing out random factoid crap about themselves isn’t going to win them any friends (or followers, whatever the case may be). If people in your real life don’t care, people online care even less.

We all need a little ego stroking once in a while. We all have have things to get off our chests sometimes. But whether you’re talking to a new acquaintence at a bar, on Twitter or in a boardroom, throw a little interest their way too. In any case, the conversation has to go two ways.

So if you still want to talk about yourself, fine. Tell me what you had for breakfast – but tell me why you liked it or better yet, why I might like it. Your breakfast choice may not be my preferred topic of conversation, but at least I know you’re talking to me, and not just to anyone who will listen.

One of my fellow students in the fiction workshop I’m taking posed an interesting question this week. It was one that I don’t think everyone understood the same way, hence why none of the answers were particularly satisfying (to me, anyway).

He wanted to know, quite simply, Where do you begin?

My interpretation was that he wanted to know where successful authors begin crafting their stories. Not the point at which the story begins, but the point at which you begin writing your story. Do you start with characters, a plot, a setting, a scene… what?

I never know where to begin. I usually start with a scene – a random interaction that fits nowhere except for in my head but just won’t go away. A look between two strangers against a backdrop of night. A line spoken aloud, hanging in the air until I conjure up another character to answer it. A childhood memory told so many times, so many different ways, I’m not even sure what’s true anymore. Scenes so moving they’re just begging to be part of a story.

But without fail, a scene that feels beautiful in my mind dies the moment I touch pen to paper. I end up never discovering the meat of the story, but rather dancing around it with clever conversations and vivid scenes that, when put together as a whole, amount to nothing. My writing stays in the shallow end of the pool, trying so hard to swim across to the deep end that it ends up treading water until it’s too tired to keep on.

I listened closely to the answers of others in my class who have read some of their work aloud, and who have impressed me. One said she starts with characters whose specific personalities dictate where the story goes. Another said she begins with a plot in mind and may or may not deviate from her plan once she gets started.

The story I submitted for workshop this week literally has a big blank spot about three pages in, with the label I don’t know what goes here. Sorry.

Maybe I also should have added, Help, please?