Sewing and self-efficacy
Dec. 7th, 2008 01:23 amEver since Kate moved out, I've been wanting to get one of those big pillows with arms and turn the other bed into a couch. I don't have the time or money to go out and buy a pillow like that, but as fate would have it, I spotted one in the trash can by the stairwell a few days ago.
( Of course, it looked like this. )
I rescued it, dug a needle and thread out of my random-crap drawer, and got to work.
( Ta-da! )
We've talked about self-efficacy a lot in my social psych class. At first glance, it seems like an unnecessary synonym for self-esteem, but the more I think about it with regards to my own life, the more I see the difference. It's one thing to assure myself that I'm good enough; it's another thing entirely to do things well and feel capable because I did them well.
I think that's why abstract, pointless things like honors designations and good grades don't really make me feel good about myself. I mean, they do to some extent, but it's mostly because I know they should. Something little like this, though, finding a pillow in the trash and fixing it--not perfectly, perhaps, and I hope the textiles-inclined among my flist don't look too closely at those seams--that kind of pride feels more real, more honest.
( Of course, it looked like this. )
I rescued it, dug a needle and thread out of my random-crap drawer, and got to work.
( Ta-da! )
We've talked about self-efficacy a lot in my social psych class. At first glance, it seems like an unnecessary synonym for self-esteem, but the more I think about it with regards to my own life, the more I see the difference. It's one thing to assure myself that I'm good enough; it's another thing entirely to do things well and feel capable because I did them well.
I think that's why abstract, pointless things like honors designations and good grades don't really make me feel good about myself. I mean, they do to some extent, but it's mostly because I know they should. Something little like this, though, finding a pillow in the trash and fixing it--not perfectly, perhaps, and I hope the textiles-inclined among my flist don't look too closely at those seams--that kind of pride feels more real, more honest.