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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, as long as the experienced individual is willing and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, something I have struggled with, frequently, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Including three times in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it chased me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I produced whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, primarily lingering. In order to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (a little bit). Alternatively, actively deciding to become more fearless worked.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” stage, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.