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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to change. I believe you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is willing and ready for growth. As long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to ignore its being before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, primarily hanging out. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it was effective (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they consume things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their numerous appendages propelling them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

However it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but miracles happen. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.