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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to change. My view is you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am working to acquire, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, something I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing three times in the last week. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (lest it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the casement, primarily lingering. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. It sounds quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic worked.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way possible. The vision of their multiple limbs carrying them at that frightening pace causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

But it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.