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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, although 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 the common huntsman. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any myself, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory 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 “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I produced whimpers of distress and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part hanging out. To be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and listening to us gab. It sounds extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I am convinced that triples when they are in motion.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” stage, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.