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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to change. I believe you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is receptive and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was wrong, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, something I have battled against, repeatedly, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes three times in the last week. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any directly, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, primarily stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. It sounds rather silly, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that multiplies when they get going.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that taking the steps of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. Some life is left left in this seasoned learner yet.