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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to change. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. Provided that the person is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and strive to be a better dog.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the skill I am working to acquire, even though I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have grappled with, often, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. My regrets 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 run into regularly. Including a trio of instances in the recent past. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly 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 “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, mostly just lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us yap. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it worked (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

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). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The vision of their numerous appendages carrying them at that terrible speed triggers my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they move.

However it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but miracles happen. Some life is left within this veteran of life yet.