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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. So long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the trick I am trying to learn, although I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, 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 imposing, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes a trio of instances in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and trying to deal with a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, primarily stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us yap. It sounds quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their numerous appendages propelling them at that alarming velocity induces my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” level, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.