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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to evolve. My view is you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the skill I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, a feat I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it pursued me), and spraying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about 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 window frame, primarily lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their multiple limbs propelling them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They are said to only have eight legs, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that move hastily extremely quickly 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 irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.