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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. Apologies 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 imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least achieving Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

Not long ago, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the window frame, for the most part stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a her, a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they prey upon 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.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they get going.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and fueled by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” phase, but you never know. There’s a few years for this old dog yet.