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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I produced whimpers of distress and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I visited a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the window frame, primarily hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become more fearless proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. 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 buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The vision of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace induces my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they move.

However it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains for this veteran of life yet.