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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to change. I think you truly can instruct a veteran learner, as long as the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders 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 imposing, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Including three times in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to engage with any directly, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room 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 living room surface. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (lest it ran after me), and spraying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and fled the scene. 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 re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the window frame, mostly just hanging out. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less scared proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that taking the steps of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

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 warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this seasoned learner yet.