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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, something I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Including a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to handle any directly, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its existence before I had to return.

Recently, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the window frame, mostly just stationary. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, making a conscious choice 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. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.