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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is receptive and eager for knowledge. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

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

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to handle any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it chased me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to ignore its presence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, primarily stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us yap. It sounds rather silly, but it was effective (a little bit). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that terrible speed induces my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.