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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, as long as the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. So long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, something I have struggled with, often, 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 imposing, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I produced frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the casement, mostly just hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, one of us, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (to some degree). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less scared proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they consume things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The appearance of their many legs propelling them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.