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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, although I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing three times in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any directly, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it chased me), and emptying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part hanging out. To be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become more fearless did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they prey upon things like insect pests (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that frightening pace induces my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they get going.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” stage, but you never know. There’s a few years for this old dog yet.