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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to evolve. My view is you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am working to acquire, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, an issue I have battled against, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. 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 “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (for fear that it chased me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted frightened noises and ran away. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a gal, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (to some degree). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their many legs transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that dart around with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years left in this old dog yet.