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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to evolve. I believe you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am working to acquire, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, a feat I have battled against, repeatedly, for my entire life. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any personally, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it pursued me), and discharging a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I made low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part hanging out. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it worked (to some degree). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the most terrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

However it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” stage, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years for this old dog yet.