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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to change. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the mature being is willing and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the last week. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming Normal 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 a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and spraying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to enter again.

Recently, I visited a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just lingering. To be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it had an impact (a little bit). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way imaginable. The vision of their numerous appendages propelling them at that terrible speed induces my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and flee when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.