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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is willing and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, something I have battled against, often, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was visibly 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 lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to ignore its being before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and listening to us yap. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less scared worked.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they get going.

However 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. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left within this old dog yet.