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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, as long as the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and strive to be a improved version.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am working to acquire, although I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Pardon me, 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 large, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

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

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the window frame, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less scared worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They are said to only have eight legs, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left within this veteran of life yet.