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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you truly can instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is open-minded and ready for growth. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have struggled with, often, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to engage with any directly, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it chased me), and spraying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the window frame, primarily stationary. To be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.