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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. I think you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any directly, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the casement, mostly just lingering. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their many legs transporting them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but one can't be sure. Some life is left within this veteran of life yet.