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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible 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 willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am working to acquire, even though I am decrepit? It is an important one, a feat I have battled against, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes a trio of instances in the previous seven days. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it ran after me), and spraying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the window frame, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a girlie, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they consume things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they move.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this veteran of life yet.