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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. I think you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, something I have battled against, repeatedly, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike 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 became hysterical if one was clearly in the same room 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 “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its being before I had to return.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the window frame, for the most part hanging out. To be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a girlie, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us yap. It sounds quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way conceivable. The sight of their many legs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that triples when they move.

But 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 have discovered that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that dart around with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.