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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an important one, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with 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 pursued me), and spraying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, primarily hanging out. To be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and listening to us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The sight of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity causes my caveman brain to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that move hastily with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this seasoned learner yet.