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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have grappled with, often, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear 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 make sure I never had to engage with any directly, 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 unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it chased me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I made low keening sounds and ran away. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the sill, primarily stationary. To be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us chat. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become less phobic did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and almost unjust way imaginable. The vision of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that triples when they move.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. Some life is left within this seasoned learner yet.