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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. My view is you can in fact train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is willing and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, something I have battled against, frequently, for my all my days. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the last week. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its being before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the sill, primarily hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a her, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become more fearless proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that employing the techniques of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are hairy creatures that dart around extremely quickly in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains within this seasoned learner yet.