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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am attempting to master, although I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have battled against, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing three times in the recent past. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to engage with any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and spraying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just hanging out. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, one of us, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (to some degree). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic proved successful.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The vision of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they get going.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. Some life is left for this seasoned learner yet.