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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to transform. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and strive to be a improved version.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (for fear that it chased me), and spraying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I made whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, mostly just stationary. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it was effective (a little bit). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and almost unjust way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages propelling them at that alarming velocity induces my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and flee when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. There’s a few years for this seasoned learner yet.