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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to transform. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still freaked out 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 crawled on to the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I visited a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just lingering. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it was effective (to some degree). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but you never know. There’s a few years within this old dog yet.