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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to transform. I believe you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the old dog is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Apologies to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, 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 becoming Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, 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 made its way onto the family room partition. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its being before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the casement, mostly just hanging out. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a girlie, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and almost unjust way imaginable. The vision of their numerous appendages transporting them at that frightening pace causes my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, 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 the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but you never know. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.