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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. My view is you can in fact train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. This includes on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out 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 trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it pursued me), and spraying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its presence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the window frame, mostly just lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us yap. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, actively deciding to become more fearless proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they prey upon things like insect pests (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that triples when they are in motion.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and driven by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.