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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to change. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. 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 large, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including a trio of instances in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to return.

Recently, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the sill, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem extremely dumb, but it was effective (to some degree). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The vision of their numerous appendages propelling them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about 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 fueled by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this seasoned learner yet.