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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to change. I think you can in fact train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is willing and eager for knowledge. As long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (as opposed 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 directly, 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 slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (lest it chased me), and emptying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the sill, primarily lingering. As a means to be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. It sounds quite foolish, but it had an impact (to some degree). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that frightening pace induces my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that triples when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that employing the techniques of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” level, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this seasoned learner yet.