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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I think you truly can train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am working to acquire, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, something I have struggled with, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (lest it ran after me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to return.

Recently, I visited a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part stationary. To be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it had an impact (somewhat). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they get going.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that employing the techniques of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and driven by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.