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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to transform. My view is you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am attempting to master, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to 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 adore them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or living with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just stationary. As a means to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared did the trick.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The sight of their many legs transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they are in motion.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but you never know. Some life is left within this veteran of life yet.