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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. My view is you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, 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 wrong, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Including a trio of instances in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us yap. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that alarming velocity induces my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they move.

But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this veteran of life yet.