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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to evolve. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, something I have battled against, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing a trio of instances in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (in case it pursued me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach 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, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (to some degree). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I understand they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way imaginable. The vision of their multiple limbs carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that dart around extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this veteran of life yet.