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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I believe you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is ready to confess when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have battled against, repeatedly, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining Normal 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 ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (for fear that it ran after me), and discharging half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I made low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

Recently, I visited a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, primarily hanging out. In order to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, actively deciding to become more fearless proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The vision of their multiple limbs carrying them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they move.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but you never know. A bit of time remains for this veteran of life yet.