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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. I believe you truly can instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the experienced individual is willing and ready for growth. As long as the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … 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. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory 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 “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it chased me), and emptying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

Recently, I visited a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, for the most part lingering. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, one of us, just chilling in the sun and listening to us chat. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (to some degree). Or, actively deciding to become less scared proved successful.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate 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 insect pests (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they are in motion.

However it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that employing the techniques of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and driven by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.