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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to transform. I think you can in fact train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it chased me), and discharging half a bottle of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its presence before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they move.

But it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.