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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the experienced individual is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am working to acquire, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including on three separate occasions in the recent past. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously 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 made its way onto the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it ran after me), and discharging a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the window frame, for the most part stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a girlie, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us yap. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (to some degree). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less phobic proved successful.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way conceivable. The vision of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace induces my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe 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. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that dart around with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” stage, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this veteran of life yet.