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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to transform. My view is you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the person is ready to confess when it was wrong, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Including on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to handle any myself, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it ran after me), and spraying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I produced whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I visited a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the sill, primarily hanging out. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they are in motion.

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. I have discovered that employing the techniques of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and motivated by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” level, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.