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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to change. My view is you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, often, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. This includes a trio of instances in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and discharging a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I made low keening sounds and ran away. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, mostly just lingering. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a her, a girlie, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their numerous appendages propelling them at that terrible speed triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.