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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I think you can in fact train a seasoned creature, as long as the experienced individual is receptive and ready for growth. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have battled against, repeatedly, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any myself, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it chased me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I emitted low keening sounds and ran away. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its presence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a girlie, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it was effective (to some degree). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless worked.

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 (the bane of my existence). I know 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 borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that terrible speed triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they are in motion.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are hairy creatures that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. Some life is left within this old dog yet.