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I am someone who believes that it is forever an option to evolve. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. As long as the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my all my days. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly 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 ascended the family room partition. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (lest it ran after me), and discharging a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to ignore its existence before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, primarily hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it was effective (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared did the trick.

Regardless, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The vision of their numerous appendages propelling them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they are in motion.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. Some life is left for this old dog yet.