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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. I think you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am working to acquire, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, a feat I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing three times in the last week. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it chased me), and discharging a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to enter again.

Recently, I visited a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the casement, for the most part stationary. To be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become less phobic proved successful.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they consume things like buzzing nuisances (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 scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their many legs carrying them at that frightening pace causes my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies 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. I have discovered that taking the steps of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left within this old dog yet.