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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you truly can train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the mature being is willing and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have grappled with, often, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any myself, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I made low keening sounds and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its existence before I had to return.

Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just stationary. As a means to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it was effective (to some degree). Or, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they prey upon things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The sight of their numerous appendages transporting them at that alarming velocity triggers my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that increases exponentially 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. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.